#This old stove has a cooking gu

[themerrypanda]

Also for the Grapefruit Sky server’s Luau gift exchange, I wrote this piece for @word-ghost. It is inspired by Harvey and her farmer OC Peach.

Read her story Sowing Uncertainty on AO3! (Especially if you want to catch the references, but it isn't required to understand the fluff here.)

Title: Movie Night

Word Count: 2,022

Somewhere in Years 3-4, Winter:

Harvey Palmer fastened his red tie and threw on his favorite green coat. He looked into the mirror above his bathroom sink, making sure each fold in his clothes were in place, then sighed deeply, content with the appearance of his attire. Years ago, he accepted that his hair wouldn’t ever look neat, but still he tried to comb it with his hand. At least the mustache was immaculate.

“Who do you have to impress?” A familiar voice inquired from the couch. “We’re just going out with friends.”

Harvey smiled as he turned to his girlfriend, Peach Miller, who was dressed in a warm sweater, scarf, and pearl earrings. No matter how much time passed, no matter what she wore, she looked as breathtaking as ever.

“Just you,” he said. He walked over to her and leaned to kiss her cheek. He craved more, but as her makeup had been done up by Emily before she came, he thought it best not to ruin her lipstick just yet. Still, Peach hummed contentedly into his ear. “Shall we get going?”

Peach nodded. Harvey extended a hand to her, and after taking it she stood up. “Emily won’t be able to make it. She left a note at her place for Shane. Apparently Gus’s stove stopped working, so he has to use his furnace to cook, which takes a while to clean and warm up.”

“Ah, that explains why I have the pleasure of an early visit. I feel poorly for Emily though.” 

“She said she’ll be alright.” Peach assured him. “She’s planning on using her new day off next week to visit a friend in Calico Desert, so it’s not a complete loss for her.”

“That’s good.”

They descended the stairs from Harvey’s apartment and braced themselves for the outside cold as they began their walk to the theater. The Stardrop Saloon was in front of Harvey’s clinic, and even from outside, they could see that the kitchens in the back were quite busy. A puff of black smoke escaped the exhaust from presumably an old furnace inside the saloon. From an open window, they saw Emily, who then spotted them and waved them over.

“It looks like it’ll be just the two of you tonight!” Emily called out. “Shane’s watching Jas tonight.”

“What happened to Marnie?”

“She’s in Grampleton getting supplies. She’ll spend a whole day there getting stuff that isn’t available at Pierre’s, and it looks like she’s running late.”

“Dang,” Peach muttered. So much for her plan of getting everyone together in the brief lull in Harvey’s busy season. “Thanks for heads up!”

“Of course. Have fun you two!” With a wave and a wink, Emily disappeared into a different part of the kitchen.

Peach sighed, but not too heavily. “I’m sorry that didn’t work out.”

“That’s fine.” Harvey assured her. He reached for Peach’s hand and held it. “At least our date night part of the evening can begin sooner, even if it couldn’t land on either of our birthdays.”

“True…” Peach nodded. “This might not be too bad, just the two of us. We can pick a different movie than what we planned if we want.”

“What’s showing tonight?”

“At least The Miracle at Coldstar Ranch.”

“A classic Winter Star film. I’d be happy to watch it even without Emily and Shane.”

“Me too.”

Finally, Peach and Harvey made their way to the outdoor ticket counter. Three movies were being shown: the expected Miracle at Coldstar Ranch, the kids’ comedy sci-fi Wumbus, and a remastered old film…

“The Zuzu City Express?” Peach gasped excitedly. “I haven’t seen that movie in years. I loved it growing up!”

“Do you want to watch that instead?” Harvey suggested. “It’ll be just us two after all, and it starts in five minutes rather than twenty.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I’m happy either way.” Harvey turned to the ticketmaster and counted out money. “Two tickets for Zuzu Express, please?” In exchange for the money, the ticketmaster gave him two shimmery gold tickets. He passed one of these to Peach. She lit up in such a way that warmed Harvey’s heart faster than a fireplace after being out in cold snow. He held open the door into the theater, and together, they entered, offering their ticket stubs to the greeter.

“Welcome!” A cheery girl waved at them. She stood behind a counter, a concessions stand. Many snacks were displayed, including popcorn and cotton candy machines. “Would you like a snack for your movie? Today we have buttered popcorn, nachos, sour gummy slimes, apple slices, and more! Just read our menu and pick out what you like.”

“Two packs of apple slices, please?”

Harvey asked quickly and before Peach could protest. To his pleasant surprise, she didn’t. Rather, she gazed at him with a pleasant smile.

“You remembered my favorite.” She grinned.

“Of course! Only the best for Peach.”

“I’m just glad these apples don’t keep you away, doctor.”

“I doubt you’d succeed at keeping me away even if you had one of these a day. I’m lucky I could catch a break from flu season tonight.”

Harvey tried to ignore the concessions worker rolling her eyes as she retrieved the apple slices from a display refrigerator. He thanked her as he paid.

The sudden shout of a child drew their attention. The source came from in front of a claw machine. Specifically, Jas, who happily retrieved a stuffed lime green Wumbus from the prize slot. His hand still on the joystick, there stood Shane.

“Hi, Shane!” Peach waved. “I didn’t know you could still make it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Shane shrugged. “Marnie needed me to watch Jas tonight. We’re going to see Wumbus. Jas already convinced Vincent that they can go to Miracle at Coldstar Ranch next week, and she didn’t want to see it twice.”

“That works out for you. You didn’t seem as interested in watching that when we were choosing a movie last week.”

Shane chuckled, a mildly guilty chuckle. “Well, you two can have fun at least. See you around, farmer, doctor.”

Shane and Jas made their way to the concessions stand and ordered sour gummi slimes and nachos. They would be watching their movie in Theater 3, as opposed to Theater 2, where Harvey and Peach would go watch their movie of choice.

Quietly they seated themselves in the middle-back of the theater. Three people were already seated in the front rows. Peach’s smile dropped when Alex, sitting beside his grandparents, turned to see them and waved, making a kissing face towards Peach. She flipped him off in reply.

The main lights in the theater dimmed, leaving only the dim pathway lighting leading to exits. The screen brightened, displaying a familiar title screen that made you think this will be one of those older silent films with prerecorded music to add to its ambience, but this was in fact one of the first movies to include audio, the actors needing to voice their lines with the same passion as in their acting.

A train rolled onto the screen, and there began the old tale, still in black and white, but with improved definition. In story, the Zuzu City Express makes one final trip south from the icy coast. It’s a three day journey.

A young lady sits in her empty train compartment, peering wistfully out her window to a frost-covered land and still sea. The protagonist, Mildred, is returning to the city after visiting her family for the holidays, reluctant to resume being a secretary for her uncle’s company once more. She looked outside, already missing being out and enjoying nature. She would soon return to a world of bills, smoke, and tall concrete buildings.

Her mind’s wanderings are interrupted by a confident man named Clarence, a small business owner and gardener from Castle Village, who entered her compartment by mistake. They would spend the next couple days talking to pass the time, and on the eve of their second day on the train, they shared a sweet kiss.

The next morning however, Mildred feels confused. Clarence proposes marriage, and she tells him it is too soon to decide. They had only met two days ago, after all. Fearing he will never see her again after the day, he asks that she give her answer before the train stops in Zuzu City. He has a connection that will take him to Castle Village, and won’t have time to wait before he makes the next train.

The closing shot is of Mildred once more wistfully looking out her window as the train slowed to a stop, wondering what her answer will be. Throughout the movie, she deals with a timeless theme: the conflict between reason and emotion. Will she follow the directions of her rational mind, or the longings of her heart? The movie ends before the audience finds out.

Harvey was so glued to the movie that he didn’t notice that Peach had been crying silently beside him. From his coat pocket he found a fresh tissue and offered it to Peach, who took it and tried to dry her eyes. They waited for George, Evelyn, and their grandson to leave, and thankfully Alex was preoccupied with carrying what remained of their snacks. Finally, after the last guests left the theater, Harvey dared speak.

“Are you alright?”

Peach nodded. “I had wondered what it would be like to watch this on the big screen. After the first year and a half here in Pelican Town, this movie hit closer to home than I expected.”

Ah. Right. On the heartbreaking road to them being in a relationship, both made mistakes, but Harvey believed his to be the biggest. It kept them apart for a year while she dated another man and even got engaged to him for a brief time. And despite his previous beliefs, she came back to him after it all.

“We’re together now,” he assured her. “Better late than never.”

Peach nodded, agreeing. She leaned into his side, and Harvey wrapped his arms around her consolingly. The moment was quietly interrupted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young janitor coming in armed with a broom and dustpan to clean up popcorn spills and the like.

“We should probably get going now.”

Slowly, they trudged out of the theater, and they walked the long journey to Peach’s farmhouse. As the snowy breeze felt even more chilly with the sun dipping under the horizon, Peach leaned into his side, and he rested his hand on her lower back pulling her closer, reassuring her that he still wanted to be with her. He’d be with her forever if she’d let him.

“When I was a kid…” Harvey broke the silence, “I liked to think that Mildred followed her heart and said yes, just as they were getting off the train.”

Peach huffed a little laugh. “If she were me years ago, for some odd reason she just wouldn’t believe Clarence was sincere, and run off before she could give him an answer. She’d go work for a year, might even get engaged to a coworker before finally running away from it all. She’d buy a ticket to Castle Village, and go looking for his small business, desperately hoping he wouldn’t already be married and that he can forgive her.”

Harvey hummed in thought. “I’d bet he wouldn’t have moved on. There’s only so many people in a small town, after all. They’ll take it slow, but they’ll be courting if not engaged by the end of the season.”

“I agree.” Peach was back to her lovely smiling once again when she stepped on her porch and retrieved the keys for her front door. “Still, I like our story best.”

She opened the door and invited him in with a gentle pull of his tie, bringing him into the house, and a slow, heartwarming kiss. Harvey smiled against her lips, sure the waxy lipstick was now more on his face than hers as he embraced her and closed the door behind them.

“So do I.”

#stardew valley #stardew valley harvey #stardew harvey #sdv harvey #harvey stardew valley #harvey sdv #mmarydee

[sunnyville36]

Mamihlapinatapai {part 1}

See {overview} for more info!

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: mentions of death/war, emotionally abusive parents

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4.2k

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

Mamihlapinatapai - (noun, Yagán origin) a silent acknowledgement and understanding between two people, who are both wishing or thinking the same thing (and are both unwilling to initiate)

Bond  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

“Good morning, Your Highness,” you called, entering the prince’s room and walking to open the curtains, revealing the cloudless sky behind them.  Of course a beautiful day like today would have to be ruined by the very event you were here to collect Chan for.

Chan’s head peeked out from around the dressing panel, smiling softly as you pressed the shirt he’d clearly been looking for into his hands. “Good morning Y/n.”

“Your father’s in quite the foul mood this morning,” you said, leaving Chan to finish changing as you tidied up his dresser and prepared the many pins and beads bearing the royal crest that would adorn his formal attire for today.

You could hear the scowl in his voice as he grumbled, “Only he could manage to be upset during an event solely orchestrated by him and his insufferable band of so-called advisors.”

You nodded your head, indulging him in his ranting.  Better he get it all out now with only you here to hear than cause a scene in front of the court.  The prince took his responsibilities seriously and hardly ever openly clashed with his father, no matter how much they disagreed.  But this had been an exceedingly upsetting matter for him, and, by extension, you as well.  You’d spent the majority of the last week attempting to keep the peace between him and his father, as well as show your support for your friend as best you could.

Chan stepped out from behind the screen, and you had to stop yourself from doing a double take at the man in front of you.  A far cry from his normal outfit of loose breeches and dirtied, tattered tunics, his cleanly pressed white shirt was tucked neatly into snug fitting black trousers, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim figure.  You were sure he hated the confines of such an ensemble, but you were equally sure he would turn every head in the kingdom during today’s events, and you smiled at having the privilege to see him here first as he struck a nonchalant pose and asked, “So, how do I look?”

“Very handsome,” you replied, stepping up to pin his bright red cloak around his shoulders and set to work attaching the fineries to the outside.

“You do as well.  Look very nice, I mean,” he corrected sheepishly, pose all but forgotten and head tilting forward as a blush formed on his cheeks.

You glanced upward, smoothing his hair that had gotten tousled from his rushed dressing.  “Thank you, Your Highness,” you replied quietly.  You decided to throw in a humorous quip, hoping to lighten his mood as you finished decorating the course, red fabric.  “We couldn’t have the prince’s personal attendant looking like she’d just had a spar with a knight and lost, now could we?”

“Certainly not,” he laughed, then quieted as he continued, “And you’re still wearing the flower.”

You reached your hand absently up to the flower that was perched behind your ear, and you felt his fingertips ghost over yours as he gently pushed your hair to sit behind it.

“Of course, Your Highness.  Is it not our tradition that I wear it until it is completely bare of petals?”

“Mhmm… our tradition,” he hummed, his hand lingering next to your cheek.

“We really must be h-heading out.”  You cringed at the unsteadiness of your voice.  You needed to get out of here, needed to get him out of here.  You straightened the clasps of his cloak and tapped your hands on his chest.

“There.  Now you look like a real prince charming,” you said, forcing a smile to your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He shook his head as he half chuckled, half grimaced at your words, lips forming into a straight line.  “Then I suppose we must go meet my future wife.”

You Have My Bow  |  Kingdom of Gu, 19 years ago

“Mama, Mama, look what Papa made for me!” you squealed, bounding into your tightly-packed cottage and nearly crashing into your mother’s legs as she stood boiling soup at the stove.

Your father had taken you to the woods that morning, your favorite place to go with him when he had a rare spare moment away from the castle.  You had thought he was taking you for your usual ritual: fishing by the river’s edge in the hopes of catching something to use for dinner.  Instead, when you reached the riverbank, your father knelt down and pulled a tiny child’s bow from his knapsack, small enough to fit in your four-year-old hands.

“I’m going to teach you how to use this bow Y/n.  Not many girls will know how to, but you need to be able to fend for yourself and your mother if anything should ever happen to me.”

“Why would anything happen to you Papa?”

“Well, Papa helps the king to keep our home safe, and there are some people who might want to make it unsafe.”

“Like the Lajorans?  Or the Mirohans?  The ones with the missing princess?!  Or the Sillans?  I heard old man Jerrald talking outside the tavern, and he said Lajorans like to ...”

“Yes, just like those,” your father interrupted your enthusiastic babbling, “though you shouldn’t believe everything old man Jerrald says, alright?”  You nodded as he continued, “The king does everything he can to keep the peace, but sometimes our peoples get into fights.  Really big ones, where people use swords and bows like this.  And I want to make sure that if that ever happens, if one day a fight should come here, that you can keep yourself and your mother safe.  Do you think you could do that for me, Y/n?”

You’d agreed of course, your little body bouncing with excitement as he pulled you in for a hug then took the bow and began to show you the basic principles.  The two of you had spent the rest of the day practicing, and you couldn’t be more excited to show your mother what you’d learned.

“Y/n be careful,” your mother admonished, kneeling down to your height as she gave you a tight squeeze.  “Now let’s see what that father of yours has cooked up for you this time.”

“It’s called a boo!” you all but shouted, whipping the bow out from behind your skirts and drawing back the string in a mock archer’s pose.

“A bow, Y/n, it’s called a bow sweetheart,” came your father’s voice from the doorstep.  He crossed the small space to pull your mother into a tight embrace as he said, “And be careful with that in the house, or your mother will have my head.”  You nodded back at him and he sent you a mischievous wink over her shoulder.

Your mother turned to face him with a wary smile as you started galloping in circles, pretending to ride an imaginary horse.  “Giving our already rambunctious child a deadly weapon, Minhyuk?  You want to get her into trouble, I see.”

“Julietta, you worry too much,” your father whispered, pressing his lips to her temple in a gentle kiss.  “Besides, I’d be more concerned about the trouble she’d be in if she didn’t know how to take care of herself.”

Little did you know that everything you learned that day would soon come crashing into your life, taking many precious things with it when it left.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

You struggled to keep up as you walked behind Chan, the two of you heading to the throne room where you were sure a very short tempered King Bang would be waiting to reprimand you for your tardiness.  Sure enough, when the guards opened the doors, you saw the king pacing in the small space in front of the raised thones, his head snapping up as he heard your footsteps approach.

“You’re late.  I told you to have him here 20 minutes ago Y/n, did I not?”

“It’s not her fault,” Chan defended.  “Besides, they’re not here yet, are they?”  He gestured around to the otherwise empty hall, save for the usual servants and guards, then slumped into his seat at the right hand of his father’s.

“You would do well to lose that attitude before they do arrive.  I will not have you embarrassing yourself or this court because of your petty feud with me.”  Chan gave a hollow laugh at that, eyes closing to block out the mere presence of his father.

You took your place behind Chan’s throne, hands coming up to rest on the ornately upholstered back.  You liked keeping your hands there; it made you feel like you were supporting Chan in some way, the closest you would ever come to being able to actually hold his hand the way you wanted to right now.

After a few moments, you heard the telltale sound of trumpets and the growing shuffling of a group of approaching footsteps.  Chan straightened in his seat and his father took his place at the head of the room.

The doors opened, and you were greeted by a small party of what appeared to be political ministers and guards, in the middle of whom stood a woman clad in a yellow gown.  She was beautiful, golden hair spun up into a twist and a delicate silver circlet resting above it.  You would know she was a princess from a mile away.

The Gu herald spoke first, gesturing towards the two men seated at the thrones.  “May I present His Majesty, King Bang Geun of the Gu Kingdom and his son, His Royal Highness Bang Christopher Chan, crown prince of the Gu Kingdom.”

The gaggle of people gave a quick bow, then parted to allow the woman through.  She stepped to the front, then dipped into a low curtsey.  “I am Princess Korenna Dormio of Lajor,” she spoke, her high, clear voice ringing in the chamber.  “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

The king stood up, walking towards Korenna with you and Chan trailing behind.  He took her hand and kissed the top of it, his voice exclaiming in a fake bright tone, “We are honored you could join us in our kingdom!  May I present my son, Christopher.”

Chan stepped forward at that, hand outstretched to take hers.  “I prefer strangers to call me Chan.”

You could feel the icy gaze King Bang was sending to his son, but he pressed on, ever the politician.

“This is Y/n.  She is Chr- err Chan’s personal attendant, and will be at your service during your stay.  Go to her with whatever you may need.”

Korenna eyed you with a curious look, and you knew why.  It was unusual, though not entirely unheard of, for a prince to have a woman as his personal attendant.  Not only did they complete duties for him in the domestic sphere, but they also served a professional purpose, a sort of squire, scheduler, and strategist all in one, roles typically reserved for men.  The unique circumstances surrounding the time of your’s and Chan’s upbringing had made having you as his attendant a logical choice, but you could understand her concern about the man she was supposed to marry spending most of his time in the company of a woman she knew nothing about.

You knelt into a curtsey, head leaning forward as you heard Korenna’s voice.  “A pleasure to meet you Y/n.”

“You as well, Your Grace,” you responded.  Glancing up, you saw that Chan was not even looking in her direction, gaze apparently trained on a fascinating branch just outside the rightmost window.  Well this was off to a wonderful start.

“Very well,” King Bang said tentatively, “I will let you two become acquainted.  Y/n, I believe you were given their itinerary for the day?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the king made his way to mingle with the rest of Korenna’s visiting party, Chan turned to the both of you, eyes almost glaring at the princess.

“I don’t want to be here, and I doubt you do either, so let’s just get all of this shit over with so we can go back to our normal lives.”  With that, he stalked towards the door, leaving you and a highly affronted Korenna to follow in his wake.

***

The next few hours only got worse.

The pair were thrust immediately into making a multitude of decisions about the wedding ceremony: What kind of flatware did they want?  Which cakes were their favorite?  How should the shrubbery around the edge of the garden be trimmed?  And all the while you stood between them, relaying information to the various servants charged with these tasks and corralling the two royals between each of their stops.

Your latest one was with the palace groundskeeper, to determine what flowers would adorn the wedding canopy.

“We can always have tulips brought in from the highlands, Your Grace.”

“Tulips are fine, but I was thinking something more along the lines of white roses or lilies.”

Chan’s annoyed huff at her words was impossible to miss.

“Can you at least try to give some input about this?”

“We’ve barely met and they have us making all these asinine decisions about something weeks away!  What do you even care what I have to say about flowers anyway?!”

“I don’t want to fight with you about this.”

“Isn’t that what your people are good at?!  Picking a fight with someone who never asked to be involved in the first place?”

You hated seeing Chan like this.  His normally kind, generous, and thoughtful demeanor, that you knew to be his real self, not just some facade put on to impress the nobles or win ladies’ affections, was being replaced by this antagonistic attitude, intent on ruining any chance of finding common ground with this woman.  You knew he was doing it to protect himself, both from his father’s antics and from his own fear of being open, of letting someone in and risking actually wanting to keep them there.  But under different circumstances, you knew he would never want to be seen treating anyone like he was right now, let alone a princess from another powerful kingdom.  And she didn’t seem to be so bad; if she felt the same malice as he felt towards her, she at least did a better job of hiding it.  You needed to stop him before he did something you knew he would regret.

“Your Highness, I believe Prince Minho wanted to brief you on the latest border patrol, seeing as he is back in the city for the time being.  Why don’t you meet with him while I escort Her Grace to the ladies afternoon tea?”

“A wonderful idea,” Chan muttered unenthusiastically and began walking towards the closest castle door as you guided the princess in the opposite direction.  You looked back and locked eyes with him, reading the expression of thanks on his face.

When you were out of earshot from Chan, Korenna turned to you almost immediately and asked, “Is he always this standoffish?”

You were unsure how to answer that question, wanting to make it clear he wasn’t always like this without getting her hopes up that he would change his attitude about this particular situation any time soon.

“His Highness is not especially fond of this arrangement.  It has nothing to do with you personally, Your Grace.”

“Well I am also not especially fond of this arrangement, but it’s the arrangement we have at present and at least I’m attempting to be civil towards him.”

“Perhaps you should tell him of your similar feelings, to establish some common ground?”

Korenna became agitated at that suggestion, visibly tensing as she said, “And risk my father finding out I feel that way.  Absolutely not.”

You understood that apprehension, that fear.  Stories of her father, King Eunther, had spread often throughout your kingdom, and from what you heard, you knew he was not someone you wanted to cross.

You walked in silence for the rest of the way, until you rounded the corner into the courtyard where you could hear ladies’ voices and the gentle clinking of fine china.  Korenna turned to you, placing her hand on your arm.

“You and him seem to be… close.  Maybe you could talk to him, ask him to try to appear like he doesn’t despise me and everything I do or say?”

You had a feeling that would only make it worse, his oldest friend asking him to grin and bear it for the “good of the kingdom.”  You also knew his political protest against his father might not be the only reason for his general disdain of everything that had happened the past week.  But Korenna seemed like she was genuinely trying to put in some effort, and you couldn’t bring yourself to outright deny her request.

“I will try, Your Grace.”

As you left Korenna in the garden, you reached up to feel for the flower by your ear, and found that all the remaining petals had fallen off.

Arrangements  |  Kingdom of Gu, 1 week ago

“Have you heard anything?  From the staff, about what this announcement might be?”

Chan was walking briskly ahead of you, voice coming out slightly strained.  You knew why; his father calling an unscheduled meeting with the entire court, alluding to some mysterious “announcement,” had everyone on edge, Chan most of all.  The king still kept his son in the dark about the majority of his political proceedings, much to Chan’s frustration and chagrin, and no one but his closest inner circle had any inkling as to what this might be about.

“No, Your Highness. It’s been quiet in the servants’ quarters; everyone is equally surprised.”

“Well, whatever it is, promise to take my side?”

“Have I ever not?”

The two of you entered the throne room, and despite your knowledge of what a full court gathering was, you were still taken aback by the sheer amount of people present.  Every nobleman, every knight, every person who wasn’t otherwise occupied was here, filling the space along the wall and facing the dias at the head of the room where King Bang sat, the empty seats to his right and left standing out amongst the crowded room.  Even Prince Minho, the king’s nephew and second in command of the royal guard after Chan, was back from his post on the Lajoran border.

Whatever this announcement was, it was serious.

Chan approached his seat next to the king as he usually did on occasions like this, but was stopped by his father’s voice.

“Chan, please remain there.  You are the subject of my announcement today.”

You saw Chan’s face pale as he remained in the center of the room.  You were still standing behind him, debating whether or not you should stay beside him or step back to one of the walls where the servants stood.  As you scanned for your mother in the crowd, that question was answered for you.

“Y/n, you too shall stay where you are.  I will have instructions for you as well.”

You bowed your head slightly in acknowledgement of his order, and took your place slightly behind Chan’s left shoulder to await whatever insane proclamation King Bang was about to make.

Nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his mouth.

“Chris, I have made you a wedding match.  You are to be married to Princess Korenna of Lajor in six week’s time.”

The entire room was silent, every person holding their breath to hear what the prince’s reaction would be.  This was not something anyone was expecting, Chan least of all.  It took every ounce of your willpower to school your face into a neutral expression as you tried to contend with the hundreds of thoughts flooding your mind.

Chan was to be married?  To someone from Lajor?  One of Gu’s oldest enemies suddenly wanted to form an alliance, and through marriage?  What would that even entail?  Who would hold what powers?  Why was the ceremony so soon?  Who would be in charge of the preparations?  How would this change your relationship with Chan?

After what felt like hours, but was more likely only several seconds, you heard Chan’s voice echoing one of your thoughts out loud.

“A Lajoran?!  But father, they are responsible for - “

“You need not remind me what they are responsible for, Christopher.”

“Then I don’t understand, how did this come about?!”

You couldn’t stop the low ringing slowly building in your ears, accompanied by a sudden wave of nausea.  You vaguely registered the king’s voice, explaining how King Eunther had approached him, how he agreed “it was time we put that mess behind us,” and how his daughter would be a suitable match for the Gu prince.  Your mind wandered, remembering how many times Chan had told you he never wanted to be used as a pawn in his father’s political games, how he hated the idea of being forced to marry a stranger.  You couldn’t seem to register any other information, thinking solely about Chan, the man you’d known since childhood, your friend, having to be married off to satisfy his father’s need for power.  Finally, a loud voice cut through the fog in your head.

“Y/n, are you listening?  Look at me when I’m talking to you, girl!”

You looked up in surprise to see the king’s unpleasant expression looking down at you.  Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Chan’s pained face turned slightly towards you, waiting to see why his father had kept you in the center of the room as well.

“I apologize, Your Majesty.”

“You will serve Princess Korenna when she arrives for her introductory stay here a week from today.”

You heard a scoff from next to you and glanced to see Chan’s face growing angrier by the second.  “First you lay this on me, now you’re taking away my servant?!  How do you expect me to cope with all of this?”

You sucked in a sharp breath at his words.  You knew he was simply talking in a language his father would understand, explaining how it would be an inconvenience for him to not have someone available at all times of the day, to keep track of his schedule, to clean his clothes, bring him his meals, prepare his horses and armor.  But you couldn’t help the sting of being referred to as a “servant”; surely Chan saw you as more than that, just as you saw him as more than just your future monarch.

“You will manage with half of her normal attention,” the king answered, his tone laced with a hint of irritation at his son’s current attitude.  “Besides, you’ll spend most of your time with Korenna, so she’ll be with the both of you regardless.”

The anger was coming off of Chan in waves, so palpable you felt like you could reach out and touch it.  Finally he set his jaw, facing his father.

“Is that all you had for me?”

“Well that’s all for the matter of the marriage yes but - “

Chan turned on his heel, walking out of the room to the sound of hushed whispers and his father’s increasingly pitiful protests.

You wanted nothing more than to run after him, to pull him into your arms and soothe him, tell him everything would be alright.  But you knew better than to leave, not having been dismissed by the king yet.  So you stood there, heart aching so badly, feeling exposed, like everyone could see the shattered pieces of it that had fallen at your feet.

“I’ll go look for him,” you heard Minho say as he passed by you, the king nodding and waving his hand to dismiss the rest of you.  You heard your mother calling for you but you ignored her, wanting to get out of that stifling room, to go somewhere, anywhere where you could be alone.  You knew where Chan had gone, where he always went when he was upset and needed time to think, but no one bothered to ask you in their search for him.

***

He returned to his room that evening like you knew he would, the door creaking open as you stood across the room ironing his rarely used formal wear with the glass smoother.

His voice came out choked as he whispered, “I’m sorry for what I said.  For referring to you as my servant.”

“It’s alright, Your Highness.  I know you were upset - “

“That’s no excuse.”

Feeling his presence close behind you, you turned to him, reaching for his hand.  “I forgive you.”

He brought his other hand to your cheek, and when you looked up, you saw his eyes staring at you, imploring you to stay, to talk to him.  It was so tempting, the desire to give in, to lean in to him and let him hold you like you knew he wanted.  But you had to be strong, for him and for yourself.  And you knew if you stayed, if you opened up to each other, tried to confront the feelings you knew you still had and could only hope he reciprocated, neither of you would ever recover.  So you took his hand from your face, holding both of his in yours between you as you said, “You should get some rest, Your Highness.”

“Y/n please,” he murmured.

“It is done.  There’s nothing you or I can do.”

He made one last attempt, turning and holding your wrist lightly, but let you go as you pulled away.  Opening the door, you wished him goodnight, desperately trying to hold in your tears as you left.  Your footsteps took you down the hall quickly, but not before you caught the small sound of a sob coming from behind his door.

{part 2}

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fic #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan smut #stray kids fic #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #skz #skz x reader #skz fanfic #skz fic #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz smut #royal au #alternate universe

[pastelwitchling]

Cinderella (1/?)

“The death of Alex's mother changes his father for the worst. Jesse no longer sees his little prince, but a reminder of all that he has lost.

Cast away to the attic, Alex grows up under the harsh reign of the wicked man his father has become. He begins to lose hope that he will ever have the love of a family again . . . then he meets Prince Michael, and everything changes.

When Michael announces a ball, and Alex is forbidden to go, it takes the magic of a fairy godmother to make his dream come true.”

read on ao3

I have no idea how many chapters this will be, I just know that I want to do this story justice, as Cinderella is one of my favorite Disney princesses. If you enjoyed reading this even a little bit, please comment and share, as it always makes the world of a difference ❤

tags: malex, malex cinderella au, malex fluff, malex angst, malex happily ever after, so much magic, and kindness, and courage

***

               “Mother!” nine-year-old Alex called as he ran through the halls of his home. “Mother!”

               He followed the lovely sound of humming, like a river in the midst of sparkling spring, and found his mother in the kitchen, standing before the stove, her dark hair pulled back with a blue ribbon and her even darker eyes shining with the sunlight pouring in through the open windows.

               She smiled. “Calm yourself, darling, before you wake your brothers.”

               “But, mother!” Alex whined, tugging at her apron. “I’ve just had the most wonderful dream!”

               His mother laughed, her voice like honey as she picked him up and placed him on the counter next to her. “Have you? And what was it about?”

               “The mice!” he said eagerly. “In the gardens! They were talking to me!”

               “My, that sounds exciting!”

               “It was! Jacques and Gus and Marie – all of them spoke to me! We were having a tea party, and the birds poured the tea for us –”

               “How very helpful of them,” his mother said with an approving nod.

               “The mice thought so, too! And then they said so! And then they gave me a gift for being their friend!”

               “Goodness, what did they give you?”

               “A new coat!” Alex said happily. “Wasn’t that nice of them?”

               “So very kind,” she agreed, and laughed, folding Alex into her chest. “Oh my darling, I’m so happy you enjoyed your tea party.”

               Alex melted against her, breathing in her scent of lilacs and the leftover meat she was cooking for breakfast. She was warmer than usual, but it comforted Alex in the cold of morning. He giggled. “Mother, it wasn’t a real tea party. It was only just a dream.”

               “Well,” his mother pulled back, placing her hands on her hips. “You know what they say about dreams, don’t you?”

               Alex blinked, and shook his head.

               His mother smiled knowingly. “A dream is a wish your heart makes.”

               “But what does that mean, mother?” he asked.

               “It means, my dear, that if you are good and kind and wish with all of your heart,” she winked, and poked his nose, making him laugh, “then that dream that you wish will certainly come true.”

               A door opened somewhere down the hall, and Alex nearly fell off the counter in his excitement. “Father!” he called. “Father, good morning!”

               Jesse Manes’ low chuckle sounded in the hallway before he stepped into the kitchen. There were spots of mud on his trousers where the boots had not reached, and he was barefoot.

               “Good morning, my beautiful son!” Jesse exclaimed, raising Alex up above his head.

               “Honestly, you two,” Alex’s mother laughed. “You will wake the boys!”

               “Good!” Jesse said promptly, keeping Alex on his hip. “They ought to be up early, like Alex! What’re they sleeping in for?”

               She shook her head, her eyes fond. “Oh, Jesse . . .”

               “No, father!” Alex said. “We must be kind to them! Isn’t that right, mother?”

               “My prince,” Alex’s mother cooed, taking him from a laughing Jesse’s arms. “Aren’t you wonderful?”

               “It’s because he’s so much like you,” Jesse said, and kissed his wife’s cheek before kissing Alex’s as well. “My queen, and my little prince. How I treasure you.”

               Alex rested his head on his mother’s shoulder, listening to his parents’ recounting of their mornings, the loveliness of the weather, the absurdity of the chickens.

               If I can have one wish, Alex thought happily, then I wish for this moment to last forever. Alex closed his eyes, eager for the dream that would follow.

               The following morning, however, was a less cheerful one as Alex ran to the kitchen to find his mother was not there. None of the chefs or servants had seen her. He searched outside where his father was tending to the horses himself, laughing with the stable hands. Alex looked around, but there was no sign of his mother.

               Jesse spotted him, and called, “Alex! What’re you doing out in the cold, my son?”

               “I’m looking for mother!” Alex said. “I can’t find her!”

               He tilted his head, smiling. “Has she not awoken yet? Very odd indeed. Best go tell her the sun is up, sweetheart!”

               “Yes, father!” Alex said, and off he scurried to the grand bedroom on the second floor. The pale-blue carpet lining the long hall was soft under his feet, the walls covered in framed paintings of flowers, green hills, waterfalls – all which Alex’s mother had painted herself in the garden.

               Alex’s father would always ask him for his help pinning them up. “I could never do it without my little helper,” Jesse would say warmly.

               When Alex reached the double doors, he knocked. “Mother!” She did not answer. Alex pulled on the door handle with both hands and went inside. The curtains were pulled back, the morning sun pouring in.

               Alex almost leapt onto the bed, remembered it would be rude to wake his mother so suddenly, and stood at her bedside. Her face was red.

               “Mother,” Alex whispered as softly as he could. “Mother, father says it’s time to wake up now.”

               If his mother could hear him, she was pretending not to. Alex jumped a little bit on his toes. “Mother? Are you all right?”

               He poked her nose, hoping to make her laugh as she always made him laugh. He faltered. It’s too warm, he thought. Alex touched her cheek, and snatched his hand back with a gasp.

               Without another word, Alex ran out. He didn’t dare start calling for his father until he was back outside, afraid his mother would hear him and he would break her rest.

               “Father!” he called, his voice cracking as his eyes burned. “Father, please, come quick!”

               Jesse caught his son’s expression and his smile faltered. “Alex?” he hurried to him. “What’s wrong?”

               “It’s mother,” Alex cried before he could help himself. “Father, her skin is like fire!”

               Jesse’s face fell, and he muttered, “What?” before he ran off without waiting for Alex’s response.

               Alex hurried after him, but stopped at the doorway to his parents’ room this time. He watched, his small hand gripping the doorway tightly, as Jesse murmured something incoherent to his wife, holding her up and pushing her hair back from her face.

               “Darling?” Alex caught. “Darling, can you hear me? That’s right, look at me, there you are. You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just fine.”

               Alex swallowed. He was fairly certain he was carving into the wood with his nails, but he hardly felt it as he stared at the scene before him. Something that he could not describe with his young mind came over him in that moment, something paralyzing that kept him frozen at the doorway, tears falling silently, even as his father ran to get a physician. Later on, Alex would recognize that dark cloud as dread, for he had known then, though he could not say how, that his mother would not wake again.

                 Alex did not remember much of the funeral. Only that he and his brothers and father had worn black, that several people took their hands and wished them well, that he was hugged by friends of his mother who were always so kind and good to him. He had not cried, for he felt his body had no tears left to give. He stood there, however, long after his father and brothers left.

               The weeks that followed were spent in silence. The windows were always curtained, Alex’s father did not react well to being woken in the mornings.

               “Leave me,” was all he would say whenever Alex came into his room with a tray of tea and butter and bread that he had fixed himself. His eyes were so numb and dark that Alex left his chamber with tears burning, threatening to spill, every time.

               “We have to help him,” Alex urged his brothers who gathered in Clay’s bedroom. Clay and Flint sat side by side, Clay staring listlessly at a page of his book, Flint shredding a daisy between his fingers.

               “Leave it alone, Alex,” Flint always answered.

               “He’s an adult,” Gregory always tried more softly. “He doesn’t need our help.”

               “Everyone needs help,” Alex pleaded. “Perhaps if you came with me, and we all told him our favorite stories of mother –”

               “Stop talking,” Clay murmured. Clay, who was always so kind to him, looked at him now as though resentful. “You don’t understand how any of us feel, you’re just a stupid child. Mother hasn’t just gone to the market, she won’t be back any moment now.”

               “Clay –” Gregory started.

               “—is right,” Flint finished, settling on Alex with the same glare. “Mother’s gone. You’re too young to know what that means.”

               Alex clenched his fists at his sides, and he started to storm out . . . then he stopped at the door. He whipped around, his tears falling freely now.

               “I know what it means,” he said fiercely. “I know that I miss her, too. I know that she wouldn’t want this. I’m not going to abandon him,” he wiped the tears roughly with his sleeve, “or any of you.”

               Alex left without a word from any of them.

               He tried and tried to see his father, to speak to him, even from outside his door, but Jesse did not see anyone. Slowly, more and more of the maids and servants left as Jesse failed to pay them, not that he seemed to mind. Only a few remained, and Alex was glad for the company, for his brothers seemed to rarely stomach the sight of him anymore either, though he could not tell why.

               Then one day, as Alex wandered his room, stripping the dirty sheets and linens for washing – he didn’t mind helping to clean the house and feed the animals, for he felt he was helping his father best in this, the only way he could – he sang a familiar song, the first time he’d found himself able to sing it; a song his mother often sang when she cooked.

               Alex waved to the birds as he passed the windows, and laughed as they flew in circles around each other. He was still singing when the door to his room suddenly swung open with a –

               BANG!

               Alex jumped, whipping around. His father stood there on the threshold, his robe hanging off his shoulders as he panted. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed. It was the first time he’d been out of bed. He looked around the room, frantically searching for something, then his eyes settled on Alex.

               When he didn’t speak, Alex tried softly, “Father . . . are you all right?”

               “I – I thought –” Jesse stammered, his brows pinched. “That song . . .”

               “It was mother’s,” Alex supplied helpfully, his grip on his bedsheets tight.

               His father, to his relief, didn’t seem angered or burst into tears by his words. Instead, he nodded slowly, his eyes on Alex, as though just realizing something. “Yes.” He knelt in front of Alex. “You’re so much like her, aren’t you?”

               Alex’s eyes burned and his words cracked as he whispered, “I am?”

               “She was lovely, too,” he said miserably, and Alex hesitated.

               “Father,” he tried, “a-are you hungry? Would you like me to make you something?”

               “No,” he said, wringing his hands together as he took in Alex’s room, as though it was the first time he was seeing it. “No, my son, no. I do, however, have another small request.”

               Alex stood attentive at once, alert. “Yes?”

               “I was hoping to move your mother’s things,” he said, “but I want them somewhere tidied and proper to her memory.”

               “Oh,” Alex said at once, “I can tidy whichever room you’d like!”

               “I – I know you can,” Jesse said, shutting his eyes as though Alex’s voice was worsening the headaches he’d complained of. Alex pressed his lips together, waiting. “I thought, however, it would be far more meaningful if we could put her belongings . . . here. In your room.”

               “My room?” Alex blinked, and grinned widely. “Yes, of course! I’ll be happy to look after mother’s –”

               “And of course,” Jesse went on, “I wouldn’t ask you to share your comfort with her old things. That’s why I’ve been thinking it may be easier for you to move into a quieter room, one that wouldn’t need so much looking after. One where you may . . .” his eye twitched, “sing to your heart’s content, and not worry about disrupting anyone’s peace.”

               Alex faltered. Disrupting?

               “I think the attic ought to do nicely, don’t you?”

               “The attic?”

               “A wonderful idea, son,” Jesse nodded, no longer looking at Alex as he stood and backed away from him. “Why don’t you gather all of this bric-a-brac and take it upstairs, eh?”

               “Er – all right, father. If you really think this will help you feel better.”

               “There’s my good prince,” Jesse murmured, and, his eyes still unable to meet Alex’s, he turned and left the room.

               Alex clutched his sheets tightly, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. It’s all right, he thought. This is for the best. It’s for father, for my brothers. It’s for the best.

               Alex kept reminding himself of that as he gathered his few things – a flower he’d picked from the garden and placed in a small wooden vase, his favorite book, and his favorite blue blanket. The attic door creaked as it swung open, and Alex heard the faint scattering of tiny paws across wooden floors.

               The window was long, letting in the faint remnants of twilight and giving everything a blue and violet glow. Alex swallowed and stepped inside, setting his things on the floor before climbing onto the narrow bed. The mattress was soft, so he supposed that was good. He looked down and saw a few mice peeking their heads at him before scuttling back into the shadows.

               “Don’t be afraid,” Alex said with a soft smile, though for some reason, he could not let go of the mattress. “I’m a friend. I’m terribly sorry for bothering you. At any rate, I won’t be up here long. It’s only until father feels better, you see.”

               Even as he said the words, Alex’s nails dug deeper into the mattress. Even as he said them, his heart still ached and something like grief filled his chest. Why he felt such sorrow, he could not say, for he could not have known in that moment that his father would never truly ever feel better again.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex cinderella au #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

[jungshookz]

ahhhHHHHHHHHH ANIMAL WHISPERER!TAE WHERE U HAVE A CAT THAT LIKES TO ESCAPE AND ONE DAY U CATCH TAE JUST CAUSALLY TALKING TO UR CAT AND UR LIKE ??????? BUT HES CUTE SO U LET IT SLIDE

🐱pairing; kim taehyung x reader

🐱genre; animalwhisperer!taehyung, cATS!!!, i don’t really know what genre this falls under but there’s a cute kitty involved sO fluff?? 

🐱wordcount; 3.7k

🐱what to expect; “you have the highest quality cat food sitting right in front of you and you haven’t even given it a lick.” “mew.” 

🐱note; i had to scroll so far down to find this message aLso this is proof that no matter how long ago u sent in a request i a) have it written down because i cheRISH every request sent in and b) will probably get to it someday!! i thought this was a cute idea and i just wanted to write something silly so i hope it is at least somewhat entertaining!! also i’m not too sure what the original source of the gif is but i found it off this page :-) 

                                                 ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“meatball! meat-“ you pause immediately when you realise you must look like a crazy person shouting ‘meatball’ up and down the block

you clear your throat when you notice someone a block and a bit ahead turn back to look at you

you turn to look over your shoulder before giving the stranger a shrug and an expression that hopefully translates to ‘i, too, have no idea what’s happening’ and not ‘i was the one screaming meatball because i’m INSANE’

the friendly smile drops from your face when the person turns back and you let out a little huff

where the friG is your cat

here is a quick history of how meatball rolled into your life (heh)

in your first year of university there was this event that took place during finals season

and you usually aren’t an event person just because you hate the idea of having to talk to other people and having to function like a normal human being

but this - well, you had never been to an event like this before

it was basically where little kittens were going to be brought in from adoption shelters and people would be able to play around with them as a form of relaxation and a de-stressor from the chaos of exams

your parents neVer let you keep a pet as a child and now that you were on your own you had to seize the opportunity to finally play with some kitties!!!

“hey hey-“ jungkook (he’s this guy that lives on your floor and he thought youR room was his room but luckily you cleared that up) ((also he won’t leave you alone so you guys are friends now?? apparenTly)) nudges your side and you turn to look at him

there are like six cats on him??????

there’s literally one trying to get on top of his head

“i’m drowning in-“

“if you say what i think you’re about to say, i’m going to kick your aSS-“

jungkook rolls his eyes playfully and you turn back to return your attention to the little kitty you were playing with

this one was the smallest one out of the whole group anD he’s the only brown one!!

and in your opinion he’s the cuTEst one

he’s a british shorthair kitten and he’s basically a tiny ball of FLUFF

if you had to describe the particular shade of brown then you’d have to say he’s kind of like a mix between dark and milk chocolate

anyways you’ve been playing around with him for the past 20 minutes (he likes swatting at your hand and nipping at your fingers) and you never thought you’d say this but you feel like you were meant to find this cat

or maybe it’s the stress from exams that’s making you think you have some kind of spiritual connection with a tiny kitten

either way you.,,. you feel like you.,.,. want to adopt this cat.,,

…and based on the thought that you and this cat were meant to find each other, the next thing you knew you were signing adoption papers and buying waY too many supplies for him 

luckiLY pets are allowed in the dorms as long as they’re smol and not stinky and not going to disturb anyone

you got in a teensy (a lot) of trouble with your parents when you called them and told them that ‘yeah exams were fine and also i adopted a little kitten and i made this friend but he’s kind of weird so i’m not sure if i’m going to keep being friends with him-‘

your mom was piSSED but your dad couldn’t have cared less as long as the kitten didn’t disrupt your studies

so yeah

you got to keep the cat!

you also got to keep jungkook because he would come over every day just to play with the kitten

at first you wanted to be funny and give it human name

kevin

steven

maybe even albert  

because you thought it’d be hilarious if someone asked you ‘so do you live alone?’ and you’d respond with ‘no i live with kevin’ and theN when they find out that kevin is a cat it’d be a hoOT

but then you thought about it for a little while longer and a little harder and you realised that it wasn’t going to make you seem funny

it was going to make you seem… lame

like veRy lame

so then you switched over to the generic cutesy names that only a 9 year old would be able to come up with

bean

cocoa

mocha

peanut

cinnamon  

thinking about it now you were probably super hungry when you were in the midst of coming up with a name  

what else did you come up with

buttons

mr. meow

mr. bean

killer

gus!

(gus was definitely at the top of the list because he kind of resembled the tubby little mouse from cinderella)  

“are you enjoying dinner…. walnut?” you’ve been testing out names for the past fifteen minutes but so far nothing’s been sticking

“mew.”

“yeah, i don’t like that one either.” you mutter and scratch out the name on your notepad “…kitty?”

oh coMe on

F- for creativity AND F- for effort

no-name blinks up at you and you raise a hand in defense “don’t look at me like that. i’m desperate here!”

also

you’re sitting on the floor eating your dinner because you thought it’d make the kitty more comfortable

he actually hasn’t touched his food at all

he’s kind of just been poking at it with his nose but maybe he’s just not used to this brand of cat food?

you twirl some spaghetti around your fork slowly while keeping an eye on him

…

…

ok he’s still not making a move to eat anything

“you have the highest quality cat food sitting right in front of you and you haven’t even given it a lick.” your brows furrow in frustration and you drop your fork with a clank

“c’mon, look at that. yummy!” you reach over to push the bowl closer to him

“mew.”

you watch as he hops over his bowl before lifting a front leg and pawing at one of the meatballs on your plate

it rolls towards you and you stop it with your fork

“hey, that’s not for you.” you shake your head and nudge him away gently

luckily he’s pretty small so it doesn’t take you much effort to push him away

you keep holding your hand out as a barrier to keep him from getting to your plate as you use your fork to split up one of your meatballs

“mew.”

and then you notice how intensely he watches you as you bring the chunk of meat up to your mouth

you pause right as it touches your lips and his little tongue pokes out

you swing the fork side to side and watch as his eyes ping-pong back and forth

huh

“you are a very strange kitty.” you mutter under your breath as you watch him practically inhaling his cat food

after a loT of effort (and a lot of hand washing) you managed to shape his wet food into tiny little blobs that somewhat resemble meatballs

and once you presented that to him he immediately started to scarf it down as if he was starving

“little meatballs for a little meatball.” you snort as you pick at your dinner

and then you perk up

heY

how about meatball??

“hey, meatball-“

“mew.” he responds to that name almost immediately and tilts his head before licking his lips

well

there you go!

meatball is kind of a cute name

“…unbelievable that you rejected gus but you like meatball.”

anyways

that was almost three years ago which is crazy to think about

meatball has now grown into a chonky young man (his new year’s resolution is to drop a couple pounds) and he is 100% your bestest friend in the entire world

when he was younger he was a little more playful and a loT more out of control

he would scratch up your curtains and your couch and would hop up onto the kitchen counter while you were cooking which was verY dangerous

he would cry in the middle of the night for hours on end and he wouldn’t stop until you came out into the living room to sleep right next to his cage

when your friends came over he would hiss at them (jungkook still has a little scar on his cheek from that time he tried to kiss meatball and ended up getting swiPed at)

but now he’s a little gentleman!!!

and in some ways he acts like he’s the man of the house and his main purpose is to protect you even though you’ve tried to explain multiple times that the toaster is a friend and not an enemy

when you leave for classes he’ll make himself comfortable on the window sill and just chill there until you come back

when you’re cooking dinner he still hops up onto the counter but instead of coming near the stove he just lays down at the end and watches you

when you’re doing work he likes to sit on your lap and watch your fingers fly across the keyboard

and when you’re lying in bed he curls up on the pillow right next to you even though his perfectly good bed is waiting for him at the other side of the room

when you went through your first breakup you were a mess for the whole week in which you just couldn’t stop crying but the one thing you remember about that was that meatball did not leave your side for one second

he even insisted on chilling in the bathroom while you showered which you thought was kind of weird but he would scratch at the doors if you didn’t let him in lolz

but the one thing he hasn’t outgrown?

the fact that he escapes the apartment at least three times a week

somehow he figured out how to push the latch on the window?? and then he just hops out onto the fire escape?? and he’ll disappear for several hours?? and then he’ll come back and act like everything is fine??

the first time he did that you FREAKED out because you thought he was gone forever

you were in the middle of putting up ‘missing cat’ posters around the neighbourhood when you felt something swat at your ankle

and when you looked down

there he was

“where have you beEN????” you bend down to swOop meatball up and he mews before leaning forward to lick your nose

and after the first time you swore you would never let it happen again

but then it happened again

and again

and again

and here you are

three years later

and it’s happening again

but this time it’s a little different

usually when he disappears he comes back within the same day

but he disappeared last night and now it’s the late afternoon of the neXt day and he still hasn’t come back

you left the window wide open overnight and you placed a dish of his favourite treats on the window sill which honestly was not a great idea because you attracted a lot of creepy crawlies that were certainly noT meatball

when you woke up this morning you saw a RAT poking at the food and you nearly had a heart attack because you thought it was going to jump into the apartment

luckily you spooked it off when you let out an ear-piercing scream that probably woke up the entire building

“do you think i should file a missing person report?” you let out a sigh as you slowly make your way down the block

you have your phone sandwiched in between your ear and your shoulder as you dig through your backpack to pull out meatball’s favourite squeaky mouse toy

“i think the cops would laugh at you if you filed a missing person report for your pet cat.” jungkook snorts in response

“but he’s been gone for like, a whole day!” you give the mouse two squeaks before pausing and taking a look around

nope

no sign of meatball

“i’m sure he’ll show up eventually like he always does. son of a- c’mon, man, we’re on the same team!!!!”

you caught jungkook at a bad time because he’s in the middle of a video game session but he stiLL picked up the phone because he thinks of himself as a good friend

which he is!

in fact you guys have never had any difficulties

…well

except that one time you guys got into a mini argument over something silly which then snowballed into a bigger fight (and to be honest you’re still not entirely sure what he was upset about but you feLt like you had done/said something wrong?? but you never asked him what it was?? because you didn’t want to upset him even further???) which then led to like three months of awkward tension and every time you talked to him it seemed like everything you said would offend him so you eventually just messaged him less and less and you were kind of bummed about it because it felt like he was distancing himself and that he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore and you had no idea how to make things go back to the way they were

but eventually you got over yourselves and made up and everything is FINE now

ahem

…what were you talking about again?

“but what if he doesn’t? …oh, god. what if he’s dead? the coyotes got to him. oh my god.”

“…i’m not even going to try and play along with tha-“

“oh my god, he’s here!” you nearly scream in excitement when you see meatball sitting at the front steps of the apartment building with a stranger “someone found him- i’ll call you back, kook-“

you hang up and shove your phone into your pocket before picking up the pace

“thank god, there you are!” you drop to your knees as soon as you get to the steps and usuaLLy meatball will happily pounce onto your lap but instead he hops up onto the stranger’s lap

okay

FINE

be like dat

>:-(

“thank you so much- “ you look over at the stranger and your eyes widen a little bit

woW

his hair is red

like RED red

but you know what

you are not one to judge

after all, you named your cat meatball

but if you look past the horrifically red hair

…he kinda cute

and then you realise you’ve been staring at his face for a suspiciously long period of time so you quickly snap yourself out of it

“where did you find him??” you reach over to pet the top of meatball’s head while the stranger continues to stroke down his back all the way to his tail

“he was actually on my fire escape. i have a cat too - her name is pearl - and i guess your little friend here has a crush!”

“oh, is that why you’ve been disappearing so much lately?” you coo gently and reach over to boop meatball’s nose

he purrs gently and his ear twitches

“thank you, by the way. for finding him-“

“i couldn’t have done it without him!” the stranger laughs lightly and scratches behind meatball’s ears

your brows knit together in confusion for a split second “what do you mean by that?”

“well, i asked him where he lived and he told me he lived here. he wasn’t sure which floor so i thought it’d be best if we just waited outside for you. i’m taehyung, by the way. you can also call me tae if you’d like. i’m a pet psychic and meatball here is quite the chatterbox!”

…

…

wha-

?

what did he just-

what?????

you didn’t catch his name because you’re stiLL processing what he just said to you

he asked meatball, your cat, where he lived.,,. and meatball, your cat, told him that he lived in the building???

and he’s like.,,. an animal whisperer?? or something??

what did he say his name was?

he’s cray?

…he sure is

no sane person would dye their hair elmo red and no sane person would talk about an animal as if they could communicate to humans

after a couple seconds of silence you immediately burst into laughter and you end up startling both meatball and elmo

“good one!” you wheeze and wipe a single tear from your eye “yeah, that was a good one. meatball toLD you that he lived in this building-“ you interrupt yourself when you burst into giggles again but you trail off slowly when you realise that you’re the only one laughing and that meatball and taehyung are both staring at you blankly

taehyung looks down at meatball and meatball looks back up at him before meowing

he immediately stifles a laugh before clearing his throat

wait a minute

what was that interaction

did meatball just talk smACK about you

“what was so funny??” you raise a brow and give meatball a little glare

“meatball apologised to me on your behalf.” taehyung scoops meatball up and hands him over to you

you take him gently and cradle him in your arms before leaning down to give the top of his head a little welcome back kiss

“apologised for wha-“

“for being a moron.”

your mouth immediately drops in offence and taehyung raises his hands in defence “his words, not mine!”  he laughs lightly as he gets up from the steps and dusts the back of his jeans off

“how do you expect me to believe you? i could just as easily say i’m some kind of animal whisperer-“

“-pet psychic-“

“-and claim that i have the ability to communicate with meatball, too!” you lift meatball up so that you’re looking at him dead in the eyes “meatball, do you wanna take a nap or do you wanna get a snack?”

“mew.”

“and that means he wants to get a snack.” you huff smartly and neaRly miss the sight of taehyung rolling his eyes

he’s used to this mockery

usually people are meaner about it but uh

you’re just being an idiOT about it

(but like,,.,. in an oddly endearing kind of way.,,.,.)

“actually, he just wants to snuggle right now.” tae shrugs and your heart immediately melts in your chest

“…you do?” you look down at meatball and he leans up to lick your nose

aw

:’)

“by the way, i don’t think i got your name?” taehyung holds the door open for you and you give a little nod to say thanks before stepping in

“oh, sorry about that! completely slipped my mind. i’m y/n.” you smile lightly and stick your hand out a little underneath meatball’s butt to shake taehyung’s hand

the two of you step onto the elevator “tenth floor, please.”

taehyung hits the button for the fifth floor and the tenth floor

wow

meatball really travelled down five fire escapes to get to his lady friend

he refuses to move when he’s lying on top of the remote for the TV but he’ll travel five flights of stairs

“so, y/n, we should probably get together for dinner sometime soon.” taehyung keeps his gaze forward as the elevator doors slide close

your eyes widen in surprise and you feel your cheeks heat up a little “wha- i’m sorry?”

“you know, for the cats.”

oh right

you forgot that taehyung was literally craZY

you snort and let out a little chuckle “for a second i thought you were asking me out to dinner, not my cat-“

“well, why not? we can have dinner in the living room while the cats get to know each other out on the balcony-“

“wait, you’re telling me we’re giving up the balcony to our cats?!” you gasp before shaking your head “aLSO what makes you think i’d wanna have dinner with you anyway??”

“cats have the ability to smell our pheromones, did you know that?” the elevator dings on the fifth floor and the doors slide open

“yeah, sure, but what does that have to do with anything?” you scoff as taehyung steps off

he turns around and you definitely don’t miss the way his eyes scan over you

,.,.ok but like that’s hot

you will nevER admit that watching him do that made your heart skip a beat

“it means that you don’t have to tell me that you want to have dinner with me, because your cat just told me that on your behalf.”

“mew.”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

drabble tag

#requested drabbles #taehyung drabbles #kim taehyung #taehyung au #taehyung fluff #taehyung fluff recs #taehyung fics #taehyung fic recs #bts fics #bts fic recs #taehyung x reader #v #bts v #reader insert #taehyung cute #bts #taehyung headcanons #kim taehyung drabbles #kim taehyung fics #taehyung smut #taehyung smut recs #bts headcanons #bts au #au

[nikki-fucking-sixx]

Together Without You: Chapter Five

You sigh as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The girl staring back at you resembles your facial features, but the body has changed. You turn so you’re facing it head-on so that your bump doesn’t seem visible at all. You look like the old you. You turn to the right and see the bump. It is slight, you have only been pregnant for a short time but it is definitely there. You put your hands on it, hoping maybe you’ll feel something, any kind of reference to the fact that there is a life inside of you. You wait. You know it is illogical as the baby is a sack of cells right now, but you want something to happen. As you thought, nothing happened. 

You turn away from the mirror and throw on a black shirt. It used to fit you perfectly, but now there was a tightness around the stomach that looked like you ate a bit too much at breakfast. Now it was time for the true test, the pants. You stare at the pair of jeans on your bed, ready to play this cruel game. You take them in your hands and examine them, like you had never seen such material before. You put one foot in the first leg and the second in the other before pulling up the jeans. They slid on like normal. You felt yourself smile. You face the mirror again to see that you still have not zippered and buttoned them. 

Shit.

You take a deep breath in and pull in your stomach. The button clasps. You then quickly pull up the zipper. You managed to get dressed for work. It only took you twenty minutes rather than the two minutes it usually took you. You grab your keys as you walk out of your apartment and make your way to the car. As you get in, you look at yourself in the rearview mirror to see a makeup-free face. You scowl and turn away. Today was the day you were supposed to have your doctors appointment with Nikki and you wanted to at least look presentable. Now you just looked like some fat zombie. Great. You grab your jean jacket from the back and throw it on, hoping it will hide some of the exposed bump.

You make it to work a few minutes late, something rare for you. Then again, it is a Saturday at 8:00 am, so it should be pretty empty. You walk in to see Gus, the line cook, and Ron, the dishwasher, looking absentmindedly at the small TV in the corner playing some news show. You smile at Gus before grabbing your apron and walking into the dining room. There were two parties there and an empty parking lot, perfect. 

“Hey, where have you been?” You turn around to see the only other waitress working this shift, Lisa. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, my alarm didn’t go off.” That’s a lie.

“Ok,” She didn’t care, “It’s been empty so far,” And at that she wanders over to the bar. You grab your apron from the host stand before following her. She grabs the whiskey from the bar and pops it open before pouring herself a glass.

“Starting early today?” You joke, cracking a smile.

“I’m here, I have to if I want to get through this shift.” She pours a large glass and takes a big swig. “Do you want a sip?” 

You immediately shake your head, “No, I don’t like whiskey,” That was also a lie.

“Whatever,” And at that, she has her lips back on the glass. “So, I heard some gossip the other day.” 

“What gossip?”

“That you slept with a rockstar,” You feel your bones freeze under your skin.

“Excuse me?” You wanted to keep some composure.

“Gus told me,” She takes another sip, “You and Nikki fucking Sixx were yelling at each other about some shit. He said it sounded intense.” 

“That doesn’t mean we slept together.” 

“Then why would you be yelling at each other?” She stares you down.

“There are plenty of reasons why we would be yelling at each other,” You refute, “He’s an asshole anyway.” 

“Well, it just sounds-” And at that you saw Gus stick his head out the door.

“(Y/N), could I see you in the back?” You don’t mean to but you speed into the kitchen. Gus is back behind the grill, hiding, as he can see the anger in your eyes.

“What the fuck Gus!” You storm over to him.

“What?” He plays dumb.

“Why’d you tell Lisa about Nikki?” You feel your voice rising, “I told you that in confidence.”

He looks flustered, “She was badgering me about it. She saw him and the band walk in and heard you two screaming at each other and she knows we’re friends so-”

“What did you tell her!” You shout. 

“Nothing.” He says meekly, “Believe me, I said nothing.”

“You know what,” You lower your voice, “It’s fine, if you didn’ give her any details, we’re fine.” At that, you turn to what is cooking on the stove. It was probably one of the least inspired looking eggs you have ever seen. Gus could tell what you were thinking.

“They said they wanted an omelet if you want to talk to the reigns.” He smiles at you and you smile back. This was his apology and you gladly accepted. He knew that cooking brought you joy. Being able to eat something that you made that was also delicious was a great feeling. You brought the eggs out to the table and watched from afar as the older woman looked pleased with her meal. You felt much better, maybe even ready for the doctor’s appointment. 

Before long, it was 3:00 and your shift was done. Your appointment was at 3:30 and at the doctor’s office down the street. You get there at 3:15 and sit in the waiting room, watching all the other women in the room stare at you. Well, not just the women, but the women and their husbands. Every woman came accompanied by a man with a ring on his finger. And here you were, an unwed mother without her rockstar one-night stand. You looked at your watch, 3:20, he still had time. The next ten minutes went by quickly and still no Nikki. You feel your legs shaking as the nurse comes in and calls out your name. You get up and follow her to the examination room. You lay down on the cot and the nurse asks you routine questions, name, birthday etc. You answer her questions lazily, staring at the clock. 3:37, where the fuck was he? The nurse noticed your anticipation and gave you a warm smile.

“Expecting someone?” You give her a light smile.

“Yeah,” She gets up and grabs her clipboard. 

“You know how men are, they wait until the last minute to leave and expect the show to wait for them,” She pushes a strand of grey hair behind her ear, “He’ll be here soon honey, don’t worry.” Her words soothed you and she left. Now it was just you, wondering when he would get there. When you hear the door open five minutes later, you expect to see the big-haired rocker walkthrough but instead, it was just your doctor. 

“Nice to see you Mrs. (Y/L/N)-”

“It’s actually just Ms.” You can’t help but interrupt.

“Sorry, Ms. (Y/L/N). Are you here alone?” You give a tight-lipped smile, about to answer when you see Nikki finally run into the room. 

“No, she’s here with me.” He looks flustered, his face losing the sense of mystery that it tends to have. You maintain your composure although it is taking every muscle in your body not to punch him.

“Ok, and what’s your name, sir?”

“Nikki,” The doctor looks down at his clipboard and writes it down. 

“And you’re the presumed father?” You did not like his wording.

“Yes.” He steps over to your side. You can’t even look at him. 

“Well, you’re just in time Nikki because we’re going to check up on your baby.” You felt your nerves begin to set in again. This was your first time seeing your child. The child you don’t really want but the child you will have. You feel Nikki staring at you but you don’t look at him. You hear the doctor saying medical jargon as he spreads some goo on your abdomen. Everything he says goes over your head. All you can think about was how late Nikki was. What the fuck was he even doing? Is this going to be a trend? Will he miss the baby’s birth? Your mind was racing, thinking of every terrible way Nikki could wrong you when suddenly you heard a beat. It was strong and steady and it rang throughout the room. You look up, confused.

“What is that?”

“Your baby’s heartbeat.” And in that moment, everything faded away. It was your baby. And they had a heartbeat. No sound had ever sounded so beautiful before. You finally look at Nikki and he is staring at you. You cannot help but stare back up at him. You didn’t look at him with anger, but rather with something you couldn’t quite distinguish. You then feel his fingertips touch the palm of your hand. You don’t pull away but instead let his fingers travel to where yours are and let him entwine them together. It was so simple but it was perfect. In that moment it was just the three of you. You felt peace. This did not last too long as the doctor lets out a cough. You look over at him.

“Would you like to see the sonogram?” You nod and at that, the screen to the right of you turns on to reveal a black mass. It really did not look like anything to you until the image focused on a small pea. Or a bean. Or maybe it was a dust bunny. Regardless, there they were. “The baby appears to be healthy. You appear to be eight weeks along so still in your first trimester.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Nikki uncharacteristically blurts out. 

“It’s too soon to tell. That’s for the 16-week appointment.” Nikki nods, you catch something on his face, disappointment maybe. You all discuss the future appointment before the doctor leaves and it is just you and Nikki. As the door closes, you remember what he did.

“Where the hell were you?” 

“Rehearsal ran longer than I thought it would and-” 

“That’s not an excuse.” You say curtly, and he knows you’re right.

“I know.” And at that, the conversation was over. Something about him feels different today and you could not help but stare. When he looked back at you, you looked away. 

“You could come to a rehearsal at some point if you want to hear what’s going on.” You pause. Maybe it was good to see what your baby daddy was doing.

“Ok.” He smirks.

“We’re meeting tomorrow around 4:00, I’ll pick you up.”

“I can’t wait.” You let it slip out before you can block the words. You flush and begin to readjust yourself. 

“I won’t be late this time,” You look up, “I promise.”

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx fanfiction #nikki sixx fan fiction #nikki sixx one shot #nikki sixx oneshot #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx fan fic #motley crue #tommy lee #tommy lee imagine #The Dirt #theatre of pain #The Dirt 2019 #Douglas Booth #douglas booth imagine #theater of pain #dr. feelgood #Vince Neil #mick mars #rock #hard rock #glam rock #80s #80s rock

[devizakura]

How about some classic 🚂 and 🎶?

Okay you KNOW I'm gonna ramble abajekwkdm

Skimbleshanks

1. How much I like this character

*All the selfship art spills out of my pockets* I like him a normal amount.

2. Who I ship this character with

Me. Ok no... I mean, it's true, but if I have to choose a canon one... My goodness, this is hard. I love seeing him and Gus Jr in the film but some fan content makes me feel a bit confused about whether I like it as a ship or if it makes me slightly jealous bc of selfship reasons (though it's far from the levels of uncomfortable the ship makes me. You know the one), I think I prefer them as a BROTP, same with Bomba, seeing them interact makes me THRIVE but idk how to feel about it as a ship... One thing I genuinely like is Tuggershanks but this one is VERY MUCH A GUILTY PLEASURE, like a "frenemies with benefits" situation rather than a legit ship... I guess I gotta be lame and go with my Lilyshanks in the end, lol.

3. My favorite AU for him

Me and my selfship buddies (mainly thanks to @arrowparker who made fantastic moodboards for us all) actually brainstormed a Lilyshanks Royal AU where Lily is a princess and Skimble is the royal stableman and they fall in love. When they're found out, Lily is disowned by the royal family but they just run off together and happily tend to horses for the rest of their life. I think it's neat how every AU I make ends up with Lily losing her high status and abandoning the rigid lifestyle (in the regular universe, her rich owner dies, in the human AU she's an entrepeneur whose company goes bankrupt) to end up finding joy and love in the simpler things. 👉👈

4. A random headcanon I have for him

HOOO BOY, I should post my list of headcanons of him someday. But here's some of my fave ones:

his human-given name is Edgar. Other cats never refer to him as that (except in the old Paris production because, well... it's his name in that one, lol) even when quoting humans in his song because it's impolite and even downright insulting to refer to each other by a name other than the one the jellicle in question prefers - whether it's a human-given or jellicle name is up to them and sometimes (though not always) correlates with whether they were born a stray or a housecat/adopted before being jellicle-named.

has pretty bad short-term memory. It's not exactly that he's forgetful, he's just... very hectic. A lot is happening in his brain all the time so while he remembers things like an anniversary date and interesting trivia and whatnot, he's the type who'd forget he left something cooking on the stove after he ran off to do something else, only to come back an hour later to the kitchen being on fire.

has an extremely sensitive midriff (and to a lesser extent neck). Aside from fashion reasons, he wears his vest to protect it from any tickle attacks and unwanted touch, and only ever takes it off around someone he trusts (my Skimble was initially based on the Broadway revival one who has the vest on throughout the whole musical).

Jellylorum

1. How much I like this character

I will defend her until my last breath.

2. Who I ship this character with

I have no strong opinions! But Jennylorum is p nice. Could be cool as a romantic thing, DEFINITELY see them as a queerplatonic relationship if not romantic.

3. My favorite AU for her

I'm afraid I don't have one.

4. A random headcanon I have for her

The most random thing I have is probably her being Cettie's mom. It kinda just came to me once.

She's also the best listener! While Jenny has a very "LET'S SOLVE THIS PROBLEM! :D" attitude, Jelly will listen to you and offer you emotional support if you need it.

#cats the musical #skimbleshanks #lilyshanks #jellylorum #ask

[auburnfamilynews]

Chuck Cook-USA TODAY Sports

Time to Barn Hard

Here we go... With under 24 hours until the kickoff of Auburn’s 2020 season, the luminaries here at College & Magnolia offer their sage opinions on what Tiger fans will see tomorrow afternoon. Most of us see a close contest destined to give us that all too familiar fall Saturday heartburn but there are a few brave souls who are prepared to barn hard no matter what.

Auburn (-7.5) vs Kentucky (O/U 49.5)

2019 Auburn fans won’t recognize 2020 Auburn. Bo Nix is going to take a huge leap forward. His receivers are healthy for game one. Our fearless leader has finally found someone he trusts enough to manage playcalling duties. The defense will reload with All-Conference (and maybe All-American) talent. A talented (and deep!) group of hard-hitting running backs. Pre-season optimism has overwhelmed pre-game jitters for me. Look for Chad Morris to show off all his weapons Saturday. He has a tendency to put up a lot of points in his first game at a new school. Brace yourselves, Wildcats. Let’s barn hard, yall.

Auburn 48

Kentucky 14

-Josh Dub

I was talking with a friend of my wife’s the other day and she asked how I thought Auburn would do. I was raised by an old school Auburn fan who taught me to sandbag and say that we were just hoping that everyone buckled their chin straps correctly and that they just had fun out there. That was met with my wife telling her, I always do this. I responded by saying that I just lower the bar so that, when they win by 40 in a game I don’t expect, I get the rush of being a kid again and genuinely happy when Auburn wins.

That said! HERE WE GO!

Auburn has got stars everywhere on the outside and in the backfield but a bunch of green horns on the starting line on offense, so IF Chad Morris (or Gus if he is still calling the plays) can use quick screens and....this route called a slant...to hide the fact that the Auburn offensive line will look a lot like the French army circa 1938, then they might buy a few chances for Anders to kick some field goals.

On defense, you don’t lose D Brown and Marlon and get better. You probably don’t maintain the production you had last year on the D-Line. You can get back there, but that takes time and experience. That said, I am a bit more bullish on the defense as a whole. There is a ton of talent to go around on the line and the secondary and the Linebackers may be the best in the conference. Once again, the defense will keep Auburn in every game for the most part. And that new line will be tested against a really well coached, running offense that Kentucky brings to the Plains.

I love what Mark Stoops has been able to build in Lexington, and sort of done what Matt Campbell has done at Iowa State, that team you just don’t want to see cause they are scrappy and will take advantage of your mistakes. On the betting lines, I am staying away from this one with spendy cashy monies but with fakey non-existant moneies, I love the Cats getting a touchdown and a hook because I see this one being in the 3-4 range with Auburn probably winning, just based on history and going with my heart, but I could totally see Kentucky pulling this off as well.

Gimme Auburn over Kentucky 27-24 and the defense had to get a late stop to seal this one away. Nothing like a late missed FG to start that stomach ulcer.

(betting pick: UK and the points, Over at 51)

-Drew Mac

Auburn *should* win this game. Auburn *should* have the talent advantage. But hey, this is 2020. Who knows what havoc Covid will have wrought on install for any given team.

That being said, I trust Bo Nix’s development as a true sophomore. I think this Auburn team, while still going through some growing pains, will finally start to hit on explosive plays with a veteran WR corps. This Kentucky defense is not the one that one 10 games two years ago.

The only way things go sideways is if the retooled defensive line can’t stop the Kentucky ground game, which is an extremely valid concern. The Wildcats have three returning backs who combined for 1,900 yards and 18 TDs while sharing the spotlight with Lynn Bowden Jr last year, and Terry Wilson is no slouch. I think the Auburn linebackers are going to have to earn their keep as best LB group in the SEC here in week 1.

Auburn takes this one with some big plays through the air and a defense that bucks up in the second half. 27-13 Auburn.

-Ryan Sterritt

I’m a huge proponent of playing a patsy in week 1. In a normal season fall camp doesn’t really give a complete picture of how an offensive line communicates in real time, how well the quarterback has his timing down with his receivers, if the tailback has fumbling problems, mike linebacker being able to switch the defensive alignment based on tendencies, etc. etc. But if you can’t play a patsy I’m a huge proponent of playing a top 10 team who will keep you engaged without distractions leading up to kickoff and will tell you so much about where you can go from here. What you don’t want is a trap game in week 1.

Folks what we have here is a trap game in week 1.

We’re 14 points better than Kentucky. I genuinely believe that. Talent wise and coaching we’re at least 2 scores better than this football team at home. And it does not matter one bit thanks to COVID.

I am so concerned over what we’re going to look like out there considering how many guys were held out at various points of our extended fall camp thanks to COVID. Which wouldn’t be as big of a deal in a normal year, even though it would still be a big deal, but OH YEAH WE HAD NO SPRING PRACTICE. So in keeping with my tradition of being absolutely God awful at Barnin’ Hard, this tiger ain’t changing his stripes for this one.

Keys to victory:

- Stop a Kentucky ground attack with a defensive line that is fully capable of plugging the gaps and have your linebackers make plays in space. This will only work if our corners, who will be in a lot of one on one situations, make plays. Jaylin Simpson is the guy that will get picked on, and this is a fine opportunity for the redshirt freshman to get thrown into the deep end to see if he’ll sink or swim in his first meaningful snaps. If he can hold his own, we’re in good shape.

- Establish an intermediate passing attack early in this game. Keep their defense off balance early on the offensive script and allow Bo Nix and an offensive line that will struggle but has a higher ceiling than that of the last 2 seasons gain some confidence early.

- Get the fastest player in all of college football 10 touches/targets for the day. This one may appear in all 10 entries of “Keys to Victory” for our schedule this year. Scheme to get Anthony Schwartz the ball in multiple ways. And then scheme off of it to get other players in positions to be in favorable coverages.

- Rotate your running backs in a way that makes sense instead of giving the “guy with the hot hand” 25 carries. This running back room is deeper and more talented than it has been since the healthy parts of 2016/2017 for Pettway and KJ. Give these guys a chance to punish Kentucky’s defense with fresh legs for 4 quarters. Make them hate playing us.

- Oh, and finally, get some sound sleep and show up alert for an 11 AM kickoff. I don’t need to explain to any of you why this is obviously something we should all worry over.

All in all I think being at home does matter, despite 20,000 people in the stands. Traveling in these uncertain times has to account for something, right?

Auburn 27 Kentucky 21

-Josh Black

If the first few weeks of football are any indication, I’m expecting some low scoring sloppy games on Saturday. And while Auburn’s rivals have essentially “warmup games” to start their season, Auburn will play another ranked opponent in Week 1. That’s JABA right?

Anyways, I’m really excited to see this group of Running Backs led by Captain Shaun Shivers this season. I’m really excited to see Shaun get the opportunity to start and it’ll be interesting to see how many carries he and the rest of the RBs get on Saturday. This is an experienced receiving corps too led by Seth Williams, “Flash” Anthony Schwartz and veteran Eli Stove.

The biggest question to me (other than the offensive line) will be the defensive line as it’s hard replacing Derrick Brown and Marlon Davidson. And we can all hope for better O-Line play this season and a more mature Bo Nix as he enters Year 2 as the starting QB.

As I said earlier, I’m thinking this is a low-scoring game and I’m a bit concerned about this one, with the 11AM kick and all but I’ll take Auburn in a close one.

Auburn 17 Kentucky 14

-Will McLaughlin

I firmly believe Auburn has a significant talent advantage at the skill positions in this matchup. Yes the Cats have an athletic QB, a strong stable of backs, intriguing WRs and a surprisingly good secondary but across the board I’ll take Auburn. However, it won’t matter if the Tigers lose the line of scrimmage battle which is way more likely than any of us wanna imagine.

As you have probably read, heard, seen by now, Kentucky has one of the best offensive lines in the country. This isn’t a group made up of 3-star kids with heart. Left tackle Landon Young was a 5-star recruit. Center Drake Jackson was a 4-star ranked as a top 150 player. Future NFLer Darian Kinnard was a 4-star recruit as well. This is both an experienced AND talented front who enjoy physically beating the hell out of their opponents. Everyone in the world knew that a run play was likely coming last fall and it rarely mattered. While I trust Rodney Garner & Kevin Steele to rebuild this front 4 for the Tigers, I am concerned about them being ready to go week 1. Even with Derrick Brown and Marlon Davidson last year, Oregon pushed around the Tigers for one half. This UK OL is of the same calibre and it wouldn’t shock me if they came out the gate with similar success.

Then there’s the other side of the ball where the UK return plenty of experience of a solid front 7. However, they were actually pretty porous against the run last fall allowing over 5 yards a carry against SEC competition. The problem is I am not sure if Auburn is ready to take advantage. In most years, when I see a defense susceptible to the run, I expect an AU victory that borders on dominant. I just don’t know if the Tigers though will be ready to go on Saturday.

That’s why Anders Carlson will be the x-factor. I think Auburn’s offense will look disjointed but generate enough explosive plays to get into UK territory consistently. They don’t put the ball in the end zone as much as we would like but Anders knocks through 4 big kicks. The defense rebounds from a rough first quarter to limit the UK offense to only 2 touchdowns on the day. Auburn recovers a late onside kick to escape with a hard won victory.

Auburn 26 Kentucky 20

-AU Nerd

Auburn at 11am.

Auburn in season openers.

Auburn as favorites vs hungry teams.

Yuck. I am finding it hard to Barn as hard...——record scratch—-

(The boys are back in town starts playing)

Just kidding!

The Boys are back!

Guys we are gonna kill em.

Auburn 34- Kats 24

-Son of Crow

Most of the time I have some idea of what to expect. There’s a gut feeling, an inkling, an intuition. Even days when I publicly avow a big win, and we end up losing, I realize that I knew it deep in my soul. This time, I have nothing. I guess that’s what 2020 will do to a man. I can’t pick this game with my heart or my gut, so I have to go with the limited knowledge that we’ve been able to glean from the practice fields. Somehow, Gus has kept it tighter than usual this season. He’s keeping spies, leaks, and COVID out of the fold.

It’s not a big secret that Auburn’s level of talent is superior across the board, but Kentucky might have the mix of experience to go along with its skill to make this a very scary opening contest. We’ve heard that the Wildcats’ lines are both going to be solid, and that gives us a flashback of what the Oregon offense was able to do for about a half last year in Arlington. Auburn can’t afford a slow start on Saturday, because we’ll be breaking in a new offensive line. Now, that might not be the worst thing in the world — our line last year was nothing much to write home about — but they started to get better down the stretch. That said, this year’s group might be more maulers than linemen. Sometimes you just need some dudes being guys up front to push people around. We might have that, thus the run game could come to life with a much more talented group in the backfield. Not to mention, Bo Nix’s sophomore development with a true quarterback coach could be something unparalleled.

Kentucky will give us a fight, but there’s no way I’m picking us to lose this game. It’ll probably be close, and uncomfortably so for a while I’d wager. Still, the home “crowd” and the overall talent win out in the end. I think someone else mentioned Anders Carlson being a weapon in this one, and I agree. I think he hits 3 kicks and Auburn scores 3 touchdowns. Tigers 30-21.

-Jack Condon

In our preseason predictions I pegged this as one of the three games that Auburn could lose, and had it at the top of my list as the one I’m most worried about. That may seem weird, but we really just have no clue how any team, including our own is going to look on Saturday. We’ve all seen how bad some of these other teams already playing have looked, and I guess people think that there’s no way their own team could look that bad, but I’m not so sure. That said, I believe this Auburn team has all the components necessary to be better than last season and thus easily handle a Kentucky team that is, well they’re Kentucky. The new look offense should give an older, more seasoned Bo Nix a chance to throw some higher percentage passes, we have an SEC caliber stable of running backs for the first time in a couple of seasons, and presumably a fully healthy group of receivers. The new-look offensive line doesn’t concern me at all, because, well, I’ve lived through the last two seasons. At this point Kevin Steele and co. have earned my utmost confidence that the defense will pick up right where they left off.

Tigers 37 - Cats 12

-AU Chief

Man alive I wish I wasn’t so worried about this. Kentucky is well coached. They know what they are, and they don’t try to do things outside their comfort zone. Their strengths could cause problems for us. And yet, Auburn has more talent. 2020 is going to be a weird year, but I think having better athletes is going to win out more often than not, because teams are going to have to keep things simple. I like everything I’m hearing out of fall camp. I still don’t know about that line though. I could see a backdoor cover for UK where Auburn has to recover an onside kick to clinch things. I could see a front door cover for Auburn putting the game away late. I’ll stay on the safe side.

Auburn 24

Kentucky 17

(Auburn wins, UK covers; under)

-James Jones

from College and Magnolia - All Posts https://www.collegeandmagnolia.com/2020/9/25/21456468/staff-picks-8-auburn-vs-23-kentucky

#IFTTT #Blogger #auburn #auburn fast #wareagle #AuburnFamilyNews #war eagle #sec #football news #aubu

[depressed-chicken-man]

Cooped Up

Shane x OC

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5

Summary: 

After failing to start her dream in the city, the fashion designer turned farmer tries to cope with her new life in the last-ditch effort to make a happy home for herself. She has so many concerns for her new life. How much of her identity is stuck in the city? Will she even make a difference?

Even if she doesn’t think so, it’s undeniable that she will make a difference for a certain depressed coop keeper.

Chapter 1: Fake it

Chapter 1 on Ao3

To say that Jennifer’s world had done a complete 180 was spot on and in no way an exaggeration. Her new environment so harshly contrasted the life she had been living since she began college and graduated two years ago.

From studying to work in fashion design to being locked in at Joja Corp as a social media supervisor for their online accounts to being elbow deep in fertilized soil and beyond winded was as different as she could feel.

Having been on this new plot of land for only four days, she felt she had done well. She wondered if her grandfather would be proud of the way that she had cleared the weeds and drug all of the overgrowth and fallen trees from the choice plot in a short time.

In all honesty, this would never be her first pick nor was it something that she could ever see herself doing. It was the total opposite and she would be lying to say that she wasn’t concerned for herself and beyond doubtful. How could she ever do this successfully? When she cringed at the dirt that covered her? When she heard the call of a rooster and was startled and left uneasy by the prospect of being a victim to being flogged? When taking it easy and slow was already so difficult? She was deeply concerned and hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. She had always been somewhat hopeful and optimistic, even in the toughest times. She would always be okay.

She was even more determined to make it as she considered her other options. The day she decided that she couldn’t bear to work at Joja Corp anymore, she knew that she couldn’t turn back. The deep aversion to turning back now or years down the road was something that she knew wouldn’t wane. She couldn’t go back and with her dream of becoming a fashion designer, she wasn’t sure it would ever go forward. This plot of land, which she had never knew existed until a month ago, was her saving grace and she hopped it would continue to be.

She would have to fake it until she made it.

The dirt that coated her to her elbows was anything but fake, but the google search she had to make to learn how to till the soil and plant the parsnip seeds she had been gifted was more than enough to prove that she had no earthly idea how to run a farm or maintain crops. She had spent the majority of her free time absent of clearing the land in an exhausted state of watching tutorial after tutorial on how to do the basic things. Jen prayed that the videos and articles that she read held enough truth and experience for her to get through the season.

As she tilled the soil, breathing heavily and trying to ignore her aching bones, the farming podcast she was listening to mentioned something that she hadn’t considered before.

“…And in the spring is the perfect time for baby chicks! If you want eggs by summer, then this is the time to begin choosing the breed. Brown eggs come from…” she cut it short as she scrambled to pause the leave her tilling. Eggs would be great and would help her a lot in bringing in profit. She didn’t have as much faith in the parsnips as she did eggs and she was certain that she couldn’t pass the opportunity up. She wondered if there was anyone around in Pelican Town that sold livestock and could maybe give her some advice.

Setting the hoe down, she dusted herself off as much as she could and made her way into the small, drab house that accompanied the plot. She wondered how on earth her grandfather managed in it. There was no stove and only a fireplace, which she couldn’t imagine cooking on. For the past few days, she was living off ramen that she made with an electric kettle and cans of tuna. She was determined to get the place in working order as soon as she dealt with the stack of unpacked and nearly forgotten boxes that cluttered the small area. It was so small and disorderly, she couldn’t even bring her pet with her yet for fear of the move being too much for the old feline. Her dad kindly let it stay with him until she settled.

Scanning the box filled room, she spotted the small envelope that Robin and Mayor Lewis had emphasized as important. Pulled the paper out, her eyes lingered over the handwritten list of businesses in the town and she quickly found what she was looking for.

Marnie’s Ranch: Livestock and animal supplies

Jennifer nodded and took a look at the map she was also given. Lucky for her, the ranch was just south of her farm. She took a look at the time and it was only half-past noon. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to visit and ask a few questions, maybe get some advice?

Any advice would be good advice.

“Hey, are you Marnie?” She asked, her timid voice low. She had gotten herself a little spruced up, still wary of making good first impressions. The last thing she wanted was a lazy reputation when she was so new. She had opted to put on a full face of soft glam makeup and wash all the dirt from her before picking out a cropped shirt and high waisted jeans It was quite strange using the bathhouse due to the lack of shower in her new home, but it did the job. If there was one thing she could showcase to the town, it was her fashion, even if it wasn’t necessary.

Still, good style or not, she was still careful and timid as she shut the door to the ranch behind her, the older woman at the front desk raised her eyebrows and nodded. This would be the only person in the town that she had talked to yet besides Robin and Lewis. The woman gave her a knowing smile, her eyes creasing in the corners and her kindness was shown in the way her light wrinkled folded. She smiled a lot and her face showed that. Her red hair curled down and hung loosely, touching her faded overalls.

“Miss Jennifer, I was wondering when you would come to meet me! It’s so nice to meet you! Robin told me how lovely you were but I can see she under-exaggerated.” She cooed and made her way around to the front of the front desk, which upon further inspection, was just as much a part of her house as the kitchen to the right.

“Oh, that’s so sweet. Thank you.” Jen gushed and waved her hand. “I was hoping I wouldn’t bother you but I need to ask some questions. I hate that our first meeting has to have a little bit of business thrust into it, but I need to know how I should start raising chickens on my farm.”

“Oh, you’re so polite. I don’t mind answering your questions a bit.” the elder woman said and began to muse, “Let’s see, now the first thing you need is a place for them to stay. I don’t know if Robin told you, but she can build you a coop that will suit the chickens just fine. Second, you need to have a way to feed them. I recommend a silo for grain, but you can always buy it from here. After that, then you can come back and buy the chicks that you want. You can pick them out and everything.” Jennifer took a page of mental notes and nodded along.

“Get a coop, some feed, and come back later? Got it.” She stated aloud, more for herself than for Marnie. The elder nodded and added something else.

“Yes, just come back and either Shane or I will help. We’ll even deliver the chicks to your coop after you pick them out.” She added and Jen released a breath of relief. She wasn’t sure how this was going to go with her not so hidden fear of chickens, but it was nice to know that she didn’t have to bring them home and have to worry about losing them from the ranch to her coops.

“That’s a relief. And Shane is…?” she asked and Marnie took a moment to be surprised that she hadn’t elaborated.

“Oh right, he’s my nephew. He helps me out around here with the cows and chickens. You haven’t seen him around yet, have you?” she asked and Jen shook her head.

“I haven’t seen much of anyone yet. I’ve been so busy getting the farm started that I’ve only been into the town once.” she admitted, a small laughed punctuated her statement.

“Oh gracious honey, you need a rest. A little bit of socializing and meeting the townsfolk will do your farm no harm, I promise. Have you been to the Stardrop Saloon yet?” Jen shook her head and looked down.

“Ah, no. I haven’t. I’m not much of a drinker.” She gave and Marnie laughed.

“There’s not just drinks there. They have coffee and Italian food as well.” the redhead explained and Jennifer perked up.

“Oh coffee… I guess I could take the evening. Besides, I think I might go nuts if I have to eat another cup noodle dinner.” She posed and Marnie reached out and patted her shoulder, much like a grandmother or very friendly church woman would do.

“There you go, you poor thing. Get your belly full and meet some people. There’s a girl your age you may take to, her name is Hailey and she might be there. She sometimes gets a bite to eat. You both would make great friends.”

Jen gave an embarrassed laugh and felt like a kid for a moment, being set up for a playdate.

“Okay, I’ll go. Thank you so much Marnie! I’ll be back when I get a coop up.” She promised as she took the doorknob in hand.

“Don’t wait too long! I wanna hear about you and your farm every once in a while.” and with that, Jen was out and walked along the fence to head over to the Saloon, determined that she would have a peaceful evening and eat well for the first time all week.

Inside the fence, a chicken clucked and startled her, her heart jumped and she immediately felt silly after a moment. Her concerns resurfaced in the back of her mind.

How was she going to cope with a coop full of scary chickens?

The Saloon was cozy and dingy, warm and rundown. The cushioned barstools were comfy enough and after a few short conversations with Gus, the bartender, Elliot, some writer, and Abigail, an odd yet kind girl, she should be feeling better.

But she did not.

With her acquaintances gone, if she could call them that, she stared down into the black coffee and still felt out of place. The spaghetti she had ordered was a nice contrast to the ramen she had been stuck with, but it only served to remind her of the amazing Italian restaurant back in the city. The coffee was, however, not delicious and she had trouble bringing herself to take another sip of the watered down and stale liquid. Out here, there were no fancy cafes or specialty restaurants. This black coffee was good enough for most people and it was her fault for being so spoiled, but she found herself extremely repulsed by the lack of espresso, steamed milk, and caramel sauce that she ordered every day.

She was more homesick than she realized.

She was silently mopping about her lack of familiarity with her surroundings and the absence of her favorite coffee. Not sure what had caused her sudden shift in mood, she suddenly wasn’t up to continuing “social hour” and wanted to go back home and watch more online classes about farming. If she began to slack, she would fail and she was terrified of admitting she was an absolute beginner in a new place.

Her identity was a caramel latte and now she was trying to be a plain black instant coffee. Was it safe to say that it was hard to identify with the farm type? Was it their differences or her own reluctance to understand that would fail her? She didn’t know. Maybe she was the plain black coffee and everyone else was the caramel latte?

She muttered a small thanks and good evening to Gus, who hummed in acknowledgment. With her coffee forgotten, she hopped down from the barstool and turned to leave but went nowhere. Instead, she slammed into something solid and was drenched with cold liquid. She gasped and stepped back, the coldness shocked her. She found herself in the midst of a big mess, and it only took one whiff to realize that she wasn’t drenched in water or soda, but beer.

The victim, though she wanted to believe it was her, stood and stared at her in disbelief, his dull green eyes narrowing. The man scowled at her, his five o’clock shadow only added emphasis to his disappointment. His dark hair was messy and his appearance even more so. Gus looked from her to the man in his surprise.

“Oh my-…I’m so sorry.” she covered her mouth in her shock and embarrassment. She should offer to buy him another one, it was only fair. She was going to jump to action to make it up to the stranger before he spoke up and interrupted her decision.

“You should be. Try watching out next time. You don’t own this saloon.” he growled out and shoved his now empty glass to the bar top. “You cost me my beer.” he glared and she could stop herself from snapping back.

“Oh, your beer is the concern? What about my shirt?” she snapped and the man rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Your shirt? Looks like I did you a favor,” he smirked and turned away to order what he lost.

“Wow…” she started and mentally reevaluated the situation. Arguing wasn’t going to help and this was a bad enough first impression. Instead, she turned to the bartender.

“Have a good evening, I’m so sorry about the mess.” she apologized, shooting the angry man a glare. He didn’t seem to notice at all. A favor , yeah right. He looked like the type to go to Buffalo Wild Wings way too often, and that was not a compliment in the slightest.

The door to the saloon swung shut behind her and she took a deep breath. Any residual anger resided and she was left with the realization that she could have handled it differently. Although she knew she was justified, she was better than that. Her reputation was better and she knew her she would regret it. Even if she hadn’t said it, she still thought it.

Still, she needed to calm down. She didn’t know the town as much as she wanted to and the sun was beginning to set. Taking a walk wouldn’t hurt.

“That was a good girl you just ran off, you know that?”

Shane took the beer and handed over the appropriate amount of cash, before grumbling his response.

“Good. The less I see of her, the better.” He took his beer and shrugged off anything that Gus would have said, stepping over the mess that the woman had made. Served her right, he hoped that the encounter would warn her enough to stay the hell away. He didn’t want anything to do with the “new girl in town” that everyone was so curious about. It wasn’t like the arrival of anyone new would bring anything good to him and he knew that. All she would be is another face to pass by and ignore.

The gossip that everyone passed around is that she inherited some large plot of farmland and came from the city to give it a shot. A city girl like her wouldn’t make it a season, he decided, taking a large sip of his beer. The way she complained about her shirt. She wouldn’t last another few weeks.

The hearsay, not that he listened, was that everyone was excited and hoped she could help everyone out with her farm. No one wanted to rely on JojaMart and farmer’s markets in Pelican Town were greatly loved and anticipated. He would almost root for her if it meant taking money from the hellscape that was Joja Corp, but he knew she wouldn’t make a difference. All of the rumors and hopes were false. Everything that the townsfolk said was wrong.

Except for one thing. The rumors that she was nice looking were true.

The beer wasn’t doing it for him. He needed something stronger.

Venturing out into the dark, he stumbled along his path home, his light buzz only enough to smear his thoughts. This evening, he left the saloon just shy of nine, rather than his usual close to midnight departure. The atmosphere of the bar was a little more dense and uninviting this evening and he wasn’t about to hang around.

No, he would board himself in his room and get the whiskey he had stashed away.

The outside light of the ranch came into few and he took a deep breath. Jas and Marnie would still be up at this time and he really just wanted to sneak in unseen. He didn’t want to feel that lingering guilt if Jas saw him like this, but it wasn’t like she didn’t know. In his limbo, he thought he heard a distant voice. Maybe he was finally going crazy.

Moments later, he heard it again. It was too far away to decipher. Who would be out in the forest this late? He struggled between deciding that it was none of his business and checking it out. He wasn’t sure if he was curious or just delaying walking into the house, but he quietly followed the direction of the voice.

A faint glow of a phone and a voice came into view, at the end of the pier that stretched over the small lake. He could barely make the outline of the figure out in the darkness. The voice was both familiar and unfamiliar to him, but he immediately knew who it was. He frowned and wondered if he should yell out to her with something that will make her leave, but he opted to stand silently, his arms folded. Her conversation continued on, her half was all that was needed to understand what was being said.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, dad. I don’t know if I’ve made a mistake or did something right for once?” Her voice echoed over the lake.

A mistake

“I realized how much I miss home. How much I miss Greg. I miss…” she took a breath “The cafe I always visited every day.”

Good, go home, he thought. Go back to Greg , he thought, assuming that was her partner or boyfriend.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m complaining. I’m not giving up yet. Today has just been awful.” she paused and continued, “It didn’t start awful, but it ended awful. Long story short, I smell like a man cave carpet on Saturday night.”

Shane was sure she did and did he care? Not a bit. He had heard enough. He wouldn’t be seeing her much anymore and he took great satisfaction in that. Without much more of a clouded thought, he slunk away and tried to ignore the last thing he heard her say in favor of returning to his whiskey for the night.

“I just don’t know what to do.”

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5

#sdv #sdv shane #sdv shane fanfic #sdv shane x oc #shane x oc #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley shane #stardew valley #stardew oc #stardew shane #sdv fanfic

[fmdlyna]

aesthetic #2 –– Lyna’s apartment

Lyna currently lives in a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment in Hannam-dong, Yongsan-gu in Seoul. It certainly isn't the most luxurious living space, especially compared to what she was used to living with her ex-boyfriend, but to her, it's more than enough for two reasons. One, someone has to keep the house clean and she doesn't want to have to spend 12 hours on that, and two, the bigger the home, the emptier it can feel. (That, and she could think of a million better ways to spend her money than on room she doesn't need.)

~970-word headcanon with more details under the cut:

What she thought most important when moving in was to make the house a home, her home, and hence a reflection of herself. Therefore any minimalist design ideas were quickly scrapped and replaced by a gray, peach and white color scheme that fits her personality: calming, friendly, welcoming, but also bold and lively, with something to discover in every corner of every room.

The master bedroom leaves little space unused, with a queensize bed, a full make-up table and an entire wall dedicated to her wardrobe. This is where she keeps her shoes, separated by flats and heels, and any clothing she owns, sorted by color and season to make it easier on herself to pick an outfit in the morning. A small row of drawers contains all her accessories, ranging from hairbands to jewelry. The top drawer she can't reach on her own without using a stool holds the pieces she doesn't wear particularly often but can't throw out either, including sponsored items she wouldn't have picked out herself or those gifted to her a long time ago that no longer go with her style.

The second bedroom, she uses as a guestroom (though it is technically also her office room, if she wasn't so in the habit of not taking her work home and instead commuting to the Gold Star company building whenever she wishes to work on something more than only lyrics), because Lyna is the type of woman who gladly lets her friends crash at her apartment whenever and personally organizes sleepovers every now and again. If someone needs a place to stay, she will always be the first to offer. It's in her nature. Hence she decided to make the most of the room by equipping it with a bunk bed, in case she has more than one guest or she simply wants to sleep in the same room as her guest without having to share a bed.

What was most important to her when choosing a place was the size of the kitchen, as she not only enjoys both cooking and baking but also likes to invite friends over to share that hobby with (or just to eat her creations, because making only a single serving is barely worth it). She had to make sure there was an oven, as that's not always a given, and enough space for a small table to comfortably enjoy a meal together with guests.

The living room is very bright and open, with a soft gray couch and a matching armchair as center pieces. Over time, she's learned that the wooden coffee table in front of it is too low to comfortably use it for anything, so it's mostly just there to hold decorations or to put things down you don't have to pick up again soon (like empty glasses you're not planning to refill in the near future). This room is also home to her TV, which she doesn't use very often, unless it's for background noise when the house feels too quiet. One wall holds an asymmetrical shelf she keeps all the signed albums in that she gets from juniors and other colleagues, as well as old notebooks too precious to throw away and other little keepsakes. Next to it is a photo wall with photos of her friends she's taken herself, or pictures of her and her friends. (A polaroid of Byul standing at her stove, a picture of Minah and her with beaming smiles at Lipstick's debut showcase, a candid shot of her with Jiah and Aly on each arm. This is a photobook of some of the happiest moments of her life, right there for everyone to see.) Below the pictures stands a single dresser that has another personal story to tell. Though a little worn now, it was once painted by a kid in her orphanage and is the one piece of furniture she's had since she'd moved into her first own apartment. She's planning to keep it until her last, if she can. With fondness, she calls it her 'little treasure chest'. Here is where she keeps all sorts of trinkets and gifts, letters and fanmail. Every piece contains a memory. Of the place she bought it at, the person who gave it to her, the feeling it evoked when she'd first held it in hand.

There's only a single bathroom, but Lyna prefers a larger one to two that feel cramped. She has no bathtub but has never missed it much either, as she's always liked showers better anyway. It's the only room that is neatly organized at all times, and the smell of her hibiscus body wash never quite seems to leave it. As prepared as usual, she keeps extra toothbrushes in the cabinet, right next to all sorts of themed band-aids (for those in need of a small smile or giggle, and those who are too cool for that) and other first-aid necessities.

In every room, she keeps fresh flowers (ever-changing, depending on the season and her mood) and potted plants, because she thinks it breathes live into the place. Before every purchase, she thinks about or looks up their flower language and lets them tell a story, whether anyone's there to listen or not.

Her apartment is always clean but not perfectly tidy. It looks lived in, with a blanket thrown over the back of the couch on her way out and the clothes she wore to bed loosely folded on the chair of her dresser table. An empty cup (the one she had her morning tea in) sits on the kitchen counter, not yet washed. Her notebook lies opened on the coffee table with a pen atop of it, like she's planning to go right back to writing. She'll put them away eventually. Later.

#◐ growing old's a fact but growing up is optional | aesthetics #◐ they can clip your wings but they can't cage your dreams | headcanons #Imagine keeping a headcanon short and concise #Couldn't be me

[ohwowasfuck]

This old stove has a cooking guide for meat.

#interesting #wow #wtf #weird #crazy #reddit #odd #interest #mundane #This old stove has a cooking gu

[readyourimgaines]

Well Wishes: Chapter One

Good afternoon readers. I decided to try writing an actual NATM fanfiction that’s more than just odd little one shots- Snafu and I are planning on still taking one shot requests for NATM. By the way, the anon that ask Ahk fluff, Snafu’s on it. 

But so, I got the idea for this fanfic because of the Releasing Ahk AU I did a while back. It’s along the same idea: Larry has a sibling that works at the museum with him. Let me know that you think. -Freddie 

“He wants to be bond trader,” Larry let the door full shut behind him. Adley jumped and turned toward her brother.

“Call if you’re gonna come over,” she sighed. She wasn’t really mad or annoyed and her brother knew it. She just didn’t like being startled. Adley opened the cupboard and added more noodles to the pot on the stove. “Now who wants to be bond trader?”

“Nicky. Can you believe that?” Larry scoffed. “All because of that penguin suit wearing pain in the ass,” he huffed.

“Larry, Nicky’s nine. He doesn’t know for sure what it is,” Adley kissed her brother’s cheek as she passed him walking to the spice cupboard. “Remember when I was nine and I convinced that I was going to be a doctor, then you had to get me from school when I got sick during a sheep eye dissection in high school? And now I’m looking for a job. Give it some time.”

“I guess you’re r- Wait! What do you mean you’re looking for a job?” Larry asked, tripping over his tongue.

“I uh...I quit. Didn’t give a two weeks’ notice. I just sorta walked out…” Adley leaned against the counter facing Larry as she waited for the noodles to cook. That was when he noticed the bruise on her jawline. It looked like it was starting to fade; he hadn’t seen her in about three days, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

“Alex hit you?” Larry asked, horrified.

“Yeah. He tried to talking to me at work and I walked out. I called my boss earlier and told him I’m done there.” Adley ran a hand through her hair. “I’m thinking about getting my hair cut. What do you think?”

“How short?” Larry asked. Whenever something in her life changed, Adley always got a different hair cut. For the time being, her hair reached the middle of her back and was it’s natural black. She’d cut her hair so was almost as short at his, another time she’d added dyed streaks and highlights; each time she’d let it grow out before changing it again. Different styled bangs, everything but fully dye it.

“Bottom of my shoulder blades. Nothing drastic this time,” Adley laughed.

“Do what you’re feelin’ Ads,” Larry advised. “You know, I know where you call in if you’re looking for a job. The Natural History Museum is looking for new workers. I’ve got an interview there tomorrow. I kept the number if you wanna give a call.”

Larry knew he had her. She loved history and had been considering going back to college for a teaching certificate to teach history classes to high schoolers.

“Excuse me,” Larry spoke.

“Hi,” the woman greeted.

“Hi. We’re Larry and Adley Daley. We’ve got a job interview with Cecil Fredricks,” Larry introduced himself and his sister.

“Right. He should still be in his office.”

“Great. Thank you.” Adley said. She started to go but stopped when the woman

started to speak again.

“I’m Rebecca Hutman. I’m a docent here,” she introduced herself. “Let me point you in the right direction.”

“Great,” Larry smiled.

“Larry, I know the way there, I’m gonna walk around a bit.” Adley waved and started walking. They’d been a few minutes early, so that gave her a little time. She made b-line for the Egyptology display. It had always been her favorite. There was something so interesting that she just loved looking at it whenever she was in the museum.

The giant jackals, the chests behind the sarcophagus, the glass little informational plaques. She knew more than what the plaques read, she’d done her own reading on Ancient Egypt and the Ahkmenrah Expedition.

Adley waited around corner from the guard office for her brother. When he caught up to her, they walked together to the door. “Hi. I’m Larry Daley.”

“Adley Daley,” she added with a small half raise of her hand.

“Are you Mr. Fredricks?” Larry asked.

“Mr. Fredricks was my father. I am Cecil. Good to meet you,” he shook Larry’s hand “Nice firm handshake. I like that. Tells a lot about a man.” He turned to Adley and shook her hand. “You don’t see many female night guards out there,” he noted. “Come on in. Let’s talk turkey here.” The siblings walked into the room and glanced at each other.

“The museum is losing money, hand over fist,” Cecil went on. “I guess kids today don’t care about wax figures or stuffed animals. So they’re downsizing, which is code for firing...myself and the other two night guards. They want to replace us with one new or two new guards. Couple of youngsters.”

“Sorry,” Adley said quickly, shuffling her feet.

“Well, are you gonna do?” Cecil shrugged. “I’d like you to meet my two colleagues here. Reginald? Gus?”

“Where is he? I’ll beat him with my fists!” An angry, short man yelled. Adley was taken aback by the man’s harsh demeanor.

“Gus, this is Larry and Adley Daley, the kids who want to be the new night guards.”

“Night guards?” Larry and Adley asked at the same time. Adley’s voice had more of annoyed edge to to while Larry’s a mixture of shock and confusion.

“No,” Larry went on, “the lady at the agency said this a museum position.”

“Most important position in the museum, Larry,” Cecil dismissed.

“The guy looks like a weirdie,” Gus said.

“Wonderful guard, terrible people skills,” Reginald noted.

“Now listen, lunch box. Don’t try anything funny,” Gus snapped. “I once went nine rounds with John L. Sullivan.”

“You never fought John L. Sullivan in your life,” Reginald shot down.

“Gentlemen, we have job candidates here,” Cecil reached the attention of his friends again. “They both have excellent resumes, winning attitudes…and I say let’s give them a shot. What do you say?”

“Hand on a sec. I think I might wanna have a little time just to think it over,” Larry said.

“I wasn’t told the interview was for a night guard…” Adley muttered. This museum was in New York and it was filled with priceless artifacts. She didn’t know what kind of trouble the job would bring. It was a chance to wonder a museum at night, it didn’t look like she’d have to wait long to start. If three old men could do it, she sure as hell could. “I’m in.”

“Do you want the job or not, snack shack?” Gus scowled at Larry. His sister taking it sealed his fate in his eyes.

“No, no, I want the job-”

“Larry, Adley, welcome to the night guards.” Cecil smiled. “You two meet me up on the second floor. I’ll slip into my orthopedics and give you a little tour. Arthritic knees. Not fun getting old, my friends. Go on,” he shooed the siblings.

The tour of the museum was a little slow paced for Aldey. The museum was one of her favorite places and she often found herself wishing that she could meet the people in the displays so that she could them questions that she knew the tour guides wouldn’t be able to answer.

“And, finally, this is the temple of the Pharaoh Ahkmenrah. And in that tomb right down there, the pharaoh himself.”

“Neat,” Larry mustered.

“And hanging on the wall behind him-”

“The Tablet of Ahkmenrah. Pure gold and it’s priceless. Lar,” Adley took hold of the sleeve over Larry’s upper arm as she started and Larry smiled at her excitement, “it’s rumored to have magic. During the search to find his actual tomb, the loc-”

“You’ve gotten yourself stuck with a historian, Larry,” Cecil cut her off and Adley dropped her hand from Larry’s sleeve.. “All right. Report here at 5:00 tomorrow. We’ll talk you through your duties.”

“5:00. We’ll be here,” Adley nodded.

“Moving on,” Cecil lead the way again. Adley looked over her shoulder as they left, having thought she saw a shimmer that wasn’t just the display lights on the tablet.

“Your keys. Your torch,” Cecil listed off, handing them each a flashlight but giving Larry the keys. “You’ll wanna strap those to your belt. It can get a little spook around here at night...so you might wanna put a few lights on.” Cecil paused. “All right. Flashlight, keys. What am I for-

“The instruction manual.” Reginald advised.

“You start with one, two, three…”

“Four?” Larry guessed.

“Are you cracking wise? I ought to punch you in the nose, hopscotch,” Gus berated. Adley was about to speak, but Reginald spoke before she could even open her mouth.

“Leave him alone, Gus. You got it covered, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Larry confirmed.

“And if he doesn’t, I’ve got for what he’s missing,” Adley spoke up.

“Do them in order, do them all, and do them quick. And the most important thing of all to remember: don’t let anything in or out.”

“What do you mean out?” Adley called as the three older men started walking toward the exit.

“Good luck, kids.”

Adley did her best to ignore her brother being an idiot with the PA. She was walking around the museum again. Nowhere in mind. They were clocked-in, but weren’t supposed to start going through the list of another ten minutes according to the wall on the clock.

Walking through the Hall of Miniatures, she looked around when she heard someone

yawn. It wasn’t a full on yawn, but it more like the sound someone makes when they’re stretching ad they first wake up in the morning.

“Larry?” she called. “Lar, whatever you’re trying to pull, knock it off!”

“Who is Larry?” asked a southern sounding voice. Adley’s eyes grew large as she turned around. “Who are you, Miss?”

“How are you talking?” she all but whispered. “I must be dreaming…”

“No...you ain’t doin’ that,” the little cowboy shook his head. She felt something poke the back of her neck.

“What the hell?” she pulled a toothpick like stick from her neck, a numbing feeling left in an almost unnoticeable diameter.

“Aw! Come now, that’s not how to treat a lady!” the little cowboy yelled across the room to the Mayans. Adley turned, but had the sense to hold her sleeved arm out in front of her as she walked closer to the tiny Mayans. She closed the case, but didn’t lock it as Larry had the keys.

Adley turned back around saw the little cowboy looked sad. “What’s wron- I’m not gonna close you guys up. You’re not shooting things at me,” she said. “I’ve gotta be crazy,” she shook her head and started turning away.

“You ain’t crazy,” he called. “Name’s Jedediah.”

“Adley,” she said slowly. “There’s a lot of noise out there…”

“You’re new here. Huh?”

“First night.”

“And you’re not gonna lock us up?” Jedediah looked unsure.

“Ads. Thank god,” Larry panted as he jogged into the room. “I couldn’t find-” Larry slipped and landed on his back...on the old west display.

“Shit,” Adley hissed. “Everyone okay?” she asked quickly. She helped Larry to straighten, everyone looking confused. The Americans, the Chinese. Everyone.

“You sure are different,” Jed shook his head.

“Prepare the Catapults!” came a deeper voice from behind them. They turned and looked down to see a large- in number- Roman army.

“Octavius, hold on. Ain’t reason to fight ‘em. She ain’t lockin’ our box if we don’t go ‘round attackin’ on ‘er.”

Octavius signaled for the men to stand down. “You’re not?” he and Larry asked together.

“I’m not,” she held her hands up. “I already made peace with the settlement, I’m not gonna go makin’ war with the Romans. If you want to, Larry, you deal with their fireballs.”

“We shan’t be locked up. We may be small, but hearts are large...metaphorically speaking.”

“Hey, uh...Octavius, right?”

“My Lady,” he bowed lowly.

“Right. So, Larry and I won’t lock you guys up if you can behave. That means no fireballs and spear throwing. Jedediah, no guns or rocks. Right?” The two miniatures looked at each other and they both nodded.

“The hunt is afoot,” someone said from the hall.

“Hunt? Larry-”

“I’m on it.” And Larry was gone.

“We have to go. Remember. Behave, and you stay free. Don’t kill each other please. I don’t want to punish anyone else on my first night as the new guard,” she pleaded before running out of the room.

“New guards, new rules!” Jedediah cheered. “Whooh!”

“Ads,” Larry called her over.

“Ads?” the man questioned.

“Short for Adley,” Larry dismissed.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Adley. I’ve only just met your brother. Theodore Roosevelt, 26th president of these United States of America.”

“Excuse me, Mr. President. Could I ask you something?” Larry asked quickly, both siblings taking large steps to keep up with the man.

“Yes, but just one question,” Teddy said shortly.

“All right,” Larry agreed. “Okay, why? Is it just some, like, three-wishes kind of deal, or…?”

“Not at all. Self-reliance is the key to a vigorous life,” Teddy said. “A man must look inward to find his own answers. How can I be of help?” Teddy stopped and faced the siblings. The stopping was unexpected to Adley and she almost crashed into her brother.

“I don’t really know how to put this, and please don’t take it the wrong way...but isn’t everything in this museum supposed to be, you know...dead?” Larry asked carefully.

“Dead?” Teddy repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Follow me,” Teddy instructed, turning on his heel.

The siblings followed him and Adley looked widely around her, looking at everyone and waving back when different exhibits would have to her in greeting.

“Why are we going to the Egyptology-” Adley stopped herself. “The rumors weren’t rumors at all, were they, sir?”    

#Night at the Museum #night at the museum fanfiction #Teddy Roosevelt #jed #octivius #larry daley #oc #read your own imagines #snafu and freddie's imagine shoppe #Ahkmenrah

[pingou7]

Nous allons enfin nous régaler! (Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are)

the food travel au 

3 ½ month film schedule. 31 countries. 24 episodes.

2 people who might just fall in love along the way. 

                        Chapter 3: France : Paris-Lille

Author: 

@pingou7

(Read on AO3)

They arrive in France on schedule and thankfully the whole crew has pretty much recovered from their stomach bug by then. Shara Bey looks a bit queasy in the morning perhaps, but everyone is still curious about what their short trip to the country of Haute Cuisine will entail.

Everyone but Jyn that is, and despite his growing anxiety — because this was France, people! — Cassian can’t help but notice that she has grown more subdued since they’ve picked out their luggage at the airport.

Okay, she’s in a mood and her French is infinitely better than what he personally recalled from High School. It’s true what they say about French being bad at languages, by the way: It’s not that people don’t bother, exactly, it’s more than they’d best not to, their accent makes it hard to understand.

Honestly, he just gives directions in Spanish and there the taxi driver gets it, easier for everyone. Until Jyn stops looking by the window and engages the conversation!

“Nous ne sommes pas en vacances. On est une équipe de tournage."

The driver seems ridiculously overjoyed to hear her speak his language and grins at her in the rear-view mirror.

"Vraiment? Pour le cinéma?"

"Non, la télévision, c'est un programme culinaire."

"You speak French?" Draven interrupts, interest picked. "I didn't know that, it wasn't on your resume."

"Now you do," she shrugs, turning back her attention on the driver.

"La cuisine française est la meilleure du monde, vous aurez de quoi filmer!"

"C'est l'idée. Mais la France n'est pas notre seule destination, on visite plusieurs pays."

Okay, all of this is so quick and fluid that Cassian can't follow. But he can see Draven's brain gear turning as he insists:

"What did you say?"

"Nothing important, I'm not disclosing anything, don't worry. We're doing a food show for TV, we do several countries. Our friend here thinks French food is the best, obviously, and that we're gonna have a lot to cover."

"It's a given," Cassian smiles, impressed by her proficiency, "it's nice of you to speak up, though. Might facilitate the dialogue, too."

"It's nothing to get excited over," Jyn grumbles, sighing, "I've been to France before and have a knack for language, this is just idle chat anyway."

He can’t explain why but there’s something unsettling for her, that has nothing to do with food poisoning. He's curious, but drops the matter when they make a mandatory stop in a boulangerie, where Cassian marvels about the variety of breads and pastries offered, not to mention the cakes...

Mothma actually volunteers, Luke is already taking out his smartphone and since Jyn has already proven her ability to speak French, she too is put to contribution. The two other cars choose to proceed however, waiting at the hotel.

Cassian, Mothma Jyn and Luke are originally sent to get some crusty golden baguettes, of course, their white crumb, thick and soft. Yet a man before them prefers a boule de campagne, round shaped and thicker still, browner and earthier too.

Fascinating.

Honestly Cassian feels perplexed yet eager to order and the seller is amiable and smiling has she suggests viennoiseries.

"We have to take at least a croissant and a pain au chocolat each for everyone," Jyn declares immediately, strangely bossy all of sudden.

"Can we get a brioche too?" Luke asks, eyeing the one in the counter with barely concealed longing.

"Sure, if you want," she agrees easily, translating the order.

"Oh, there's chouquettes too," Mothma exclaims delightfully, legit clapping like a little girl. Thus a small bag of choux buns with sugar pearls joins the order.

Like she was on a mission, Jyn finally asks for different types of croissants too:

"The regular type is made of fresh butter," Jyn explains, "but we will take the almond version too."

"Would you like some of our savoury version," the seller asks helpfully, "it's with cheese and ham."

While in English he'd known the pains au chocolat to be called chocolate croissant — even if the chocolate is hidden within — he gets primly chastised by Jyn:

"Contrary to popular belief, it's not the same thing."

"Sorry, I had no idea. How do you all even know this?"

"My sister Leia likes posh bakeries," Luke says as only explanation.

"Me too, though it's been years since I've had chouquettes," Mothma adds.

But to his frustration, Jyn doesn't say anything has she asks for the total. He commits as much information as he can to memory and Mothma actually has to chime in with a few Euros of her own since she, Jyn and Luke kept adding some douceurs to taste. Clearly they are more familiar with French pastries than they’d let on, but he doesn’t mind being educated on the subject!

In fact Cassian grins wilder as the demeanor of other clients goes from neutral to slightly amused. He even catches something akin to respect on the face of an old lady behind them, as she glances at the pile of sweetness.

Unfortunately, it’s an improvised stop and they can’t film on a whim right now — photos will have to do. That’s a shame, for Monica Mothma isn’t a woman prone to expansiveness and it would have been nice to catch this unscripted madness, even if just for themselves.

Eventually they buy enough to feed an army or for everyone to develop diabetes, at the very least. It’s all for the greater good of the show, of course... They actually film a tiny clip back at their hotel and post a few candids on Instagram.

Kes teases them for their sweet tooth, saying he should have come with just to protect the bakery’s supplies and Draven rolls his eyes, but both are getting their faces stuffed with croissants and pains au chocolat so... Though far from constituting a balanced diet, their purchases become the entirety of their evening meal.

To be fair, who knew there was so much type of stuffed viennoiseries to begin with? It’s almost maddening!

Rationally he knows he shouldn’t indulge so much on the first day but the bread is crispy, the brioche is sweet but light... choosing is a lost cause and truthfully nobody seems to care.

Jyn is seated across from him though and a tiny speck of chocolate stays struck at the corner of her plush lips. He starts to ogles her mouth and reflexively licks his own — just in case a crumb of his own is there, too — but thankfully she doesn’t pay much attention to the people next to her.

Instead, she keeps staring at an invisible point in her plate. No pastry deserves to be looked at with such sadness unless it got prematurely rotten, and he says as much, eliciting a chuckle from the guys. She momentarily meets his gaze as she bites in her pain au chocolat again but her spirits have not lifted. Failed attempt then... He hopes his heated cheeks are the result of the two glasses of red wine he had before dessert, he’s not usually this awkward.

But she intrigues him, he wants to know her better! She’s unpredictable too and rather enticing. She proves to be an asset to the show and not just as a Camera Operator. But of course there is no way he’s going to say it. Besides it’s wine and sugar load talking and they have to focus on the French schedule within the next hour.

"Last time I was here, I was 15," she finally reveals, "but there's water under bridge."

If he weren't focused on her, he might have missed it, but like a private oath, she whispers next: "Saw has no place on this job, nor in my life. Paris doesn’t change that."

He's the only one to catch that, but before Cassian can figure out the meaning of this comment, everybody’s head snaps up at hearing Draven clearing his throat:

“By public demand, we will be setting this episode slightly freelance, as we go up North. About the capital, Cassian has an appointment at “Au Doux Raisin” tomorrow. It proposes a panel of traditional French dishes that would be interesting to foreign viewers.”

Draven enumerates this in a flat voice, looking bored as usual, yet Cassian starts to freak out internally: France was renowned for its Cuisine. He even follows French cooking shows in his spare time! How is he supposed to do his own thing despite the legions of stuff available?

“Sorry to interrupt Sir, but how are we supposed to squeeze several sets in so little time? As far as I know, most traditional French recipes involve spending quite a bit of time if not the whole day over the stove.”

“Don’t fret Andor,” the Director retorts impatiently, “it’s not like you’re be the one doing the cooking, right? So spare me the nerves. Thanks to our split filming teams, most material will be easily covered too. You just have to taste and judge, not really a hardship for you, I suspect.”

No, perhaps not. But Cassian doesn’t like the way his Director is handling things tonight. Tension increases a bit in the room but he keeps his trap shut, not wanting to spark things off on their first night here. The traveling show was already bumpy enough as far as he’s concerned so better not add to the man’s frustration.

“I wanted to see the sights a bit. It’s the city of lights, it’s every lover’s dream,” Kes mumbles.

Unfortunately, it seems that he's not discreet enough.

“Dameron, if you want to play the tourist, plan a romantic vacation for your fiancée AFTER the rush. We’ve got no time for that and moreover, I don’t care for your personal life,” Draven chastises in a clipped tone.

Cassian suppresses a sigh but the case is closed, crew eventually dismissed for the night. He’s pretty sure Draven was a military at some point before going into production or he is one in an alternate universe, with the way he’s usually behaving...

The next day, the crew did some sightseeing before their appointment — they could not be here and not pause in front of the Eiffel Tower, couldn’t they?

"Come on, we gotta have a picture with all of us! It's Paris guys, you can't be more French than that!"

"We won't all fit on a single one," Wedge Antilles says.

"You already had me posing in London, Skywalker, I'm not doing this again. Besides, Cassian is the one that should feature, he's the face of the show."

"Please Jyn, it'd be a group pic, not just you this time. A memento. Don't you want to show this to your friend Bodhi?"

Damn Luke and his boyishness... Everyone caves, elbows and shoulders squeezed together awkwardly. As Kes and Shara are the only couple, they also strike a cheesy pose for prosperity, likely adding some "romance" to the collection.

They ignore people seeking them for money or whatever petition they wanted to get a signature for though... Some details must be glossed over.

"We're not airing on a discovery channel," Draven says, already checking his watch, "most of the tedious editing falls on Kay’s team anyway. Let's get going."

Of course, for professional purposes Cassian forgoes lunch, preferring to nimble on a sandwich so he’d be famished when the time to shoot arrives.

And arrive it does.

A van comes to pick them up and their materials for the intended point of rendezvous between the Jardin du Luxembourg and the Jardin Des Plantes, in the 5th Arrondissement. Quite a pretty place and Luke already mumbles about some hashtags and photos he’d like to take afterwards.

When they finally enter the brasserie called “Au Doux Raisin”  (At the sweet grapefruit) — a little before the opening, obviously, for the team has to settle — they instantly find themselves in a typical homey Parisian environment. From the very first second Cassian knows why the production chose this establishment in particular:

The meals offered represent just as many potential discoveries, yet not always the cheapest — within reasonable price range nonetheless. The brasserie sets a real atmosphere with portraits in black and white of old famous actors, an old-fashioned counter and something in the air so uniquely French that he’s surprised the staff doesn’t wear berets with white striped shirts.

Truthfully, everyone is excited, including Jyn who looks oddly happy to be there.

“We’re somewhere straight out of the movie Les Tontons flingueurs,” she says, watching their surroundings with sparkling eyes. At the lack of response she gets, she prompts: “You know, Crooks in Clover, also known as Monsieur Gangster? Ring a bell?”

To be honest the actors look familiar, Jean Gabin and Lino Ventura most of all, but nobody shares her excitement and she automatically returns to her defensive stance:

“What? I’m a cinephile and actually did study film making, you know? These actors are legendary among French cinema, you must have at least heard of some of them!”

“Somewhat. I'm more interested in the fact that this is the first time that I've caught you smiling since we’ve left England.”

Cassian only wished to put her out of her misery as they prepared the set. He gets a bit jittery before the beginning of each filming session so he likes to see people enjoying themselves, it calms him down. Yet somehow it was the wrong thing to say and her lit-up face turns stony as she replies:

“Yeah, well, let’s get this done.”

Smooth, Andor, well done, he thinks sarcastically as Draven yells action and a waiter gives him the menu. Most of the crew will stick to plates of charcuterie and cheese but he has a few possibilities to consider. Of course the list has been communicated beforehand, but ultimately Cassian always has the final choice, to stay as genuine as possible and because he prefers to eat whatever strikes his fancy. It’s more digestible in case of several takes.

Finally he chooses a “Bourguignon meal”: traditional snails then beef and wine stew, a plate of cheese and some crème brûlée to finish. Plentiful but really appetizing. Of course, if it weren’t for the show, he’d just stick with some of the various grâtins and be done with it, but the place calls for gluttony and as a presenter he has to make sure viewers will be satisfied.

If the French can stomach as much in one sitting, so will he.

(Still, he’s thankful Kay’s not currently with him or he’d be sure to get an earful...)

The preliminary speech done in a single take, the first course comes quickly. Famous escargots, classic of the French to eat snails, so the occasion was too good to pass on.

Cassian already had some experience tasting snails in the French way, had enjoyed it so he thought he didn’t have to mask his facial expressions.

He was wrong.

The promised “Gros Escargots de Bourgogne” come in front of him and truth be told they look appealing enough. But what the heck is he supposed to make of the... unusual cutlery... that the waiter brought along? It looks more like a surgical instrument than anything Cassian has ever used.

This entrée should come with warnings, explanatory note and step by step tutorial included.

For a split second Cassian blinks owlishly at the camera then he recovers, a consummate professional. Should be easily enough, really, right? A circular plate with six stuffed snails in their shells... a tiny fork with two tines... and pliers of some kind? It has a spring with a round extremity, obviously meant to keep the shell in place while with the fork he’s supposed to stab what’s inside.

Alright, I’ve got it, he reflects after a few nano seconds  of appraisal.

He doesn’t bother with explaining his course of action yet, focused on the task at hand while he states that the snails are cooked with a butter mixed with chopped garlic and parsley.

He looms over the snail closest to him, lift it slowly from his dedicated hole in the plate... but he hasn’t got the chance to use the fork. The damned thing escapes from the contraption and literally flies several feet away from his stunned face.

Nobody moves, not even Draven says cut, yet Cassian stares dumbly at the ruined snail on the floor, hidden two tables away from his. From the way Jyn angles the camera, he guesses she’s zooming on it too...

Fucking French!

It takes three tries for him to master the so called “pince à escargots” — to the utter delight of the crew around him, as they personally try some pâté de lapin à l’ancienne, saucisson sec or saucisson à l’ail and smelly cheese like Camembert or Roquefort.

By the time the Bœuf Bourguignon is served, he feels oddly proud to have won against the perfidy of posh Gastronomie, despite his bruised ego. Thankfully the beef stew is not as challenging, with a regular, universal and most of all reliable knife. Not that he really needs to cut anything, mind you: from what he knows of the process, the beef has macerated in red wine for hours to get this tender. The serving is pretty generous too, and it comes with boiled potatoes, mushrooms, onions and carrots. Thyme and laurel too, to perfume the whole.

He’s full when the four types of cheese come next but he explains the different milks each of them were made of. He actually has flash cards ready on his knees like a cheating schoolboy but their filming time turning short calls for desperate measures. At the dessert he struggles to get through. It’s delicious, it’s just that he reached the peak of his sugary intake. After a few spoonfuls immortalized on film, he hands the rest to Shara’s extended hands.

Overall, good stuff, really. Two glasses of red wine to complete the meal and footage aside, Cassian is more than satisfied with his Parisian trip.

They wrap it up, shake a few hands but take their time calling it a night. Paris is bewitching in the evening and the company is boisterous as they go along the shores of the Seine. Cassian uses it to his advantage, walking his meal off and doing his best to ignore the taunts made over the snail incident.

"I couldn't believe the famous Cassian Andor got bested by a snail. One that was already dead and cooked too," Jyn teases.

"Hey, I succeeded eventually, and it's not the snail as much as the tool that's to blame."

"Still, I thought you'd have more dexterity."

"Sorry to disappoint you, I'll do better next time."

It’s all in good sports really, but while Jyn snorts, Antilles sniggers and Luke stumbles, slamming against his back, blushing inexplicably. What has gotten into them? But she's still smiling as they drive back to the hotel and suddenly he doesn’t mind the French and their peculiarities so much. The production duo have still a decent amount of work before going to bed, but everyone else goes to sleep.

(Maybe Kes and Shara got MIA along the way but the contract doesn’t bind them to a curfew and Mothma turns a blind eye).

Cassian only wishes he had that much freedom as the so called star of the show. But it has been a long day and he would have nobody to share a nightly tryst. Cassian Andor is reasonable, professional and single to boot, so it doesn’t cost him much.

His dreams are fitful and slightly disturbing though. Jolting awake only five hours later, the only image that stays with him is of Jyn, replacing Nicole Kidman’s part in the Moulin Rouge! movie. She looked tantalizing in his subconscious and very not herself: less pragmatic and more eerily sexy.

He shakes the feeling away as he dresses himself. He has a long day ahead and can’t afford to fantasize about the only unattached woman in his crew. She’s a pretty thing and kinda mysterious too, but he is awake now and the dreamy bullshit has no incidence on his job.

He decides to tiptoe in the free area, seeking a cup of herbal tea. Whether mint or ginger should help with the food overload from the night before, surely such things could be found on the table set for self service?

He forgets all about beverages the instant he sees Jyn awake over an hotplate, her back to him. As her name stumbles from his lips, disbelieving, she stiffens visibly and spins slowly around.

Her voice is still sleepy and his annoyingly raspy as they greet each other. In November, the sun isn’t up so early and won’t be for quite some time, unfortunately and the bleached out white neon lights accentuate the exhaustion on her face. Very far from a dreamy cabaret dancer, his mind evaluates worriedly. Has she even slept? She’s dressed in her usual clothes already and ignores the elephant in the room as she asks why he too is already awake.

“I ate too much,” he answers.

“Well of course you did, not everyone can eat as much as the French do just before going to bed. Stomachache?”

“No, just energy of the calories pumping through my veins.”

“How do you plan to work it out then?”

He represses a smirk. With her velvet morning voice, it sounded a lot like an opening for innuendo. She realizes this a second too late and just purses her lips. They are not yet close enough to tease each other, so he throws her a lifeline and gestures to the food he interrupted.

“Isn’t it what you’re doing in the kitchen Jyn?”

“I wish. It’s just... I needed an outlet and I thought I’d best do something useful. Couldn’t wake my best friend.”

He wanted to ask her about what she needed an outlet for, yet people keep appearing and she visibly closes off. Obviously Cassian isn’t the only one awake as the self-service kitchen fills in slowly with the rest of the team. Fat chance, again. He sits, rubbing the back of his neck and mutters a hello.

“What’s the delicious smell I can sniff?” Luke asks, entering the room, nose upturned and honest to God sniffing the air like the human puppy he usually personifies.

“The bread and brioche won’t keep for much longer. So I’m making pain perdu,” Jyn answers, sending a fleeting smile in his direction.

“Lost bread,” Kes translates confusedly, eyeing the slices browning slowly browning in the pan, “what is lost about it?”

“Dunno, it’s just the name,” she sighs, repeating the process to make enough for everybody.

Or maybe the food isn’t the lost thing here, Cassian muses, she is, her tired eyes and forlorn attitude hinting as much. Then, realizing how stupid his thoughts are, he mentally slaps himself and hands the coffee pot to Wedge Antilles, who is blindly reaching for it, like a drowning man and a lifebelt, a junkie and his fix.

Seriously, besides Luke and himself, Cassian wonders how these people can do this work and NOT be morning people. Like, never ever. Kay has complained he had to put with them grumping and groaning until the clock reached 8 AM in the past, but at the time, he thought his friend was being his usual pessimistic self. But as he considers the bunch of sleepyheads around, he has to admit there was some truth to it.

When a plate arrives in front of him, with icing sugar or cinnamon for him to add on if he so wishes, he’s pleasantly surprised.

“You told me you didn’t how to cook,” he says, mildly accusatory.

He leaves the first slice bare, adds sugar on the second and cinnamon on the third, to have the full tasting range. As soon as he tries the first, the goodness dissolves on his tongue, creamy and buttery, the two variations making a perfect combination between sweetness and a tad spicy. He knows various ways to save stale bread, but somehow this tastes different. Besides them Luke was already helping himself with a second serving, grinning.

“Please, this isn't cooking Cassian,” Jyn shrugs. “I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve had this.”

“Not like that, though, this is unique. How did you do it?”

Most of all he wants to know what prompted her to fix this at six in the morning. But even if he had the nerve to ask, she likely wouldn’t answer. So, asking for her recipe was as close as he was willing to go.

“I made the slices my own way. More often than not people use eggs where I used milk. Once the slices suck up all the milk, getting slightly spongy again, I put them in a salt-buttered pan. Easy, not haute cuisine.”

Easy perhaps, but her wistful tone speaks of something more. He knows preparing food can reveal a lot about a person — hell, that was the reason he got enrolled in all this cooking stuff in the first place… — and… well, he remembers their stunt at the Lahmu Restaurant in London. Clearly her relationship to food is… personal.

God, why Kay isn’t here to smack the corniness out of his head?! He almost feels like using a pan on his own skull if that could just stop his brain from overanalyzing a mere breakfast plate.

He doesn’t even have time for this, with the shooting schedule they have to maintain. After all, he might envy other people’s low functioning brains, they are saved much trouble.  

Draven announces their Parisian Interlude is over and satisfactory — praise the Lord for that — but he still has a surprise in store...

“A… bus?”

“Yes,” Draven confirms, ”we should be grateful, it’s fully furbished too, functional, and a bit cheaper.”

“Whatever spares us a flight,” Dameron says in relief.

“You don’t like flying?” Jyn asks, surprised.

“If I have to take hop on a plane, I will. It’s way quicker, after all. But yeah, if I have to choose, road’s better. Plus, we can build team spirit or whatever. It’d be like a school trip.”

“Oh yeah,” Luke cheers, absurdly enticed with the idea, “I’m sure our followers would dig that kind of thing, you know?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jyn shrugs, “I never went on school trips, or I was so young I don’t remember. It’s weird.”

“It’ll be a new experience for you then,” Cassian encourages.

“I guess, but why do you care so much?”

(Good question.)

“We’re all in the same train wreck, we gotta stick together.”

(What was that nonsense... for sure if Kay ever heard him talk like that, he would deck him so hard his face wouldn’t be filmed for weeks!)

They take the A1 highway up North, chatting, napping, playing on phones... and yes, to Draven’s utter dismay, there are stupid songs involved at some point. Dameron started, Cassian picked up, and soon everyone was at least humming along. Perhaps because the driver couldn’t take it anymore, they stop in a rest area about midway until they reach Lille, the northern city that ends the French episode. As if the crew’s sugary consumption weren’t already high, they picked sweets again, albeit regional:

Two metal boxes, one with some minty ones called the Bêtises de Cambrai and the other containing toffee-like Babeluttes du Nord, to have a foretaste of their next local cuisine.

If they’re still alive to document it because Cassian swears he’s gonna die of hyperglycemia before they reach Amsterdam!

They have just one day left to shoot in France when they arrive in Lille two hours later, but they make it work. The city, nicknamed “the capital of Flanders” is picturesque in a different way than Paris, of course, but just as pretty. Places with fountains, houses made of red bricks and old cobbled streets, it’s nice.

As they have little time to spare — yet again — the rushes get more hectic than in Paris. It’s much less representative after all.

The people there talk pretty funny, with words even Jyn has a hard time deciphering, but all are very accommodating and helpful. A few wave at the camera and suggest a dish to try. It’s much more easygoing and Cassian relaxes pretty soon.

Not wanting to spoil any Belgian discovery by choosing a dish similar to what can be offered further North, he decides to try « a Welsh ». Like its name implies, this is not originally a French recipe but it became one of the easiest specialty to eat in Lille:

It is a sandwich composed of bread soaked with beer, cheddar cheese and mustard, covered with a slice of ham, dipped into a cream of cheddar cheese, heated in the oven in a ramekin. Not the most elaborate of the establishment they picked’ but it works perfectly with their thematic for the French episode and their lack of time.

Indeed, La Chicorée (The Chicory) is a brasserie like the one in Paris. Except it’s actually an hundred-year-old brewery, not just for the fancy name, and it’s open pretty late, until 4:30 AM. They are told it’s renowned, too, and Cassian can believe that easily.

For dessert, because apparently the mad guys around him have an insane tolerance for sugary treats, or really want him to die on the job, they have some stuffed waffles with cassonade. This version is thin, thankfully, crunchy, though the garnish of vanilla and brown sugar is most likely rich.

“I hadn’t had those in ages,” Jyn says drowsily, waiting for the Lille-Amsterdam flight a while later. “I bought some for my best friend, but I’m not sure I’ll resist the temptation for long. I’ll have to send them to him.”

“Really? How come? It’s good, but it’s not like it’s so addicting,” Cassian asks, because he still feels curious — perhaps sleepy Jyn is more inclined to share anecdotes?

“Wrong, they are addicting. I loved them as a young girl. I’ve spent some time in France over the years, but none so much as northern France. We were British, after all, so crossing the Chanel was easy and Saw... I mean, I’d known an old lady, Louise, who did such waffles for me.”

Yep, oversharing, he thinks with a smile, and there she is talking about a Saw again. More like eluding but it’s more talk than he ever heard from her. The schedule must take its toll on her, same as anyone else.

"You’ve spent holidays in France then, growing up?"

"My guardian actually had a job in France for a time. He was stationed not so very far from here for about a year, before we moved again."

"So the wanderlust goes way back? It explains why you took on the travelling show."

"Maybe. Saw and I never stuck around for long anywhere, but I've been happy there, it brings good memories for once."

At her conflicted expression, he guesses such good memories are far in between. He recalls her enigmatic whisper from a few days ago and surmises she must have had a falling out with her guardian. Cassian doesn't pry further though when she doesn't elaborate, but he stores the information for later.  

He’s almost snoozing when Draven — no human has the right to be this operative at 3AM... — hands him his phone, mouthing Kay’s name:

“Hello, Kay?”

“Cassian, did I wake you?”

“No, but that was close. Not everyone can be focused on the show 24/7, like Draven, or you. I feel like I’m slowly losing my soul to the cause.”

“Forgive me if I don’t shed a tear. And you’re as dedicated as the rest of us, you’re just being unusually whiny.”

“Well, you’re not here yet to keep me in check so I can be as petty as I want. I’ll feel better after we leave the country and get some sleep.”

“I’ve seen the first French rushes, actually, to see if they could be easily edited with ours. I have to say it’s fairly entertaining to witness your culinary struggles, Cassian. Especially the snail fetching.”

“Thanks a lot, Kay,”

“I’m serious, honestly it should make the final cut.”

“Did your illness kill your brain cells? What part of the first try should be included? The moment the snail flew across the room or the framing on my butt as I had to get on my knees under the table to retrieve it?”

“Well, I’ll leave it for Draven to decide,” his soon-to-be former friend replies wryly. “But just so you know, it could bring in more female viewers.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m realistic Cassian, you have a very nice bottom apparently and judging from the people’s enthusiastic reaction on social media, you’d better use it.”

“I... don’t even know what to say to that. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I’m referring to the show’s ratings, not your sex life Cassian Jerón Andor! You know what, we will speak later, once you’ve put your mind out of the gutter!”

“I love you too man,” Cassian smirks.

Only the dial answers him.

#rebelcaptain #food travel au #rebelcaptain food travel au #fanfiction #pingou writes #chapter 3 #sorry I'm passionate about it #so proud #french #star wars #this gives me life #c'mon guys #love and reblog #pretty please #cassian x jyn #cassian andor #jyn erso

[oliveratlanta]

Homage to 9 great, historic Atlanta buildings reborn as restaurants

The seductive interiors of Southern Belle at the 1930s Briarcliff Plaza in Poncey-Highland. | Southern Belle/Georgia Boy

Both old and new, these eatery spaces shine in remarkable settings from Decatur to downtown

News recently broke of the closing of fine dining restaurant Rose & Rye inside the “Castle” building on 15th Street in Midtown. The ambitious eatery made media waves when opening in 2017 for its team of women holding top positions, from management to chef staff, but with the building’s current owners filing for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in November and putting it on the market, there are fair questions to be asked about whether or not building out an eatery inside a historic space is something Atlantans will support as the city changes.

Let’s hope so.

The fact is, restaurants and bars dotted all around Atlanta are not only surviving but thriving in architecturally significant buildings that have stood long enough to claim “historic” status. Here are some of the standouts.

Ponce City Market

Jonathan Phillips/Curbed Atlanta

Walking in from street level to Ponce City Market’s Central Food Hall feels like stepping into updated history—only more fun, especially when you’re hungry.

As one of Atlanta’s most iconic and important renovated landmarks, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, this former Sears & Roebuck Co. distribution center is full of corporate offices, retail shops, and random experiences. But it’s the food and drink that keeps folks coming back.

Chief among PCM attractions for those arriving with appetites are the Italian restaurant and market Bellina Alimentari, Ton Ton ramen bar, Biltong Bar for cocktails you’d hardly expect to be fantastic since they’re served alongside dried cutlets of South African beef jerky, Tasty China Jia (the crispy quail is wildly spicy but worth it), H&F Burger, and casual Mexican restaurant Minero, whose standout chicken wings are shaken in brown bags full of spice before plated in front of you. Also don’t miss the food in other areas of the property, including Root Baking Co. on the second floor, Pancake Social on the outer edge facing North Avenue, and The Roof, where Slater Hospitality runs beer garden 9 Mile Station and the secretive 12 Cocktail Bar, which has its own elevator, security, and boasts the highest public perch in the building, in a space where a historic radio program was once broadcasted.

The Brasserie and Neighborhood Cafe at Parish

Tucked into the side of a sloping hill next to the Beltline, where Inman Park meets Old Fourth Ward, Parish’s presence on Highland Avenue doesn’t just predate the latest round of restaurants and bars to arrive in the past decade. It’s been around since 1890, and the building is (almost) all that’s left of the Atlanta Pipe Factory Terminal Building.

Photo: Lisa C Writes/Eater Atlanta

The two-story restaurant is inspired by New Orleanian cuisine, although the menu has shifted to more tavern-style eats like orange-glazed, pan-seared salmon (but with French lentils). They still serve a good chicken and sausage gumbo, alongside a solid brunch of chicken and waffles, shrimp and grits and corned beef hash, but it’d honestly be nice to get some beignets.

Google/Zagat

Parish’s charming exterior on North Highland Avenue.

By George

Photos courtesy of Curio Collection by Hilton Hotels

The Candler Building’s elaborate lobby.

Hugh Acheson isn’t new to opening a restaurant in or near a historic bank. Take for example his first Atlanta restaurant, Empire State South, which sits across the street from the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta. This time he’s in the Candler Building, completed in 1906 by Coca-Cola co-founder Asa Candler, who also put a financial institution of his own—Central Bank & Trust—on the main lobby floor of the 17-story tower.

By George, which leans into Acheson’s French cuisine aspirations, is the featured restaurant for the building’s new status as the Candler Hotel, part of Hilton’s Curio Collection.

The dinner menu offerings (the wonderfully tart steak tartare or the expertly prepared steak diane could both turn a vegan into a vampire) remind you that Acheson is clearly comfortable in his Canadian skin, and intends to set a new dining standard in downtown. Breakfast and lunch are also served, and superstar drinks-master Kellie Thorn is behind ingenious sips that make proper use of cognac, armagnac, and other French spirits.

Beyond the food, the space is surrounded by marble to a level you’re not likely to see duplicated in any new restaurant in or outside Atlanta, unless it’s by someone with Coke money.

Exterior detailing at the Candler Building.

Wonderkid

Sean Keenan/Curbed Atlanta

The former milk production facility’s revised facade.

Now that tenants are arriving in this Reynoldstown adaptive-reuse development, Atlanta Dairies is once again ready to milk the benefits of its funky Art Deco, Memorial-Drive-facing facade and prime Beltline location.

Beginning in the 1940s as a dairy co-op, it now houses Wonderkid, a classic diner from the teams behind such successful F&B brands as King of Pops, The Lawrence, and Bon Ton.

Chef Justin Dixon (previously at The Shed at Glenwood) turns out delicious interpretations of classics, such as the falafel waffle and roasted chicken pot pie, served from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. After that, the late night menu goes back to breakfast, and lets anyone that’s always rapped along with OutKast on the chorus of Rosa Parks but never actually tried fish and grits to get their fill. The cocktail program is also a standout, the beers range from wonderfully cheap (but still great), to Atlanta-based crafts, and it also has the distinction of being the first place in the world dishing KoP’s soft-serve, which is obviously apropos for the concept.

Livingston Restaurant + Bar and Edgar’s Proof & Provision

Proof & Provision

A social space with early 1900s origins.

The Georgian Terrace Hotel dates back to 1911, famous for a screening of Gone with the Wind that attracted major stars of the day, including Vivian Leigh, Clark Gable, and Lawrence Olivier.

Today, Livingston, an elegant two-story dining hall named after Atlanta’s 37th mayor Livingston Mims, attracts folks hungry for a Southern meal, from breakfast through dinner and on to brunch, with special pre-show dinner options for Fox Theatre ticketholders. For later-night bites and cocktails, there’s Edgar’s down below Peachtree Street, where bourbon and more is poured until midnight on weekdays, and until 2 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, for guests on black leather banquettes between brick columns.

Kimball House

Square Feet Studio

As the former depot was being transitioned from what used to be Depeaux.

While the controversial white paint might make it hard to envision Golden Eagle and Muchacho as a former train station built in 1891 (more on that in a minute), you can immediately tell that’s what Kimball House used to be, as you approach the formerly forest-green Decatur Square restaurant and bar at 303 East Howard Avenue.

Known for serving some of the best and freshest oysters in the city (apparently KH’s partners, who are also behind Krog Street Market’s Watchman’s, are soon to begin farming their own oysters in Alabama), it’s also notable because the details of the interior and exterior retain some of the energy of motion you feel in any transit station. The tiled floors, high ceilings and tall windows give the feeling that you’re passing through a place where people who make moves have been coming for years, and will continue to do the same.

Matthew Wong/Eater Atlanta

Kimball House’s throwback interiors.

Southern Belle and Georgia Boy

Southern Belle/Georgia Boy

There was a bit of a scare when The Plaza on Ponce (or Briarcliff Plaza, depending on whom you ask), was sold in 2017 to Charlotte-based Asana Partners, particularly among Atlantans who’re big fans of watching indie/campy films at The Plaza Theatre, preceded or followed by a sturdy meal at the beloved Majestic Diner, which itself has been serving customers 24 hours a day since the start of the Great Depression. Late last year, two new restaurants opened on the property: Southern Belle and Georgia Boy.

The former is a restaurant homage to the wife of Chef Joey Ward (a talented protégé of chef Kevin Gillespie), while the latter is a hidden entry chef’s kitchen with a mind-blowing tasting menu, which changes at Ward’s whim but has included such inventive items as a fully edible snow globe. And while GB’s aesthetic leans much more steely, Southern Belle’s lofty interior, including a tall, deep-blue-painted archway, exposed brick and original tin ceiling, make it feel like a dining hall that’s been ringing dinner bells much longer.

Krog Street Market

Asana Partners

The pioneering food hall’s main entrance.

It’s only right that Krog Street Market has high-quality restaurants, since the Beltline-adjacent building opened in 1889 as the factory for Atlanta Stove Works, where cast iron was used to make sturdy cooking ranges.

After a few years of operating as an early iteration of Tyler Perry Studios, the factory was purchased and turned into a market food hall, where today you can take almost anyone that’s hungry and be pretty sure they’ll leave satisfied.

From the impressive pizza pies at Varuni Napoli, to the seafood entrees, oysters and fabulous cocktails at Watchman’s (try the pineapple pancakes from their great new Sunday brunch), the top-tier burgers at Fred’s Meat & Bread, the always reliable dumplings at Gu’s, or the burns-so-good hot chicken at Richards’ Southern Fried, the only things that probably don’t taste good are the flowers, dog treats, and soaps from the retail stands.

Golden Eagle/Muchacho

Ansley Atlanta Real Estate

Back more than 80 years ago, when the Beltline was a two-word phrase, this Reynoldstown building was constructed as a train depot. After being abandoned in the mid-20th century, it sat vacant for decades until restaurateur Jerry Slater took it over and opened popular cocktail bar H. Harper Station in 2010.

While H. Harper sadly didn’t last long enough to see the arrival of the renewed, single-word Beltline (it closed on April Fool’s Day 2016), the space was quickly purchased by one of the owners of Ladybird, another Beltline restaurant and bar, and opened as two separate restaurants—Golden Eagle and Muchacho—in 2017.

There was a bit of controversy when the new owner decided to paint the brick building, but things have since calmed down, thanks to favorable opinions of GE/M’s ambiance. What also doesn’t hurt: breakfast tacos and coffee worth eating and drinking at Muchacho, plus Golden Eagle’s respectably delicious tavern food (prime rib specials on Mondays, whole cast-iron-roasted chicken) and very fancy cocktails. Spirits enthusiasts seem to agree that, while Slater’s drinks were stellar, Eagle’s beverages are similarly brag-worthy.

Andrew Thomas Lee/Eater Atlanta

The bar at Golden Eagle.

source https://atlanta.curbed.com/2020/1/29/21113875/atlanta-buildings-restaurants-architecture-history

#OliverAtlanta

[almostafantasia]

more than a name

wayhaught hogwarts au | chapter 1/?

Being an Earp at Hogwarts is tough. Being the youngest Earp and constantly living in the shadows of two older sisters is nothing short of a nightmare.

Willa, newly appointed Head Girl and Slytherin’s sweetheart. Wynonna, the notorious troublemaker who spends more time in detention than out of it. And then there’s Waverly, whose life crumbles into tiny pieces when she doesn’t get awarded the Prefect badge that she spent her first four years at Hogwarts striving towards.

Enter Nicole Haught – Hufflepuff, Muggleborn, and general bundle of sunshine – whose unexpected but not entirely unwelcome arrival into Waverly’s life puts Waverly on the path to discover who she is in more ways than one.

Read on AO3.

Waverly is pretty sure that the worst moment of her entire life takes place during the summer before her fifth year at Hogwarts.

It starts off as a normal morning, or at least as normal as a morning can get in the Earp household. Waverly wakes up to the sound of her sisters squabbling just outside her bedroom door and throws her covers off with a huff, rubbing at her bleary eyes as she crosses her room and flings open the door to investigate the ruckus.

The two older Earp girls are standing out in the hallway between Waverly’s bedroom and the bathroom opposite, Wynonna still in her sleep shorts and a tank top and Willa wrapped in nothing but a large fluffy towel, her hair still wet from the shower. The pair are engaged in a vicious argument and Waverly would perhaps be annoyed at them for waking her up with their raised voices, had she not become accustomed to the seemingly endless quarrels between her sisters during her fifteen years of life.

“…and you could get not only yourself but the entire family in serious trouble if you get caught!”

Leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest, Waverly’s emergence from her bedroom does nothing to stop the two girls from arguing, in fact it is almost as if they are so caught up in their heated debate that they haven’t even noticed her.

“But I’m not going to get caught!” Wynonna snaps back.

“You’re still sixteen, Wynonna. You know that underage magic is illegal.”

“Jeez, Willa,” Wynonna lets out a dramatic groan. “It was a joke. Lighten the fuck up!”

Taking a step forward to intervene, Waverly finally catches her sisters’ attention and they take a momentary break from their bickering.

“Do you two ever stop arguing?” Waverly sighs exasperatedly. “The day has barely even started, what is it this time?”

“She,” Willa steps in immediately, pointing an accusatory finger at Wynonna, “thought it would be amusing to summon my clothes out of the bathroom through the window while I was in the shower.”

“And it was funny,” Wynonna retaliates, rolling her eyes with an ease that comes from years of practice. “Until Willa started going on about underage magic.” Turning her full attention back to Willa, Wynonna adds, “They aren’t going to know it was me. We live in a house full of magic.”

“It’s the principle!” snaps Willa. “You need to stop being so childish the whole time and learn some responsibility.”

Wynonna opens her mouth to argue back and Waverly gets ready to step between her sisters in case one or the other of them decides to get violent (it’s happened before, and the result wasn’t pretty), but they’re interrupted by a shout up the stairs before Wynonna can get another word in.

“Girls, your Hogwarts letters are here!”

Willa scowls at Wynonna one last time and says, “Don’t think I’m done with you, Wynonna,” then strides down the hallway to her bedroom at the far end, slamming the door shut behind her with a bang that is just slightly louder than necessary.

“Man, I hate her sometimes,” Wynonna mutters under her breath as soon as Willa is out of sight.

“She does have a point thought,” Waverly reminds her. “When you leave Hogwarts you can’t expect to continue breaking all the rules and getting away with it.”

Wynonna frowns at Waverly and says, “Well maybe when I leave Hogwarts I’ll start following the rules. But until then…”

“Wynonna…”

Wynonna rests a hand on Waverly’s shoulder and the immediate effect of the gesture is that Waverly closes her mouth and stares up at her older sister, a worried frown etched onto her face.

“You’re starting to sound more like Willa every day,” says Wynonna, and Waverly stiffens at the words. As the youngest of the three, there isn’t really anything that she hates more than being compared to her older sisters and Wynonna knows that. It’s a dirty tactic, but Wynonna has never played fair before and Waverly knows better than to expect her to start doing so now. “Besides, you’ll get your chance to put me in line when we’re back at school. Come on, let’s go and get our letters.”

The seriousness of the previous conversation disperses as Wynonna nudges Waverly playfully with her elbow and the two girls to descend the stairs towards the smoky smell of cooked bacon.

“Stop it, Wynonna,” Waverly says, as she feels the anxiety bubble within her at the thought of what might be waiting for her in the envelope with her name on it downstairs. “You’ll jinx it before I’ve even read it.”

Wynonna just snorts.

“Waves, they gave me a Prefect badge last year. There’s no way that they aren’t making you one.”

Waverly smiles and shakes her head at Wynonna’s words. It’s one of life’s biggest mysteries – something that gets questioned not only in the Earp household but throughout Hogwarts too – why the senior members of staff at the school deemed Wynonna Earp, a notorious troublemaker since she stepped foot in the castle as a tiny eleven year old, more worthy of the title of Prefect than her other, more rule-abiding classmates. Waverly’s initial theory is that they misguidedly thought that giving Wynonna some responsibility would somehow also give her a behavioural awakening, though one only has to meet Wynonna (and Waverly is pretty certain that most of the teachers at Hogwarts have had Wynonna in their office at least once) to realise that a badge to pin on her robes isn’t enough to turn her into a model student overnight.

“Let’s hope so,” says Waverly as she follows Wynonna into the kitchen, where a pan of bacon is frying on the stove next to another pan of scrambled eggs that is stirring itself.

Their Aunt Gus sits at the kitchen table reading today’s copy of The Daily Prophet and, upon seeing the two girls, jumps to her feet and picks up a yellowing envelope in each hand, extending them out to her nieces. Her hands trembling with a combination of anticipation and excitement, Waverly accepts her own letter and sits down at her usual seat at the kitchen table.

Waverly knows that there’s something wrong the moment that she takes the letter. It is familiar – thick parchment for both the envelope and its contents, Waverly’s name and address printed in an emerald cursive on the front, and the Hogwarts crest stamped onto the seal – but it is too familiar, and that is what is wrong. There’s no extra weight of the badge that Waverly so desperately wants to find within.

Her heart stops beating for the long few seconds that it takes her shaking fingers to slip beneath the wax seal and peel the envelope open.

Inside are two neatly folded leafs of parchment and…

And nothing.

No shiny blue badge with the letter ‘P’ on it.

Waverly feels her entire world crumble around her as everything she’s been working towards for the last four year dissipates into nothing all at once.

From the seat beside her, Wynonna lets out a heavy sigh and tosses her own letter to the side as the pan of cooked bacon soars across the kitchen and begins to decant itself onto plates.

“Yet more spellbooks that I’m not going to read,” she says flippantly, stabbing a piece of bacon with her fork and lifting it to her mouth. She pauses with the fork at her lips, noticing the expression on Waverly’s face, and asks, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“There’s no badge,” Waverly says in slight disbelief. She’s spent so long dreaming of being a Prefect, years in fact, that she never once stopped to consider what she would do if she didn’t get the position.

“That’s weird,” Wynonna shrugs. “They must have forgotten to put it in the envelope.”

“No,” Waverly corrects her, “they didn’t forget. There’s no letter either. I’m not a Prefect.”

Wynonna drops her fork with a clatter and snatches the sheets of parchment out of Waverly’s hand, her eyes first scanning through the letter, then flicking through the list of school supplies on the second sheet.

“What?” Wynonna frowns, dropping the letters and picking up Waverly’s discarded envelope, as if there might be some big secret within that the youngest Earp has missed. “But you’re … but I’m a Prefect. Why wouldn’t they make you one?”

Though Waverly knows her older sister is in just as much disbelief as her and that her words are not intended to hurt, they sting her deep inside more than she’d care to admit.

“I bet they gave it to Chrissy,” she mumbles under her breath, fighting against the lump that threatens to form in her constricting throat, desperate to keep it together at least until she can excuse herself from the table and return to the privacy of her own bedroom.

Through a mouthful of bacon, Wynonna comments, “Her dad is Head of Ravenclaw, is that even allowed?”

Waverly shrugs dejectedly, but when she opens her mouth to respond, she can’t get another word in before a new arrival to the kitchen gets everybody’s attention.

“Good morning, Aunt Gus.”

Willa enters the kitchen, now fully clothed and her hair dry, shooting Waverly an insincere smile before glaring at the back of Wynonna’s head. Wynonna doesn’t even have to look at Willa to be able to sense the look of pure evil that is sent her way, and using some kind of magical power that Waverly thinks no book would be able to explain, Wynonna manages to choose the exact split second that Gus isn’t paying attention to send a rude hand gesture in the direction of her older sister.

Willa takes her seat opposite Waverly, helps herself to a slice of toast, and then, without about as much tact as a mountain troll, asks, “What’s wrong with Waverly?”

There’s a lump in her throat that is difficult to speak past and her eyes are trying to give way to tears, but Waverly answers anyway.

“They didn’t make me a Prefect.”

“Wasn’t it obvious they were going to give it to Chrissy?” snorts Willa, shooting a brief but scornful glance in Waverly’s direction that does nothing to improve Waverly’s mood. “Her dad is Head of Ravenclaw, after all.”

“Willa!” Wynonna snaps, jumping to her younger sister’s defence, and Waverly worries for just a second that her two sisters are going to start fighting it out over the breakfast table, not that it would be the first time that that has happened. Reaching a hand out and resting it on Waverly’s arm, Wynonna continues in a softer voice, “Don’t listen to her. Being a Prefect is shit anyway.”

Waverly knows that Wynonna’s words are filled with good intention, but with the disappointment at not being made a Prefect still stinging like a fresh wound, the lump lodged in Waverly’s throat just gets bigger as her heart clenches painfully in her chest.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Waverly chokes out. “You’re a Prefect!”

“And isn’t that the only proof you need that the title means nothing at all?” Wynonna attempt to reason.

“Look!” exclaims Willa, as if completely oblivious to Waverly’s disappointment, raising her own Hogwarts letter aloft in one hand and a brand new badge emblazoned with the gold letter H in the other. “I’ve been made Head Girl!”

It’s the last straw for Waverly, who pushes her chair back and gets up from the table, her bacon still untouched on her plate. With her eyes stinging from the onset of tears and an ugly sob threatening to rip from her throat, she races out of the kitchen and towards the stairs before the tears can start to cascade down her cheeks, vaguely aware of the way that Wynonna raises her voice in Waverly’s defence behind her as she goes.

“Willa, you insensitive piece of Hippogriff shit, can you not see that Waverly is upset about…”

And that’s the last thing that Waverly hears before she slams her bedroom door behind her and collapses face first onto her bed.

After a family trip to Diagon Alley the following day, during which Waverly says a total of about four sentences, she locks herself in her room with her new spellbooks for a week, only emerging for meals. She spend the first couple of days crying into her pillow, wallowing in her own self-pity as she wonders why it was decided last year that Wynonna, the epitome of irresponsibility, should be made a Prefect when she, a model student with a perfect set of grades and enough enthusiasm to keep an entire class of first years excited about their History of Magic homework for a whole term, should miss out on the position this year.

Once the initial shock has worn off (and her eyes have shed enough tears to fill the Great Lake at Hogwarts twice over), she keeps to her room almost out of spite. But the truth is that she doesn’t particularly feel like facing Wynonna, and she especially can’t deal with Willa flaunting her new Head Girl badge around the house, so she just settles for sticking to the familiar four walls of her own room and listening to her sisters squabble and fight over the most mundane things across the house.

It gets boring after a while, listening to Wynonna and Willa argue each day, a clash of personalities that has always sort of been there, intensifying in recent years as bitter house rivalry and Quidditch tensions get added to the mix. And it always follows the same narrative too; Wynonna does something that gets on Willa’s nerves, Willa scolds her for it, and then Wynonna refuses to take criticism from a sister only eleven months her senior and stubbornly fights back until on some occasions sparks literally do fly.

Waverly sometimes considers going against all her morals and breaking the laws of underage magic to cast a muffling charm on her door, just to get an hour or two of peace, but her judgement always wins out in the end. She’s too much of a goody two-shoes.

She’s too much of an aspiring Prefect, even after the rejection.

It’s almost a relief when September the first finally rolls around and the three Earp girls, along with three heavy trunks and three broomsticks and three caged owls, find themselves boarding the familiar steam engine for the beginning of another year at Hogwarts. She says “almost a relief”, because now instead of having to accept that Wynonna is still a Prefect and Willa is Head Girl, she gets to watch them fulfil (or in Wynonna’s case, complain about) their duties every single day.

And then there’s Champ. Waverly’s idiot of a boyfriend.

Waverly realises that “idiot” should not be the first word that comes to mind when she thinks of her boyfriend of five months and that alarm bells should be going off in her head at this, but in all honesty she’s too fed up to care. That, and said “idiot” of a boyfriend is currently pretty much the only person in the world who spares Waverly a second glance, even if she is fairly sure that most of the attention he gives her is in the hope that a couple of empty compliments and a bit of affection might be enough to earn him a quick handjob in one of the many broom closets at Hogwarts.

It’s just the two of them in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express, not counting Wynonna who has been dead to the world since about five minutes after the train left Kings Cross Station, sprawled across the seats opposite them with her mouth hanging open and her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. Waverly sits closest to the window, her head leaning against the cool glass as she stares out at the green countryside that passes by as the train travels north.

“It’s exciting to be going back to Hogwarts, isn’t it?” Champ muses aloud, and Waverly hums absently in agreement. “We get to see each other every day now.”

Waverly doesn’t respond. Her own excitement at going back to school has more to do with the fifth year curriculum; exciting new spells, more complex Potions, the introduction of a new runic alphabet in Waverly’s favourite subject - Ancient Runes. None of her excitement for the upcoming year is fuelled by the prospect of her relationship with Champ becoming more convenient than it was over the summer holidays.

Waverly is saved from having to feign enthusiasm by the arrival of somebody new when the compartment door slides open and Xavier Dolls, one of Wynonna’s friends, enters. If anybody can actually be called Wynonna’s friend. The select group that Wynonna spends most of her time with is made up of the few people in the school who are willing to tolerate her, rather than people who actively seek out her company and friendship. Dolls is one of the handful of people at Hogwarts that Wynonna hasn’t pissed off – or perhaps one of the handful of people that Wynonna has pissed off but not to the point where they dislike her as much as the rest of the school does.

“Earp,” he barks out in Wynonna’s direction. When Wynonna makes no response, simply letting out a soft snore as she continues to sleep on the seats opposite Waverly and Champ, Dolls huffs irritably and leans down so that his mouth is right next to Wynonna’s ear, before repeating much louder, “Earp!”

“Whaaa-?” Wynonna startles from her sleep, grappling for the wand tucked into the waistband of her jeans and pointing it at Dolls as she lurches up into a seated position. When she realises who has woken her, she lowers her wand and sighs, “What the hell, Dolls? You know not to wake me unless it’s an emergency!”

“It is an emergency,” Dolls informs her. “Your sister is losing it.”

Wynonna, eyes still hazy from sleep, turns her head in Waverly’s direction and arches her eyebrow, before the realisation hits her and she slumps back against the seats, rolling her eyes and letting out a dramatic groan as she does so.

“Oh, that sister.”

“Yes,” Dolls nods, with an impatient eye roll of his own. “The Head Girl. You were supposed to be at a Prefect’s meeting in the first carriage fifteen minutes ago. She says that you’re deliberately showing her up on her first day as Head Girl.”

As obstinate as ever, Wynonna simply quips back, “Then my plan to show her up every day as Head Girl is off to a fantastic start.”

“Come on, Earp,” says Dolls, prodding Wynonna’s shoulder with his hand. “Don’t make me carry you there.”

Wynonna gets to her feet with a groan of protest and follows Dolls out of the compartment, grumbling something that sounds a lot like “all work and no play makes Jack a dumb fucking loser” under her breath as she goes.

“I’m glad you’re not a Prefect,” Champ tells Waverly, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek, oblivious to the way that Waverly stares at the door her sister just left through with a look of saddened longing. “It means you can spend more time with me.”

Champ’s heavy arm around her shoulder feels like more of a burden than a comfort these days.

When Waverly was younger, she used to love being an Earp. The name was something to be proud of, descended from generation after generation of rogue dark wizard hunters with an infamous history that seems beyond thrilling to a curious nine year old with her own thirst for adventure.

Now, however, Waverly wishes for nothing more than a single week at Hogwarts where she doesn’t have the shadow of her own surname looming over everything she tries to do. Because not only is Waverly the daughter of notorious dark wizard killer Ward Earp, and the younger sister of Slytherin’s princess Willa and Wynonna the Gryffindor rebel, but she’s descended from the legendary demon hunter Wyatt Earp. And the issue with your great-great-grandfather having his own Chocolate Frog card is that there’s a lot in a name and people come to expect certain things from you.

Waverly still remembers a conversation she had with Wynonna on the first day of Christmas break in Wynonna’s first year at Hogwarts.

“I dunno,” she had shrugged, after Waverly pounced on her with excitable questions about her first term at the school before she’d even had the chance to brush of the ash from her Floo Powder journey home. “It’s alright. Weird though. I sometimes feel like people think they know me already, you know, because I’m an Earp. Like the teachers always expect me to be good at stuff straight away even though I’m not.”

And then she paused, before changing the subject with a wicked grin.

“Oh, but last week I accidentally set fire to half of Greenhouse Two and it was awesome!”

Waverly would like to think that she’s done a pretty good job at trying to forge her own path at Hogwarts. She started at the school four years ago as a tiny but determined eleven year old, adamant that she would not become what the rest of the school would expect of her. In fact, she can still recall the exact words spoken to her by the Sorting Hat as she sat on the little stool in front of hundreds of watchful eyes on her first night at the school, after she told it that she wasn’t like the rest of the Earp clan.

“No? Well there’s no doubt that you have the boldness of a Gryffindor, but you’re a curious little one too, aren’t you? Let’s put you in RAVENCLAW!”

The sigh of relief at not being placed in Gryffindor, where Waverly would almost certainly have spent her seven years at Hogwarts concealed from sight in Wynonna’s enormous shadow, had almost been enough to topple her right off the rickety stool with the Sorting Hat still on her head.

And so Waverly, who, as far as she is aware, is the first Earp to ever be sorted into Ravenclaw, started at Hogwarts with the resolute aim of proving to people that she’s more than just another Earp. She’s worked diligently in every subject, even the ones that she doesn’t enjoy as much as the others, and consistently scored grades within the top two or three students in her year. She tutors the younger students, she regularly helps to run both the school’s Wizarding Chess club and the Astronomy club, and she’s even attempted to start a school newspaper.

And yet, with a family name that has had an immense impact on the Wizarding World and two older sisters who between them could probably bring the entire castle crumbling to the ground, it’s still not enough.

Half of the school most likely hasn’t even realised that there even is a third Earp sister, and the half that has are probably just perpetually disappointed that Waverly is neither as popular as Willa nor as interesting as Wynonna. And it’s not even like she wants to have Willa’s Slytherin fan club or Wynonna’s notoriety, but it would be nice just every so often to be recognised for her own achievements.

To be known as Waverly and not as the youngest, least interesting Earp girl.

Waverly categorically hates Quidditch. Watching fourteen overinflated egos zooming around on broomsticks in the name of sport, putting on obscene displays of aggression for a crowd that seems to worship their every move, is not what she would describe as entertaining.

More specifically, Waverly hates the annual Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match. Because the only thing worse than house rivalry is sibling rivalry, and when two fourteenths of the players on the pitch are Earps, the clash between teams is guaranteed to be monumental.

In a delightful contrast to whatever carnage is taking place outside the castle, the silence in the almost empty library is complete bliss.

Waverly loves the library; the smell of old parchment, the cosy familiarity of the high bookshelves filled from floor to ceiling with thick leather-bound tomes, the flicker of candles across yellowing pages. The scratch of quills and the occasional flip of a page are the only sounds in what is otherwise complete silence. It’s Waverly’s personal haven.

On this particular Saturday, with pretty much the entire school wrapped up in their cloaks and scarves to watch the Quidditch match that unfolds outside, the library is empty but for two of them. Waverly recognises the other girl, a Hufflepuff who must be a year or two older than Waverly because she’s seen her around but never spoken to her before, and Waverly gives her a little nod of acknowledgement as she takes a seat a couple of tables away and spreads her work out in front of her to get started on her homework.

She’s been working for about an hour when it happens, in the middle of writing an essay for History of Magic with such vigour that the tip of her quill snaps and an ugly smudge of ink ruins her otherwise immaculate essay.

“Oh rats!”

Forgetting that she isn’t alone in the library, Waverly’s exclamation is a little louder than she intends it to be. She glances up, expecting to find the other girl glaring at her for the disturbance, only to find that she’s instead being smiled at, the other girl making a small gesture with her head to indicate that the disruption isn’t a problem, before returning her attention to her own work as if nothing has happened.

Waverly reaches down and fumbles around inside the satchel under her chair for a few seconds, and then when she is still without success, she pulls the bag out completely and empties its contents onto the table. The heavy thud of a textbook followed by the clatter of the rest of the junk in Waverly’s bag tumbling out once again catches the attention of the only other occupant of the library, and Waverly feels her cheeks burning in shame as she holds up an apologetic hand to the Hufflepuff.

“I’m sorry,” she says, in a whisper that is just loud enough for the girl to hear her.

Picking up her wand from the mess scattered across her usually impeccable work station, Waverly mutters an almost inaudible repairing charm under her breath and watches as the nib of her broken quill magically fixes itself.

The hairs on the back of Waverly’s neck prickle as she feels a pair of eyes burning into the side of her head and she looks up to find that the red-headed girl is still watching her with an expression of curiosity in her eyes. Waverly tries to hold her gaze, but can’t manage to keep it up for more than about a second and a half as the way that the corners of the girl’s mouth curl up ever so slowly has Waverly looking back down at the work in front of her as a pink flush rises to her cheeks once again.

When she dares to glance up a few seconds later, it is to find that the girl is no longer looking at Waverly, but the way that she studies her own textbook with the traces of a smile still crossing her face leaves Waverly all the more confused, like she’s missing out on a really obvious joke.

Waverly tries to push it out of her mind. This essay, then her Potions homework and the reading that she needs to do for Transfiguration – that’s all that should be important right now.

It’s harder than she expects to stop herself from looking up every other minute.

Waverly manages to work studiously for another half an hour, taking extra care not to damage her quill again so as to avoid embarrassing herself in front of the other girl any more than she already has, and she’s almost reached the end of her essay when a shadow falls over her desk. When she looks up, it is to find the red headed girl looking down on her, a friendly smile on her face.

“I’m taking a study break,” she says, quietly enough that her voice doesn’t really disturb the stillness of the library, not that there’s anybody else around to complain anyway. “I was wondering if you wanted to join me?”

Waverly spares a quick glance for the work spread out across the table, teeth digging into her lower lip as she considers the offer. Her head is telling her to politely decline – apart from anything else, she’s midway through a sentence, and probably only a paragraph and a half away from completing the current essay, and then she’s still got a sheet of homework questions to get done before Monday’s Potions class – but her heart, swayed by the hopeful look in the girl’s wide brown eyes, wins out.

“Why not?” she replies, setting the quill down carefully so as to not smudge any of the ink on her parchment, before pushing herself up to her feet.

“Great,” the girl smiles at Waverly. “I was going to sit out in the courtyard, unless there’s somewhere else you’d rather go.”

“No! The courtyard sounds good!” Waverly plucks her scarf off the back of her chair and holds it aloft for them both to see as she says, “Look, I’ve even got my scarf in case it’s chilly!”

“Wow, you are prepared!” the girl laughs, as the two of them make their way between the towering bookshelves towards the doors leading out of the library.

The courtyard is just a short walk away; through a door just down the corridor from the library and then down a narrow spiral staircase that brings them out right next to a gargoyle and into the covered walkway that surrounds the little square of grass. The redhead – who, Waverly realises with a startle, she is yet to properly introduce herself to – leads them through an ornate stone archway and across the grass, still damp with dew, to a bench that sits in the shade of a towering oak tree.

Once seated side by side, Waverly opens her mouth to ask her newest acquaintance for her name, but the other girl gets her words in first.

“So, you’re Waverly Earp.”

She doesn’t phrase it as question, but Waverly answers brightly regardless, giving a chirpy, “That’s me.”

“You’re quite a popular girl around Hogwarts.”

Waverly startles. There are many words that she would use to describe herself – determined, studious, enthusiastic – but popular is not one of them, not when she always seems to inadvertently do such an incredible job of blending into the stone brickwork of the castle walls.

“I am?”

The girl nods, and then continues, “Your father was quite a big deal. I’ve read all about him.”

Waverly can’t help the way that her insides fall at the girl’s words. She should have known better than to expect that the girl’s offer of companionship would be anything more than an attempt to pry into the life of an Earp.

“I guess so,” she shrugs dejectedly. “I don’t really remember him much. You probably know about as much about him as I do.”

“I’m sorry.”

Waverly pauses, deep in thought about her late father and how the things that helped her through the initial grief of losing her parents at such a young age, such as remembering the sound of their voices or the way they smelt or the feeling of having their arms wrapped around her, are now just a distant blur lost in the haze of a million other memories.

“Don’t be,” Waverly mumbles.

“The Earp name is a big one to live up to,” says the girl.

“You’re telling me?” Waverly snorts under her breath. She’s all too aware of what her name means, about how difficult it can be to try and live up to people whose achievements are always going to be wildly beyond her own dreams. “Well I don’t like to be restricted by a name. I like to think that I can make an impression as my own person.”

The girl’s dark eyes soften, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, before she lowers her voice and replies mysteriously, “That you can.”

Waverly blushes, unable to stop herself from feeling a little self-conscious about the way that the other girl looks at her like she knows something that Waverly does not. Eager to change the subject, she says hastily, “I’m sorry, here we are talking about me and I didn’t even catch your name.”

“I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught.”

“So, Nicole,” says Waverly, eager to lead the conversation away from her own family name. “Why aren’t you at the match? Not a Quidditch fan?”

“No, I love Quidditch!” Nicole says, her eyes widening in enthusiasm. She shrugs and tilts her head to the side, then continues, “But I fell ill at the end of the summer so I missed the first three weeks of term and I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Waverly. Reaching out to rest a hand on Nicole’s arm just below her elbow, Waverly asks, “You’re okay now though?”

“Yep, all better!” Nicole answers with a nod. “Just a bit of tonsillitis.”

“Tonsi-what?”

“It’s …” Nicole frowns as she tries to explain, “it’s a Muggle thing. A sore throat.”

“It sounds like it could be an ancient spell,” Waverly says thoughtfully.

“It does,” Nicole agrees with a laugh.

Silence falls between them and Waverly allows the atmosphere of the almost empty courtyard to settle in. The air is brisk but not too cold, though she is grateful for the warmth of the soft knitted scarf bundled around her neck, without which she would probably be shivering nd her teeth chattering together. While the courtyard would usually be bustling with sound, a common route for students passing through from one part of the castle to another between classes, with almost the entire student body out of the school, the quiet is a blissful contrast to what Waverly is used to. The only sign that the castle is usually full of life, other than the two girls who sit side by side on the bench, is the barely audible sound of the big crowd cheering in the stadium in the distance.

“So what about you?” Nicole breaks the silence.

“What about me?”

“Why aren’t you at the Quidditch match?” asks Nicole, tilting her head to the side inquisitively. “Aren’t both of your sisters playing?”

Waverly laughs under her breath and rolls her eyes, not even wanting to begin to imagine what kind of carnage might be taking place on the Quidditch pitch right now with her sisters competing against each other. If last year’s match is anything to go by (Willa ended up in the hospital wing with a bloody nose and Wynonna found herself in detention every Saturday morning for the rest of the month), then the game will probably be the topic of hot discussion throughout the school for the rest of the week.

“You just answered your own question,” Waverly tells Nicole. “If I want to watch Willa and Wynonna have it off against each other I only have to wait to go home for Christmas and I can watch it every day. The only differences are that today they’re doing it in front of hundreds of people, sixty feet up in the air, and Wynonna has a heavy bat in one hand.”

Nicole rests a sympathetic hand on Waverly’s arm, then laughs softly and says, “Wow, that bad, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Waverly nods. “I hate Quidditch in general but I loathe it when my sisters are both playing.”

“You hate Quidditch?” Nicole asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Fourteen egotistical jerks throwing balls at each other and chasing after a tiny golden flying thing and calling it entertainment?” Waverly snorts softly and then shakes her head. “No, thank you!”

Nicole doesn’t say anything at first, though she cocks her head to the side and arches a single eyebrow in Waverly’s direction. When she finally responds, she deadpans, “I play for Hufflepuff.”

Waverly can’t do anything but gape as her brain processes Nicole’s words. She replays her own last words in her mind and realises that she would be hard-pushed to say something more scathing about the Wizarding World’s favourite sport and those who play it, and as she realises that she’s just insulted her newest acquaintance quite spectacularly, her cheeks redden and she glances away to avoid having to make any eye contact with Nicole.

“I … uh, I didn’t … I had no idea!” Waverly stammers.

“That I was an egotistical jerk?”

Waverly looks up sheepishly, her teeth digging into her lower lip, before she says, “I didn’t mean it like…” Waverly sighs and then says, “You seem like a really nice person.”

“For a Quidditch player,” teases Nicole. She reaches out for Waverly’s arm again, resting her hand on Waverly’s elbow, then continues, “Don’t worry, I get it. Some of them are attention seeking idiots, and I get that it mustn’t be nice for you to have to watch your sisters show off in front of the entire school and get cheered on as they do it. Sport isn’t for everybody.”

“I…” Waverly trails off, staring off towards the far side of the courtyard as she continues to avoid looking at Nicole. “I insulted you and you’re still being so nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, Hufflepuff,” Nicole laughs, pointing at herself.

Waverly forces herself to smile too, though the contents of her stomach feel as though they are churning up deep inside with the mortification of what she said.

Eager to change the subject, Waverly says, “I should get back to studying.” Her eyes flickering up to meet Nicole’s, which are looking down at her with a dark intensity as if she is using them to search deep within Waverly’s soul, Waverly shrugs and adds chirpily, “Homework isn’t going to finish itself.”

Waverly thinks she detects a flash of disappointment cross Nicole’s face as the other girl finally tears her gaze away, getting to her feet and offering a hand out to help Waverly stand up from the bench too.

“Me too,” Nicole agrees, as the pair start to wander across the courtyard towards the heavy oak door that leads back into the castle and towards the library. “It’s been nice to meet you Waverly, even if your views on Quidditch are horribly misguided.”

Following Nicole inside, Waverly concedes, “Well maybe I was a little bit wrong.” With Nicole’s eyes back on her as they walk, a frown etched on her forehead as she silently asks for an elaboration, Waverly continues, “You’re not what I expected from a Quidditch player.”

They re-enter the library and Nicole ripostes, “And you’re not what I expected from an Earp.” With a soft smile on her face as she takes her seat surrounded by heavy books once more, Nicole raises a hand in a jovial wave and says, “See you around, Waverly.”

Waverly isn’t entirely sure how to process Nicole’s parting words – she’s spent years trying to prove to people that she can be more than what they expect from her family name and finally here is somebody who is telling her that she has achieved just that – but as she removes her blue scarf and sits back down at her table to complete her History of Magic essay, Waverly can’t help but cling onto that tiny bit of hope that this isn’t that last she’s going to be seeing of Nicole Haught.

See you around.

#wayhaught #wayhaught fanfic #waverly earp #nicole haught #wayhaught fic #hogwarts au #almostafantasia #wayhaught hogwarts

[idolizerp]

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON MIDAS MEDIA TRAINEE XUEFENG…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 22 TRAINEE SINCE: 20 SKILL POINTS: 03 VOCAL | 08 DANCE | 00 RAP | 04 PERFORMANCE

INTERVIEW

it’s a problem, really. having to stick to an image and perform it well. but this is the industry, and the industry is built on expectations and crafted ideas, yet he doesn’t mind. the one thing they tell him is to be well-behaved, and a little more considerate. they can’t afford another article on behalf of a silly idol running his mouth about a male idol being utterly good for nothing, but it’s his visuals that save the group from tanking.

it’s not a bother when they’re thrilled by his wittiness and sharp tongue, though it’ll become an issue if he’s not careful. to many, his playful mischievousness isn’t taken well. with all the subtitles in the world and multilingual fans, inside jokes between hopeful trainees become tweets to be analyzed on twitter.

the company entertains the idea, but only cautiously. they need somebody a little playful and with a dash of dark humor, self-deprecating or not, and just the right amount of it.

but they like it when he’s modest and generous. it’s an amusing contrast to threatening his equals after practice, pinching at their cheeks and asking if they’re still working on losing their baby fat since it shows. sometimes he cares for others a little too much and forgets his own priorities in the dust. he’s not afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve and be vulnerable, as there needs to be a reminder that he’s sensitive. it’s relatable, and it’s a method for the fans to be engaged with him and take his side of sympathy.

they’re almost done, outlining the new rookie male idol with unpredictability and wary disobedience. “are you comfortable with your body?” he answers well to go along with their speculations, and it’s not because they care about what xu xuefeng has to say in butchered syllables. he gets complimented on his physique, the diet plans and workout routines are working. be a sex symbol, but execute it tastefully, do it with rhythm. the key is to be effortless. an ill-timed appeal can quickly become cheap.

they praise him for his natural attributes, yet he’s seen at a disadvantage. he’s from mainland china, his language skills is not quite there yet, and he’s been reprimanded far more harshly than his korean peers. they want to market him to the vast chinese public, and representation is powerful when anybody sees themselves in a place where they don’t dominate. that’s where the money is, and he has to work ten times as hard and complain less when his muscles ache.

BIOGRAPHY

beijing, china (home)

home, a strange sanctuary it was.

half controlling, partially comforting, yet incomplete. the person of authority whose voice would carry from floor to floor was none other than mother. embraced by the heart of the city, home stood as a desolate structure in the middle of traffic.

“don’t raise the heater’s temperature than seventy-five degrees, it’s gonna cost the heating bill.”

“how do you expect to fit in the next recital’s costume if you’re eating like shit?” “your skin is so dark, it’s almost like you’re dirty.”

“only animals lie down after eating.”

the walls were cold. ventilation was poor, and the floorboards often creaked when xuefeng made midnight visits to the sink when in need of drinking water.

there was always dinner cooking on the kitchen stove.

beijing, china (beijing dance academy)

the stage had the same amount of sentiment and nostalgia, very similar to the essence of a close friend. he’d revisit it, on and off, through the changing of seasons, old and young. he was no stranger to the art of performance, being one of the many passionate bodies swaying down the wooden flooring. “it’s a curse!” he’d exclaim. “i have nothing else to contribute to the world but dance, nothing else. and it’s so hard to make a living out of an art, what if i die of poverty before age thirty? my mom wants me to go to a good university and study something like business or accounting, but i hate numbers and technical fields.”

this is his life, and it’s all he has. not that he’s incredibly bothered by it, no. the imprisonment of having to go to school and land a corporate career right after, very much unthought of.

“do you see now? do you see how useless i am?”

beijing, china (beijing dance academy)

“if your son fails to raise his gpa to a minimum of a 2.0, he may not be able to graduate and walk the stage.”

it’s embarrassing. the feeling of the headmaster’s room is stuffy and uncomfortable. xuefeng’s eyes tread everywhere but the focus of the subject that lies in front of him, his transcript and grade reports.

though it’s nothing new. being met with disappointment in one semester or another, in another time or to be saved for the future. and it’s always like this. all dance and no study. he’d rather work at the corner vendor selling kebabs on one of beijing’s most populous streets than be in the books.

it’s a shame, really, as mother would say on the ride home from school. “i sent you there to study. and i’ve always told you, academic first, dance second. you can do anything when you have high marks, you can study anything when you make the grade. now what are you going to do? it’s unlikely to make a living out of dancing, and you know that.” god you have so much talent but you’re but so fucking stupid, and he’s clinging onto his final year of high school with a pinch of hope.

she turns at an intersection.

“well, you could pursue a career in dance. it’s just that you’d be starving on top of having to pay student debt after attending a performing arts university.. that is, if you can make it with these grades.”

his mother is nowhere to be found on graduation day.

beijing, china (wangfujing street)

“here’s my card.”

the oil popping isn’t a match for the searing heat of the weather. he slides off his gloves and steps away from the small vendor. his curiosity has been well endorsed now, taking the stranger’s business card into his hand. “an entertainment agency, huh?”

“we have weekly to monthly auditions and we’re always looking for–”

xuefeng flips the card around and in attempts of handing it back, he gives a shakes his head. “i don’t think i’m cut out for that,” he interjects. “here.”

the agent is incredibly persistent, and he’s positive that those alike her must be trained in a course for being relentless. “please, just give it some thought.” her smile is molded to guarantee.

seoul, south korea (gangnam-gu)

delete. delete. delete.

scroll.

delete.

fingers tapping haphazardly against the cracked screen of his phone. on occasion, he has to refresh the front page of weibo. in one entry he’s calling a girl from so-and-so’s group a visual hole and in another, he vows to marry either fan bingbing or zhang xinyu, whoever is objectified first by the male gaze.

he finds a few posts that he was tagged in by friends from months to years ago, and stares at the image until a weight of nostalgia drops in his stomach. it’s difficult to turn in bed with a sore lower back, and it’s not healing any faster as his days are spent under the control of mentors, as ruthless as they come.

but that’s not the point.

scroll.

delete. delete.

he hovers above the deactivate account button. not quite yet.

seoul, south korea (gangnam-gu)

Z1ZZXFG

2-12 from iphone 6s

if koreans don’t like chinese idols proudly claiming their chinese heritage, then maybe talent scouts should think before collecting chinese kids off the streets like action figures

korea spends so much money sending their idols to china, making singles in chinese and hosting concerts in china.. yet, they send death threats to li yutang after stating he wishes to go back home for lunar new year

china rivals japan in the amount of how much korean idols sell, without our money your plastic idols would die of hunger!

seoul, south korea (gangnam-gu)

the washer machine located in the basement of the company’s building broke. a fellow trainee who often reminds xuefeng of home offers to take a trip to the local laundromat, two stations away from the dorms. “it’s an hour by walking distance,” he says, time provided by google maps.

on the train they board, with bags heavier than what they intended to bring.

“shouldn’t we be practicing speaking in korean?” he asks.

“for what?” xuefeng chuckles, “we’re brothers. of course i’m going to talk to you in chinese.”

learning to speak any language is a habit, something that he has yet to obtain. instead, he puts korean on the backburner, a silly choice especially if he wishes to debut.

they’re loud and boisterous and comfortable on the way, everything that breaks the known train etiquette in a country that’s not theirs.

you can’t put lipstick on a pig after all.

#id.bio #id.midas #id.trainee #id.zhu zhengting

[haleeskitchen-blog]

New Post has been published on http://haleeskitchen.com/finding-jamaica-in-upstate-new-york/

Finding Jamaica in Upstate New York

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[Photographs: Gus Aronson]

This sprawling city on the Hudson River, just 100 miles north of New York City, shares one thing with the faraway capital of Jamaica—its name. Home to just over 23,000 residents, Kingston, New York, is a jumbled mixture of architecture and history: limestone houses from Dutch colonial times, and more modern ones built during the rush of wealth brought when IBM opened a manufacturing plant in the ‘50s. Today, in a place that has seen extremes of both wealth and poverty, there are dimly lit bars and craft breweries, cheap dives and upscale bistros. And there is Top Taste, Kingston’s only Jamaican restaurant, owned by Albert Samuel Bartley and his wife, Melenda.

Bartley, in his mid-50s, is tall and handsome, and prone to interrupting his sentences every so often with a booming laugh. He favors brightly colored button-up shirts, which he wears beneath a crisp white apron. Most of Bartley’s customers know him as Sammy; some just call him Uncle. The tiny corner building—painted yellow and green, the colors of the Jamaican flag—is nestled into a residential neighborhood at a nondescript four-way intersection.

Bartley at work in his kitchen.

You know that Top Taste is open for business as soon as you crack your car door and hear the dancehall music blasting from inside: Fiwi Linkz, an app on Bartley’s old Blackberry, lets him stream all the best Jamaican stations from back home. Damian, Bartley’s adult son, is out back, putting chicken quarters on the grill to smoke. The scent of charred Scotch bonnet peppers wafts up from the coals and snakes around the block.

Bartley grew up in Clarendon Parish, on the south side of Jamaica. As a child, he loved to cook, and his grandmother was a very good teacher. “I would do most of the odd parts,” he recalls, including grating the coconut that his grandmother would then mix into a thick batter for her famous coconut cake. He woke up every day looking forward to his school’s cooking class: “When I was in Jamaica, if you wanted me to go to school, you got to put me in the kitchen.” After school, Bartley was right back at his grandmother’s stove, preparing plates of food and selling them to the local mechanics. Those offerings included typical Jamaican dishes like jerk chicken, rice and peas, and plantains, along with some of his personal favorites—barbecue chicken and mac and cheese.

In his 20s, Bartley moved to the Bronx, where some of his family already lived. He got a job at a canning factory and worked there for nearly 30 years. When his employer relocated to Boston, Bartley called it quits and moved to Kingston, preferring the slower speed of life he saw there.

But there was another noticeable difference about this new city. Strolling through the Bronx, Bartley could always find markets stocked with goat, oxtail, and cow’s feet, plantains, pigeon peas, and every sort of spice and herb he needed to cook his favorite foods. Home to America’s largest Jamaican community, New York City held nearly all the flavors of his home country. In New York’s Kingston, Bartley had to search harder for a taste of home.

A few months after moving, Bartley saw a “for sale” sign in front of the building that now houses Top Taste. “Wow, this would be a nice place to open a restaurant,” he thought, and just like that, Bartley bought the building.

A few of the signature dishes at Top Taste, including Melenda’s whole fried fish.

Even for a seasoned professional, opening a restaurant is a gamble. The risks are much steeper for someone who has never worked in, let alone run, an eatery before. But, while Bartley had never held a restaurant job before opening Top Taste, he had spent his life cooking for people. Keeping customers well fed was not a challenge. What was hard, he says, was handling the piles of paperwork and taxes that came every month. “Taxes to pay, insurance to pay. We just keep all those things in our minds and keep on going all the time…” Bartley trails off. It has never been his favorite part of the business.

A sign above the shop’s door advertises Top Taste as a takeout restaurant, though visitors can also eat at one of two tables squeezed into the tiny storefront. Often, deep in conversation with Bartley or Melenda, customers will unpack their to-go orders and eat while they talk. Both tables are stocked with hot and jerk sauces and glass containers full of a spicy mixed pickle—Scotch bonnet peppers, ribbons of carrot, and chopped onion—in a brine of white vinegar, peppercorns, and allspice berries. Melenda says this “pickling pepper” is meant to be ladled over a whole fried fish, which is one of her specialties. Taped to the wall behind the cash register, next to a photo of Obama, is a neon green poster board scrawled with the day’s menu. Curry goat, jerk or stew chicken, and oxtail are always on it, served in heaping portions alongside peas and rice, plantains, and a gently steamed cabbage salad.

Melenda fills a to-go container.

There would be room in Top Taste for more tables, but the rest of the space is taken up with an ice cream freezer, a coffee machine, shelves of chips, two large beverage refrigerators, and a glass counter case bursting with candies. On top of this case is a large bowl of fruit and a freshly baked rum cake, courtesy of Melenda. A set of shelves above one table is loaded with Bartley’s favorite Jamaican hot sauces and seasoning blends. As Melenda clears your plate, she might give you a piece of fruit, on the house. “Something healthy for the road,” she’ll say, patting you on the back.

In Jamaica, Bartley says, it’s not unusual for a restaurant to double as a convenience store. Some Jamaican customers expect Bartley to stock all the same goods they found in restaurants back home—“beer, condoms, and cigarettes,” Bartley laughs. “You’d be surprised what people ask me for.” While he doesn’t sell those things, Bartley does offer plenty of esoteric ingredients, like Tastee Cheese, a processed white cheese packed in shallow cans. “This is the best cheese!” one customer proclaims as he walks out the door with a to-go container of curry goat. Damian says Tastee Cheese is usually paired with a fruit-filled, heavily spiced bread, called “bun,” which Melenda bakes on special occasions. Squeezed in among a pile of candy bars in the counter case is a jar labeled “ackee in brine.” A mild and buttery fruit related to the lychee, ackee can be found everywhere in Jamaica. The country’s national dish is ackee that’s lightly cooked, gently stirred, and served with rehydrated salt-cured fish.

When Bartley isn’t in his narrow kitchen chopping cabbage or onions, or out back grilling jerk chicken, he’s talking with his customers. Two girls from the nearby high school come in for lunch, and Bartley brings them their food. He asks what they’re cooking for the holidays, and laughs when they respond to his questions in their impression of a Jamaican accent. “People just come and sit down and have a soda and chitchat,” says Bartley. “I talk to them, they say to me, ‘Man, you cheer my day up’…. I love it.”

While many of Bartley’s customers are Jamaicans yearning for familiar dishes, non-Jamaican locals have gotten hooked on the place, too. David Edwards, a deacon at the neighborhood church, was born in New York City but has lived in Kingston for 35 years. Since he first found Top Taste, Edwards has come in for oxtail as often as he can, and slowly turned more and more of his church onto Bartley’s cooking. Today, he’s picking up lunch for the bishop. “Whenever the bishop comes,” Edwards says, “she takes four or five of these plates of food back with her.”

Jezzy talks Top Taste and ackee.

As the lunch rush at Top Taste ends, a man named Jezzy walks in. Bartley pokes his head out of the kitchen to wave hello. Jezzy moved to the US from Jamaica when he was three years old; now in his mid-20s, he does construction work nearby and comes here for lunch nearly every day, usually ordering Melenda’s whole fried fish. On days when he feels like eating at home, Jezzy comes to Top Taste to buy ingredients like ackee, which he can’t find anywhere else nearby. “In Jamaica, you’d have sheetrock on the roof,” says Jezzy, when I ask if this restaurant resembles the spots he loves back home. “They wouldn’t have the money to put up concrete, so they’d just put up zinc. But inside, the food and the way it’s set up, is the same.” To buy the goat, oxtail, and other hard-to-find products he needs to make his customers’ favorite dishes, Bartley drives the four-hour round-trip to and from New York City every two weeks.

When Bartley first opened Top Taste, he brought his pastor along to give his blessing. Even then, the pastor saw the tiny restaurant’s potential: “The pastor looked at me and said, ‘I see you branching out to a bigger place.’” Now that Top Taste has attracted a ferociously loyal following, Bartley has been thinking about his pastor’s words. “If I moved to a bigger place,” he muses, “I would put more food. Stew peas, barbecue chicken, onion roasted chicken, macaroni and cheese, yam, banana. All the things I could have for them to eat right now…” Melenda pops her head out of the kitchen, where she’s just pulled a batch of plantains off the stove, and says, “We make everything with love.”

Asked if he misses home, Bartley replies with little hesitation. “I love it up here.” With the grill fired up, dancehall radio on loud, and door wide open, Top Taste isn’t just a taste of home. To Bartley, and so many of his customers, it is home.

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