parishumial

[gregmarriage]

really think i need to make more irl friends, but it feels so impossible. like most of the ppl my age seem to only hang out in bars, and it’s like sorry, i’m uncool and can’t drink, bc i’m on medication. and making friends via dating apps or something similar is abysmal. so, i’m kinda stuck imaooooo

[violetmuses]

Armando Aretas + Receptionist!Reader ❤️‍🩹

Part II ❤️‍🩹

@amethyst-loves-bucky @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @kindofaintrovert 🏷

=======

2024

“Rise and shine.” Smiling past Florida brightness, you reached the Miami Police Department.

“Good morning.” Detective Marcus Burnett greeted you first.

“Skittles for breakfast?” Knowing Burnett's sweet tooth, you laughed after organizing the entrance desk.

“Very funny, but no.” Marcus chuckled. “All jokes aside, I need to tell you something. It's important.”

“Is everything all right?” You squinted when Marcus walked over.

“Armando's joining our team today.” Marcus eased his tone and revealed that news just in case.

“Wow.” You whispered, preparing yourself for almost anything.

After facing many questions or encountering different secrets over time, Detective Mike Lowrey stood as the biological father of previous criminal Armando Aretas.

Before you'd speak with Marcus again, Mike's famous Porsche rolled near the curb.

“Act cool. Don't be nervous.” Marcus looked out for you no matter what.

“What's going on?” Removing sunglasses, Mike pulled his chance to wake up the building.

“Hi, Mike. Thank you!” Lowrey surprised you by exchanging this beverage from the local coffee shop.

“No problem, Early Bird.” Mike acknowledged one of your nicknames.

“Have a good day.” You grinned and planned to work again until “someone else” turned the corner.

Armando.

“Hey.” Slightly accented English rasped when you glanced near Aretas.

“Hello. Welcome.” You stayed cordial for obvious reasons.

“Thanks.” Armando expressed gratitude and noticed your presence before heading elsewhere with Mike and Marcus.

Here we go. You thought.

______

Countless responsibilities guided your footsteps all day long.

“Uh-uh, slow down! Cap your desk and go eat something.” Mike caught you working right before lunch.

“Yes, Boss.” You know so much better than to debate Lowrey, especially following Marcus's heart attack.

Burnett suffered that health scare when you attended Mike's wedding not long ago.

“Come with us, it'd be nice.” Mike even suggested riding in his classic Porsche. “I'd give you the passenger seat, but Marcus got old.”

“That's a good one, thanks.” Humored, you gathered essentials after shutting work down for the break.

Just when you headed back outside, Armando stood near the car.

Given no other choice, you both crammed the “non-existent” back seats of Mike's Porsche and rolled out when Marcus fastened his seatbelt.

“Sorry.” Armando glanced in your direction for a moment.

“It's okay.” You said.

“How long have you been there?” Aretas mentioned your work for the police station.

Your voice grounded more truth right now. “I know Mike and Marcus like the back of my hand. You're new.”

“Be careful, man. She don't play about us.” Speaking with Armando, Marcus turned his head from the passenger seat and acknowledged your friendship.

“For real?” Armando questioned you once more just as everyone reached this parking lot.

“They'll always be my friends.” You offered the truth and joined lunch.

_____

All four of you took places while seated at this local restaurant.

Your smile picked up whenever Marcus talked, but Armando remembered the past.

Too many comments or weird rants played out during that large-scale McGarth mission.

Now, you, Mike and Marcus seemed privy with bonding that Armando hadn't realized.

Damn. Aretas mused.

“He's stubborn, too.” Marcus gestured near Armando and referenced Mike.

“What did you do?” You gaped toward Armando with questions.

“Nothing.” Armando shrugged and you laughed once more.

Soon enough, that quality time zoned much better than expected.

Leaving the restaurant, Armando whispered to you again.

“Call me?” Aretas gestured his hand.

“Maybe…” You fooled around and planned to complete work like any other day.

______

Ordering dinner for the station, you're thankful beyond words as some rare balance welcomed that chaotic place. Time still pulled long hours, though.

“Busy right now?” Armando's voice reached your path quietly.

“What's going on?” You've casted both eyes toward the ceiling.

You're so cute like that. Armando thinks.

“It's getting late. Do you need a ride home?” Aretas pointed backwards.

“Drove myself this morning.” Your own car waited in the parking lot.

“Good point, but I don't trust anything.” Armando stepped closer.

“Driving Mike's Porsche?” You shut down work again as remaining officers started to leave.

“As long as you just follow me there.” Aretas nearly flirted.

“Deal.” You exited the precinct without telling anyone and drove your car, trailing Armando beneath moonlight.

*****

Meeting the doorstep, Armando guided you upfront this evening.

“Thanks for helping.” You've stood on that porch together while this RING Camera picked up imagery.

“You're welcome.” Aretas nodded and you finally took out your phone, exchanging contacts.

[novlr]

How do you make readers see that the characters you are writing about have a platonic relationship not a romantic one without writing he's a father figure to her or someone asking the question ‘why you two are not together?’ To which they reply something which implies they have a platonic relationship. Like how to show without saying or writing particular words?

This is an excellent question with many layers. I’ve addressed elsewhere how to write long-established loving relationships where I explored romantic vs companionate love. Let’s dig deeper into emotional intimacy, which I see as the basis for both platonic and romantic relationships. But first, let’s take a detour into authorial intent.

Authorial intent

I think every writer has experienced that moment when a reader latches onto something in the work – a relationship, a plot point, a world building thread – and runs off in a direction the author did not intend. Witness the wild and prolific world of fanfic.

I take it as a compliment that people connect with my work and expand on it in their own imaginations. I admit to sometimes being puzzled by where they go with it. Recognizing this happens can save you a lot of headaches.

That obviously platonic relationship you wrote? There will be readers who will, in their own headcanon, make it romantic. Not what you wanted, and it can be frustrating, especially if you are trying to explore platonic relationships. My advice is to shake it off and don’t worry about it. You can’t control how others relate to your work or what speaks to them. 

With that out of the way, let’s talk about ways to clearly signal which type of relationship it is and how to avoid signaling that you really intend for it to be romantic at some point in the future.

Platonic vs romantic relationships

Start by thinking of the various platonic relationships in your life and that you see around you. Observe people in coffee shops, parks, restaurants. Can you tell by watching which people are in romantic relationships and which are good friends? What are the differences you see between friendships and romantic relationships?

Look at personal space, eye contact, nicknames, the patterns of speech used, and how they touch or don’t touch one another. This also needs to be looked at through the lens of what is appropriate for the given culture. Now think about best friends. This is a very common platonic relationship. What does that look like?

It’s easy to see how the two types of relationships can be confused. Both are often lifelong and carry a lot of emotional intimacy. What secrets does your best friend know about you? Who do you go to when you need to solve a problem? To further complicate it, many people consider their romantic partner to be their best friend. Think of it as a Venn diagram. There is a lot of overlap between platonic and romantic relationships. 

Show vs tell 

So how does an author signal its platonic and not romantic? You can, of course, just tell the reader that X is Y’s best friend and there is no romantic attraction. Does the reader believe you? Let’s look at a few ways you can show that is the case. 

Are either of them in a romantic relationship? Have them discuss their lovers past and present. 

A corollary to the above – have one act as the other’s wingman in a social situation.

How are you describing physical contact between the two? How does a platonic hug differ from a romantic one? Do they link arms when walking? How is that different from how they would do so with a lover? 

Give them more of a sibling vibe, and think about how siblings treat each other. 

How do your characters feel about romance in general? Is one or the other asexual? 

Emotional intimacy

Whatever you do, don’t shy away from writing about emotional intimacy. Have your characters share their problems, feelings, and secrets. How do they help one another or get in one another’s way? How do they joke with each other? Then find ways of showing how they do that differently in a romantic relationship. You can also do that with secondary characters in your work who are in a romantic relationship. That contrast will help make your point that it’s platonic. 

Finally, it is absolutely ok if you don’t want to write about romantic relationships at all or you are writing an asexual character who would never have a romantic relationship. You can still do the compare-and-contrast to background characters or social expectations. A quick line here and there will also cover it. Asexual characters can express how they just don’t feel attraction or are disgusted by romance or certain types of physical contact. You can have someone ask, “Is this your boyfriend/girlfriend?” and have your character respond. It can be an opportunity to show how they imagine that scenario.

[egcdeath]

secret santa

pairing: ransom drysdale x f!reader

a/n: this is so self indulgent. SO SELF INDULGENT. more self indulgent than anyone will ever be able to comprehend. before u all read this, i want u to know it was originally supposed to be about training ransom at a job, but then i realized that i nothing about 1. working at a coffee shop and 2. training an employee. also, i am the worst at writing dialogue. so i didn’t write a lot of dialogue LMAO enjoy :)

also, half of this was written at 1 am. just a warning

warnings: coffee shop au, enemies (kinda) to lovers, a lil fluff, not really angst but bitter feelings, kinda slow burn and then all the sudden a fast burn i’m sorry 😭

word count: 2.6k

You woke up to the sound of your alarm rumbling your bedside table sometime around the asscrack of dawn, and rubbed your eyes with a groan. Sometimes, you really couldn’t stand your job, but bills didn’t really pay themselves, did they? You rolled out of bed, and began your dreaded morning routine before heading out to start your opening shift at your local café.

Somewhere between warming up the espresso machine and taking out last night’s trash (which you shouldn’t have had to do in the first place), an older, yet expensive looking car pulled up to the front of the parking lot. You were a bit confused, as you’d never seen this vehicle, and it was quite clear that you weren’t exactly open yet. You watched as a tall man hopped out of the car, wearing a large peacoat and very unnecessary sunglasses. He approached the door, gave it a knock, then waited for you to come open it for him. Reluctantly, you made your way over, and in order to keep yourself safe, began to speak through the glass.

“Can I help you?” You asked in an annoyed tone, then gestured towards the piece of paper that labeled your hours on the door. There was no reason for any customer to be here this early. You looked up at the mystery man and made a rather intense eye contact with him. If this was any indicator of your crowd today, work was going to be far from pleasant.

“Yeah, I was told that I’m starting today?” He had a wicked smirk on his face, like he knew he was getting under your skin already. You hated people like him, and couldn’t believe that he could possibly be your coworker. On the bright side, he probably wouldn’t last long in the first place.

“Well, are you sure you’re here on time? I can’t see any situation where Melissa would schedule to open for your very first shift.” You commented with a furrowed brow.

“Eh, I kinda just figured I’d come in whenever. The girl in my bed was an early riser, so I thought to myself ‘Why not just come in now?’” He said casually.

“Your name?” You inquired, trying to keep your annoyance to yourself, and put on a customer service smile.

“Hugh, or Ransom,” he responded. You turned around, allowed yourself a huff and eye roll, then walked through the kitchen, and into the break room to check if he truly was a new employee, or just some random creep. Sure enough, a bright pink post-it note in very neat handwriting confirmed this man’s existence. You made your way back to the door, unlocked it, and let him in.

“Since you’re here, you should… set down the chairs,” you told him, less than entertained by his presence. You could just tell he was bad news. This Ransom guy was like the textbook definition of a red flag. He talked your ear off while you tried to get through your opening routine, some casual remarks about his last hookup, complaints about how he only got this job because his mother was a regular and good friends with your manager, and how he was threatened to get cut out of his grandfather’s will if he didn’t get employed soon, and what better way to spite your family than to mess up their daily coffees.

Eventually, a few more of your coworkers, along with your manager, Melissa, made it to the café before the morning rush began. You were sitting down at your typical barstool spot, and sipping an iced Americano when Melissa broke the news to you that you would be training the new employee. Upon hearing the news, you audibly groaned, and rubbed your forehead. There was no way that you could handle this man.

-------

During his first week, Ransom not only managed to offer (and successfully give) six customers his phone number, break two mugs, mess up more orders than even Euclid could comprehend, and spill straws a multitude of times all over the floor, but he began to flirt with you relentlessly. You had no idea why you’d become his new target of choice, when it was clear that he could have literally anyone he wanted. Maybe he liked that you were playing hard to get.

If you were being honest, you had to accept that he was handsome. And rich. And the definition of a fuckboy. And since you were being frank with yourself, you had to acknowledge that you were attracted to that ‘toxic and will treat you like shit’ kind of guy. You had a roster of ex boyfriends to prove that for you.

---

It was a pretty slow Tuesday afternoon, which meant you were sitting on your phone until a customer placed an order. Eventually, the little bell above the door chimed, and an older man came through, ordering a dark and bitter drink, then standing by the counter to wait. You began to restock lids while Ransom took care of making the drink, and once it was ready, you passed it over to the man. The man in question took a rather large sip, then promptly spat it out.

“What the fuck is this!” He roared, barely giving you time to react before he proceeded to toss the drink at you, spilling most of the hot content on your apron.

You gasped, gawking down at your scorched and ruined clothing, then up at the customer, who’d turned around with a huff and left, leaving a stream of strong language on his way out. You bit back tears at the whole fiasco, and cringed as both the steamy drink, and your salty tears stung different parts of your body. You turned to look at the barista, who had passed you along the drink, and were met with no other than the white devil himself. It seemed that all the blood had drained from his already otherwise pale face.

“Oh my god, this is all my fault,” he began remorsefully. “Let me make it up to you somehow.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, running a hand through your hair, and shoving Ransom angrily while you more or less stomped into the staff bathroom.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and frowned before bringing up your bundled apron to your face and screaming into it. Stupid fucking customers. Stupid fucking job. Stupid fucking Ransom. It’s like he came to your job just to make it hell. You were tired of cleaning up all these messes for him, and honestly, you wish he’d just quit already. The longer you worked with him, the more tempted you were to pour sugar in his gas tank, then take a club and break all the windows in the Beemer.

------

For the next month, your brain was completely elsewhere at work. Your brain was constantly going back and forth with you between finding Ransom hot and horrendous. While the pair of you finished up closing one night, you heard your coworker begin to speak to you as you placed your hand on the keys in your pocket.

“I know you hate me, Y/N. I get it. What that guy did to you was awful, and yes it was my fault, but what else have I done to hurt you?” He asked, seemingly out of the blue. You weren’t even sure how to respond. Ignoring the man and demonizing him in your head had become almost a second nature. “I mean, I think we could’ve been good friends. Even though you seem to think I’m devil incarnate, I think you’re a pretty cool chick-“ he continued before being cut off by you.

“Why do you even care?” you burst out, “Ransom, you just don’t get it do you? You’re just.. a douchebag. I get it, you have your moments where you’re candid and open with people, but half of the time you’re talking, you’re objectifying someone. Or bragging about something you own. Don’t get me wrong, I could get past what you did to me on accident, but you seriously have to work on yourself,” the words just seemed to pour out without your control. “Goodnight, Ransom,” you said simply before leaving the café for the night.

——

Since that day, the tension between you and Ransom had evidently become more thick. Since he was finally finished training with you, you made sure to only speak to him if you absolutely needed to, and even then, you only communicated with him in brief and straightforward answers. Sure, it seemed like a small thing to be upset about, and sure, he’d apologized, but something told you that any excuse to stay away from Ransom was a good excuse.

Though he appeared to be an immoral and selfish man, he seemed genuinely sorry for all that he’d put you through. Occasionally, you’d be sitting in the break room and look up from your phone to see him watching you. When you’d make eye contact, he would look like he wanted to say something to you, but your petty ass would leave, or look back at your phone. He was bad news anyway.

Your boss quickly caught onto what was going on between the two of you, and usually, Melissa didn’t like to participate in petty drama, but your new sour mood was such a stark contrast from before, and it seemed to shift the whole mood of the café.

That afternoon, Melissa called for a team meeting a bit before closing, and suggested a family dinner along with a Secret Santa. She’d said something along the lines of ‘It’s been way too long since we’ve done a team bonding activity, and a gift exchange is perfectly fitting for the Holiday season.’ This did make you perk up, as Melissa had a great taste in restaurants, and you were always down for a good gift exchange.

Melissa then told everyone to write their names down, then put them in a decorative Santa hat. You and your coworkers obliged, then began to pass around the hat once again in order to draw a name. You really hoped to get Xavier. You had the perfect idea of something he’d love. As you drew a piece of paper from the hat, you imagined the matching pair of fluffy socks for a human and dog that you’d passed by during your last trip to Target. You began to unfold it, thinking of what color he might like the most, when you looked down and saw ‘Ransom’ drawn out in chicken scratch.

You tried your best to mask your annoyance at who you received, but on the inside, you were seething. You mentally cursed the universe out while you pulled on your coat, and grimaced to yourself once you got out to your car. How were you supposed to get this asshole a gift?

—-

The week leading up to the exchange went fairly well for you, although it was getting a bit exhausting to be so mad at Ransom all the time. You tried to be less harsh with him, considering you needed to learn more about him in order to get him a somewhat decent gift for your exchange.

He’d seem to have taken your conversation with him to heart, and began to talk less and less about other girls when he was working with you. He didn’t comment on how well your jeans fit you, and you noticed that he’d often overextend himself in order to help you with (pretty basic) daily aspects of the job. Ransom would ask you questions about yourself, and your family, and speak less about himself. If you were honest with yourself, he was becoming a better man. And the best part was, he seemed to be doing it just for you. The thought of which brought heat to your face.

—

On the night of the exchange, you threw on a hideous and scratchy Christmas sweater before picking up your neatly wrapped gift for Ransom. You truly hoped that he’d like it, even though it certainly wasn’t the most expensive item. You bid farewell to your cat, then went on your way to the restaurant. You had to admit, you were a bit late. So it should’ve been no surprise when you arrived, and found that the only seat left at the table was next to Ransom. You gave him a cordial smile before sitting down and ordering yourself a glass of Merlot.

Something about being so close to him was kind of riling you up. The strong timbre sent coming off of him was making your whole body feel slightly warmer than normal, and you tried to ignore this strange sensation while you talked and joked with your coworkers. At one point, Ransom leaned in nice and close to you, and began to speak to you.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as hideous as Karmen’s sweatshirt,” he whispered right into the shell of your ear. Maybe it was the wine talking, but that simple action sent a whole chill through your body, and made you flush even harder than you’d flushed before. You let out a little giggle and nodded in agreement, looking across the table at her very ugly sweater.

“To be fair, the whole point of this was to wear something really ugly,” you turned your head back to where it was before, only to find that Ransom had somehow moved even closer to you.

“I just don’t know where you find something like that,” he commented, gazing much too deep into your eyes. You swore you felt the room shift after he began looking at you like that. There was about a 20% chance that you’d be able to keep your panties on after this kind of exchange. Luckily for you, a waitress broke the tension for you, setting down a few plates for everyone, then bidding them farewell. Damn.

The food was amazing, and didn’t last very long, meaning that it was time to pass gifts around sooner than later. You watched as Amy received a gift card from Sophie, Emily opened a plethora of chocolates gifted to her by Melissa, and Xander whiffed a candle given to him by Kennedy, then, it was your turn. You glanced around the table before you felt the arm next to you reach down, then hand you an oversized gift bag.

“I hope you like it,” Ransom said with a shy smile. You casually felt your cheeks on your way to pull out the very large item. You found it was a very large, and soft, hand knit blanket. It looked like it could’ve cost a small fortune, and you immediately found yourself embarrassed.

“Oh wow. This is perfect! Thank you so much,” you grinned over at your coworker, who seemed to be blushing himself. “Well, I guess I should probably give you this then,” you chuckled awkwardly before passing him your wrapped package. He tore it open barbarically, then began to laugh. Of all the gifts in the world, you two had gotten each other somewhat similar items. Sure, it wasn’t hand knit with the love of some grandma who ran a small business on Etsy, but it was the thought that counts.

“I love it, Y/N,” he exclaimed, looking deep into your eyes once again. He ran his fingers through the soft fabric, then set a hand on your arm. In that moment, it felt like time stopped. It was just you two, sitting in a quiet room, enjoying the presence of each other. You don’t even know what had gotten into you, but before you knew it, you felt a nose pressed up against yours, and a billion butterflies erupt out of your stomach. You heard a few grimaces from your coworkers at the sappy, Hallmark-like moment but what could you say.

Maybe Ransom was not that bad after all.

[malikmata]

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like  “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

[alemuse]

mirror.

who: avery lee, marley rose, veronica york. 

when: sometime after thanksgiving. 

where: a coffee shop, then a park.

what: a confusion leads to a very public and dramatic scene, but ends up with three friends made and a tentative couple. 

"You will like this place" Marley's smile was warm and bright as she lead Avery to a table inside the small coffee shop. The both of them had taken a break in their days, thankful that Chicago paparazzis weren't big on following people, and had found that little corner to spend some time together. Marley could not be happier that they could hang out, specially after the disaster that was Thanksgiving. "We could come here more often" The brunette pay no attention to the door of the place opening, too content with spending time with Avery to notice her surroundings.

For Veronica, the story was completely different. She was taking on the phone, already brining her own cup of coffee since she hated the cheap version they sold in this sort of places, when her ex-girlfriend had appeared in front of her yes. After everything she put her through for not wanting to move to America, there she was, happily talking with some common looking girl. It made her see red in a second and before she could thought better about it, Veronica went closer to their table. "How dare you to be here? How the fuck do you have the audacity to move here after fucking everything?" She knew she was making an scene, but she couldn't care less. "Was all of that a lie? Were you coward enough to lie just so you could get ride of me? Are you that fucking low?"

Although she had been living in Chicago for a while now with the rest of the group, she hadn't really had the time to sightsee, to find a restaurant or coffee shop that could brighten up her darkest days. When she mentioned that to Marley, it was almost as if a spark had lit up within her, her eyes had brightened and she'd gotten so excited to take her that she couldn't help but smile as well and allow the older girl to show her her favorite place. It was nice, of course, quite quaint but homey all at the same time. As much as she liked the Rose family - even the troubled younger Rose - Avery would much rather spend her time with Marley; they just clicked in every way and she never found herself wanting to be elsewhere.

They'd been laughing at one of Avery's on-stage mishaps when a woman came up to their table and started berating her. Her smile quickly faded and her brows furrowed as the woman cursed, making a scene in the quaint café. "I..." Avery trailed off, unsure of what to do. "I apologize, ma'am, but I think you've confused me with someone else." Avery was shocked, looking around the café and hoping no one would take out their phone and snap a picture of the moment. She was unsure if this was some paparazzi trick or if Felicia had put her up to this as a prank of some sort; it seemed like the sort of dark humor Felicia would find amusing. "Would you like to take this outside, ma'am?"

Veronica couldn't believe the nerve that Hye-Jin had to deny knowing her. Was it because of the girl she was with? If Vero was someone else, she would for sure believe the sincere confusion on her face, but she had been around her ex-girlfriend enough to know that she was the best actress in the world. It was making her anger boil and as soon as the words came out of Hye-Jin's lips, Vero's hand found life on it's own, landing right on her ex girlfriend's right cheek.

The place stayed in complete silence.

"You can play stupid as much as you want Hye-Jin, but absolutely everyone here is gonna know the utter piece of crap you are. Specially that stupid girl that you are tricking. What has she told you about me?" Her eyes moved to Marley. "That I was the insane ex that wanted to bring her to America? What excuse did she make to be here after she lead me on for five fucking years?"

Marley didn't understand what was happening, but she only knew that she was too stunned to reply to anything that the other girl had said apart from "Her name is Avery" She whispered lightly, hiding her lips.

Although the impact of the other woman's hand against her cheek hurt, it was her sister's name falling from her lips that made Avery tear up. She and Hye-Jin had been inseparable growing up - sisters, best friends, partners in crime. "Ji-Hyunya" Avery would hear her say, the youngest Lee allowing herself to be vulnerable, "- we'll always be best friends, right?" Avery wanted to keep that promise, but with the time difference, Hye-Jin's growing resentment that she wasn't in America and was in South Korea instead, and all of their inabilities to travel for years thereafter... well, needless to say, they hadn't been in contact in years. Avery had been twenty years old the last time she'd been in Korea; neither her mother nor her sister wanted to talk to her, neither of them ever said they were proud of her.

Hye-Jin had been bitter and resentful; it was no surprise that she'd hurt the woman before her.

Avery was broken out of her thoughts when she heard Marley whisper something, her cheek now hot both from the pain and embarrassment. Marley had witnessed all of this. She sighed, looking around the café and shaking her head when she noticed someone had pulled their phone out. Avery hoped that Mr. Harrison would be understanding and wouldn't punish her if this were to be posted online.

Sniffling, Avery pulled her ID from her purse, showing it to the woman. The woman was clearly hurt, angry, and everything in between; she hoped this would help her see that she'd gotten the wrong twin. "Hye-Jin is my twin sister" Avery said in her native tongue, feeling quite odd about speaking in Korean to someone other than her father, "she lives in Korea with my mother. I'm Ji-Hyun. I'm guessing she and mother never spoke about me." She quickly switched back to English, so Marley would understand what was happening. "I'm sorry my sister hurt you."

Veronica had never loved anyone in the way that she had loved Hye-Jin. Her entire heart beat for the other girl and then sun shinned because of her; she was everything Veronica wanted and loved, just to be taken away in a second. The other girl had never felt the same, not as strongly, but she was drawn to her like a fly, being too close to the fire but being unable to move away.

Avery, the other girl had called her and she had to smile, thinking in how the lies had gotten even bigger with time, until she was actually pulling an ID that said the same. It did not make sense, a twin sister?. Since fucking when? Neither Hye-Jin or her mother had mentioned anything, but it was true. "That doesn't make any sense" She was so confused, hurt and embarrassed and she now couldn't help but see the way some people were recording everything that was happening. "I... I'm so sorry"

Marley had stayed away from the whole thing, unsure in how to react, but it was enough. Surely, the girl stood up and made her way to Avery, softly pressing her hand against the other's arm. "I think it's best if we leave, Av" Her eyes moved to the other girl, trying her best to offer some kind of smile. "Since this has all being a misunderstanding, I think it would be for the best if we talked in a more private space. Would you like to come with us?"

Avery could see a million emotions in the other woman's features and she couldn't help but feel for her, knowing Hye-Jin had continued the life she'd built as a bulldozer with no regrets - running over everything in her path and leaving nothing but destruction behind. When Marley said it was time to leave, Avery nodded and slowly stood up as she took a deep breath, knowing that since she was a public figure, she needed to do some damage control. "I apologize for the misunderstanding" she apologized softly, though loud enough for the patrons and employees at the coffee shop to hear, "everyone's meals are on me." She made her way to the register and pulled out five one-hundred dollar bills, handing them to the cashier. "- for the inconvenience and ruckus I've caused. I apologize. It won't happen again." As always, she took blame for everything; she'd been taking the blame for Hye-Jin's antics since birth... why not continue it now?

Walking over to the other two brunettes, she plastered a small smile on her features and motioned toward the door. She and the woman had much to talk about, but she felt much safer and comfortable with Marley there - she hoped the older woman would stick around, though she wouldn't blame her if she chose to go home instead after witnessing everything. "There's a park nearby or we can go to my apartment." She couldn't look at the other woman in the eyes anymore. Avery didn't want to see the pain and hurt again. "Are you free, Marley?" she asked, hoping she would say yes but giving her an out if she didn't want to join them, "or do you have a writing session this afternoon?"

Marley watched as Avery went to pay for everything, smiling softly at the antics of the other girl. It was just an Avery thing to worry about everyone's level of comfort, when she was the one who had being slapped just moments before. "Is she saying the truth?" Veronica's voice brought her back to where she was and nod, sighing lightly. "She is Avery, I can tell you that for sure. I also knew that she had a twin back home" Av had mentioned her in passing, nothing too specific and now Marley saw why. "I'm sorry you had to go through this."

Veronica didn't understand how these girls could be so nice to her after what had just happened. They had no fault in whatever messed up situation she lived with Hye-Jin, and now she had publicly embarrassed this Avery girl for nothing. Yet, neither of them were screaming or hating, but offering her an understanding she wasn't sure she deserved. "A park would be alright" Being out in the public would give her some kind of patience to deal with this whole thing.

Marley was surprised that Avery would even ask that, considering she had no intention to go anywhere.  "I have nowhere else to be, don't worry about it" Slowly, Marley took her hand and intertwined their fingers, giving it a little squeeze to show her support. She would be burning red in another situation, but there was no time to those sort of things. "Let's go then"

Even though Avery was still embarrassed and her cheek was still warm from where the woman had slapped her, she couldn't help the genuine smile that pulled at the corner of her lips when she felt Marley intertwine their fingers. It was just what she needed right at this moment, something to ground her, especially since she knew she was about to have a tough conversation with a woman who'd been hurt by her twin sister. As they walked to the park in silence, her hand still in Marley's, she thought back on the woman's words and pursed her lips as she remembered her mentioning her sister leading her on for five years. Five years. The woman wanted Hye-Jin to move to America with her, but her sister had refused and Avery couldn't help but wonder why. Avery sighed at the thought and led the other women to an empty picnic table nearby.

Before the woman spoke, Avery cleared her throat so she could speak first. She knew the woman would probably apologize again, though there was no need for that. Avery understood where she was coming from. "My father and I left South Korea when I was young. I've lived here since then - well, Los Angeles, not Chicago. Hye-Jin remained with my mother in Busan and then moved to Seoul years later after mother got a promotion. As we grew up, we drifted apart. Hye-Jin was bitter that I was here, I suppose, that I was living my dream... she became someone I couldn't recognize. She resented how our lives had turned out." Under the table, she reached for Marley's hand again, giving it a squeeze before she addressed the woman across from them again.

"I haven't spoken to Hye-Jin in years. I'm not surprised she hurt you, though. She always hurt the people closest to her. I apologize for that. You seem like a lovely woman and I... well, you don't deserve whatever she did." She paused, smiling as she held out her hand. They hadn't even had time for introductions. "Lee Ji-Hyun. Avery, here in the States. I wish we'd met under different circumstances."

Veronica wanted nothing but to run away as fast as she could from these two girls, specially from the one that looked so much to the girls that haunted her nightmares. She thought she was over the whole thing, a horrible thing that happened in the past, but the way that she had reacted told another story completely. The girl was still hurt, maybe she always would be, for what Hye-Jin did to her. It wasn't only the way it ended, between screams and angry words, but the way the other had always thought about what they had as nothing permanent. She always knew Veronica would move to America and she never said anything, until there was a ring and a proposal and the only word that came out of her lips was no.

The walk to the park was silent, her eyes moving from the floor to the way the other two walked beside one another. They seemed happy with each other and Veronica was happy that at least, Avery had some sort of support in this horrible moment. Why were all those people taking pictures of her? God, what have she done? She didn't have time to wonder about it, because then Avery was telling her story and it all made sense in a way it never did before. That was the reason, and it only made Veronica more ashamed of what she had done, specially when the other girl seemed to be nothing but extremely nice. She couldn't help but stare at the hand that was offered, in complete disbelief that she could be forgiven that easily. "I slapped you" Her voice was strained and she could barely keep it together. "I hurt you and you are so nice, god, I'm so sorry" The sob came out of her lips without her being able to stop it. "You... You just looked like her and I embarrass you in front of all those people"

Marley couldn't help but feel incredibly sorry for the stranger girl and she could do nothing but stand up and wrap her arms around her, eyes moving over her head to see Avery. "It was... Not very nice of you, but Avery is fine. Everything is fine, we understand, right?

Avery shook her head when the woman apologized, hoping that she wouldn't continuously beat herself up over a simple mistake and misunderstanding. There were a lot pieces missing so Avery couldn't put the whole picture together yet, but she knew that the woman had been hurt tremendously by her sister; she couldn't blame her for seeing red as soon as she saw the face that had hurt her. "You don't have to apologize" she tried reassuring her, though she knew it would take more than simple words to get her to change her mind, "I know she hurt you. You saw me and thought I was her and you just reacted. Anyone would've done the same thing."

A smile pulled at her lips as Marley got up to comfort the woman, nodding at her words and offering the woman a small smile. "Everything is fine, I promise. We understand." She realized that some people were looking at them, and she couldn't help but sigh. This was going to be everywhere. If it wasn't because she had been slapped at the café, it would be because she was holding hands with Marley. Again, she had to hope Mr. Harrison would be understanding.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Avery asked, though she didn't really want to hear what her sister and mother had been up to. Then again, she wanted to make the woman comfortable and distract her, hoping she wouldn't notice people around the park looking at them.

Veronica felt better in Marley's arm, feeling a comfort she hadn't let herself get since the whole incident happen. Once her proposal had been denied, she had gotten all her stuff and flight away alone, leaving her old life behind. Friends, family; everything that could remind her to Hye-Jin was left forgotten in the back of her mind, ready to never be brought up. Here in America, it was all about her work and the new friends she had made at work, nothing else.  Still, these two girls had opened a door that needed to be open.

"I asked her to marry me and she said no" It was hard to look at Avery when she said it, but Veronica did her best. Beside her, she felt Marley's eyes holding her a little bit tighter. "She said she would never move to America and I didn't know why but... I guess I know now" She cleaned her tears with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself a bit. "I didn't even now you existed and I'm just... So sorry to both you and your girlfriend. I really am"

Marley's cheek went from normal to red in an instant, but she gave Veronica a warm smile. "It's fine, there is really nothing to be worried about. We have all cleared the air" She refused to look Avery, probably because she would combust if she did. "But we should warn you about... There may be some reporters that will come to ask you things at some point"

Avery sighed, recognizing how hard it must be to talk about Hye-Jin when she looked the same as her. In some ways, she felt guilty. Guilty because she'd been so wrapped up in wanting her dream to come true that she immediately jumped at the opportunity to live in America. Guilty because her father wanted her dream to come true as well, but he knew how hard it was to become a pop star in Korea. Guilty because she wouldn't change her mind, no matter how many times her mother and sister begged her to stay and begged her to get her father to change his mind. Guilty because she left them behind. Guilty because she was thriving.

Cursing her fair skin, Avery felt her cheeks and ears heat up at the assumption that Marley was her girlfriend. Neither of the two corrected the woman, and Avery didn't know what to make of it. Instead, she nodded. "You really should stop apologizing, you know? It's not your fault. We've cleared the air and I know why you did what you did. I know what happened. I know what led you to see red when you saw my face. I'm okay with it." Her cheeks were still warm, her ears felt like they were on fire. As much as she wanted to comfort the woman, she couldn't help but wonder if she and Marley actually did look as if they were in a relationship.

"Ah, yeah..." clearing her throat, she looked around and frowned. People were still looking at them. "Everything will end up online in a few hours. You'll be recognized, I'm sure. I apologize for that. I'll talk to my manager and boss and hope to put a statement out by tonight. Just, uh... make your social media accounts private for a while, yeah?"

Veronica knew that her confusion and shook were presented and showing on her face, mostly because she didn't understand what they meant. Marley kept looking around to the people that was looking at them, but Vero didn't understand why other people would be hating her over this. "What? What would it end up online?"

Marley was a bit surprised that the other girl didn't recognize Avery, but she guessed not everyone was too into the pop scene. "Avery is part of a band and they are very well known. They are actually really good" She couldn't help but flash a grin at her friend, or well, her girlfriend apparently. "Sometimes fanbases are a bit harsh so that's why we are telling you this. We wouldn't want this to be a problem for you"

Veronica was surprised and managed to make a little bit of smile. "That's really nice. I didn't know, I'm sorry again. I'm... I work as a classic pianist and I don't really listen to music with actual lyrics. That's kind of why I'm on the loop"

Avery could feel the tips of her ears burn when Marley mentioned that the group was 'really good', clearing her throat as she tried not to smile too wide. "She's being modest, you know..." she trailed off, though she kept her eyes on Marley the entire time, "she's one of the reasons we've become so popular. Everyone seems to love the lyrics she writes for us." She couldn't help but gush; maybe she'd make Marley blush too. Avery couldn't help but sigh after a moment, though. "I'll try to calm the masses, I promise."

She perked up slightly when she mentioned piano. "I played piano for a while, until I was eighteen or so and everything was kicking off for me professionally." She wondered what had brought her to Chicago, of all places, but didn't ask. They barely knew one another. "I'm impressed. Piano is... difficult."

Unsure of what to do about the situation, she debated with herself for a moment but stayed put. It would probably make things worse to try to comfort her, especially since she looked like her ex. "I hope we can at least be acquaintances?" She asked, her tone showing she hoped for just that. "I know it could be difficult for you and I'd understand if you'd rather not, but... I think we can get along."

Marley was surprised to hear Avery mentioning her being modest but the rest of her explanation made her blush instantly. "I try to write my best lyrics for you guys" God, what was she doing? Flustering so hard for comments that her friend made on daily basis, but now with other person present, it felt completely different.

Veronica thought it was sweet, that the two girls were so into each other. It was literally obvious for everyone that would see it from the outside. "It is difficult, but I've been playing since I was five, so I barely notice it anymore" The keys were part of her now, just like her fingers were. In fact, sometimes, she felt incomplete when she was away from her instrument.

"I'd like that" Her smile became more sincere, letting out a sigh of relief. "I know we don't know each other but you have been really kind about all of this. You both have" Veronica turned to look at Marley, offering her a smile as well. "I'd like to have some friends here in Chicago"

Avery couldn't help the small smile that pulled at the corner of her lips when she realized Marley had gotten as flustered as her by a compliment, a few words that she'd said to her before. She glanced at the other woman, wondering if this exchange made her believe even more that she and Marley were dating - a fact that she didn't mind.

"Maybe we can play something together?" Avery chuckled at her own suggestion, adding, "-though I can't promise I'll actually be good." Even though they'd met through unfortunate circumstances, the hope for a new friend made her smile. "We can hang out. I may not know Chicago as well as I know LA, but I can try to show you around." She reached across the table and squeezed her hand softly, "You have two friends here. I promise."

[iammultifandomaf]

Chapter 4 - Italy

BROTHERHOOD

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12211562/4/

Finally, Stiles and Lydia were about to fly away on their little trip to Italy. It was quite exhausting for both of them, mainly because Lydia had to repack their suitcases in order to fit into the prescribed weight that the airline had for their planes, and their flight was early in the morning. Stiles made them several sandwiches the day before for breakfast and for later at the airport which was very useful when the time came.

Their flight took around long nine hours which were filled with talking, reading, movie watching and of course, sleeping. Lydia brought a special book with her by Barbusse with the childish stubborness that she can also read such a book as John. After several chapters, she understood why the bearded man said what he said. It wasn't a relaxing book, indeed.

When they finally arrived to the airport, found their luggage and bought a Starbucks coffee, they exited the huge building into the chilly weather outside. The couple didn't have a precise plan on how to get to their hotel, so they kept standing at the sidewalk for a while, looking around at the unknown surroundings.

Stiles noticed a taxi at the corner and nodded to it. "So, let's take that," he suggested but Lydia didn't answer. She was staring in the opposite direction, not listening to whatever Stiles had said. She suddenly turned her head to her impatient boyfriend and asked with a chuckle: "What?"

"I was just asking if-"

Lydia understood at once what he meant and cut him off: "Don't you wanna rent a car? I could drive if your bottom is too lazy."

"What? I'm not lazy, I don't know what you're talking about."

"So, let's rent a car, huh?"

And so they rented a Škoda Octavia, silver color. Lydia quickly hopped into the drivers seat whilst Stiles put their suitcases into the trunk. He sat down next to his girlfriend who was already impatiently drumming her fingers on the leathered wheel. Stiles withdrew a small map from his jacket pocket and laid it open in front of him. Lydia stared at him in disbelief while he was studying the map through.

"You are kidding, right?" Lydia chuckled at Stiles who raised his gaze from the cartography lying on his knees.

"Did I say something funny?" Stiles said with feigned bewilderment.

"We are living in the information age, you know that right?" she asked and reached for the map to confiscate it but was tenderly struck by his fingers.

"Don't you touch my map, missy. I know what I'm doing. I'll just look at the map for a bit and then I'll know the way for sure. I had lived here anyways. Or did you let this tasty detail of my past slip your mind already?"

"Well, no. But-"

"So gimme a sec, sweetie," he said with a smirk and returned to his careful map-reading. In several minutes, he swiftly packed his map into his pocket, again, and began instructing the slightly impatient driver.

Lydia was quite surprised by Stiles' good memory because he seemed to remember a lot of places, streets, shops and even the round abouts, even though he had been living elsewhere for such a long time.

After a half an hour full of detailed directions, they arrived to the Hotel Pfösl. Lydia pulled up in front of the building, letting Stiles to get out of the car and fetch their luggage from the trunk. Whilst he carried the baggage into the lobby, Lydia found a nice spot to park in.

When Lydia finally came to the lobby, Stiles had already prepared all their documents needed for the check in. The process of checking-in was rather smooth and fast and the couple landed in their room with the number 1936 which made Stiles for some reason snort in amusement. Lydia arched her eyebrow at him but he simply ignored her and entered their room.

Being the time for dinner, they decided to visit the village where the hotel was located in and find a nice-looking restaurant. After a few minutes of walking, white cold snowflakes began to fall down at their heads, so they run into the first pub they had encountered.

As they sat down, a grumpy waitress approached them and asked for their order which was way too fast for the couple and Lydia just pointed to the table across the room and confidently said: "We'll have what they're having."

The woman with the roman-shaped nose rose her eyebrow and looked behind her shoulder to see whom Lydia meant. She shrugged, visibly exchanging the position of her chewing gum in her mouth, and left. Stiles watched her go and then returned his focus on his redhead in front of him.

"She was nice," he said with a smile which made Lydia giggle a bit.

"The nicest of them all," Lydia agreed and glanced over the bar where the waitress stood at the beer pipes, watching back at their table. Lydia abruptly looked away and said with a whisper: "I think she's checking you out. I guess she sensed out your italian origins."

An entertained smile grew on Stiles' face as he continued to play this game. "Then you ought to be extra careful that she doesn't lure me away."

"No way she's doing that!" Lydia said and let her fist hit the table in an appropriate volume.

The evening passed quickly and their food was eaten with admirable speed. The couple ended up drinking their alcoholic beverages. Lydia was swallowing down her beer whilst Stiles studied his fourth glass of wine with his hazels.

"She really stares a lot," Lydia commented the impolite behavior of the grumpy waitress.

"Some people tend to stare," Stiles said, not giving the woman much of a thought.

"Is it possible that she knows you?" Lydia asked, creating a small fictional image of small Stiles with missy grumpy together in her mind. Stiles turned his head around to look at the personnel behind the bar and then shook his head: "Nah... Would have remembered such a glamorous person."

Lydia paused for a while, recounting the amount of wine Stiles had had and blurted out a question:"Are you still in contact with somebody from here?"

"Hm, not anymore," Stiles said, appearing a little sad even.

"But you were...?"

"Um, yeah. Of course."

"What happened?"

"We went different paths I'd say. More like he chose to leave but I guess he didn't have a choice. I don't even know anymore."

"Why did he leave?"

"Uh, my life situation changed and suddenly it wasn't quite suited for... um, his way of life? Not sure how to explain it. So he left."

"Were you close?"

"Very."

"What a dick."

"Come again?" Stiles' eyes widened in surprise, not expecting this reaction.

"You just don't leave when it gets tough. That's so coward-ish. Like what the hell? Whoever it was, he left you when you went through a change or whatever. He was supposed to stay and support you. Gosh. I hate these selfish kind of people."

"Hm," he hummed and looked down at his glass. Lydia decided not to dig into his friendship which had fallen apart and changed the topic to more joyful things which created the usual smile on Stiles' face.

After they finished their drinks, the couple headed to their hotel through the dark of night. Lydia clung to Stiles' forearm and giggled at his monologue he was having about how he loathes today's technology.

At once, Stiles grunted with pain as something hit the back of his head and he fell on Lydia who tried to support his weight with all her strength whilst she looked around for the attacker. Behind them was a man with a baseball bat and a woman with a revolver in her hand, directed at Stiles. Lydia tried to stand up but was stopped by the woman: "You stay down, redhead. Let go of him."

Lydia ignored the command she was given and squeezed Stiles even tighter. Stiles' vision came back to him and he started to move as well but he only got struck, again, which was the last thing he was conscious of.

"What the fuck?!" Lydia yelled at them, scanning the way for any potential help but there was not one living soul. The man began grabbing Stiles by his torso which made Lydia jump at her boyfriend, protecting him with her whole body.

"Stop!" Lydia cried.

"Get of off him, or I will shoot you," the woman threatened, cocking the barrel at Lydia.

"God, kill me but don't take him!" Lydia begged, her eyes filling up with tears.

"We're not interested in you," the man said and pulled Stiles' limp body from under Lydia. The redhead rose to her feet and marched to the man who swinged his bat, hitting Lydia and knocking her out.

Everything went black and Lydia felt how she fell on the cold solid ground.

When she regained consciousness again, she was alone. No Stiles. No attackers.

[elejahfanfic]

Hello Love/4

Fanfiction

Part 4

This is an AU story with tvd/to characters. All human, no vampires or witches.

A sweet fluffy love story, ft. Klaroline, Kennett, Jebekah (Rebekah and Jackson!)

but the main pairing is Miguel Galindo x Elena Gilbert

since I love to write crossover au’s, here I am borrowing Miguel Galindo from MayansMC...played by Danny Pino.

Yemaya is played by Zoe Saldana.

tag_  @miguelsbrat​

Thank you for reading. It means a lot.

✽-(●���●)/✽

***

The next day, Caroline had to call Elena first thing in the morning to tell her about her date.

"Danielle's-it was so good that it seems so unreal- and he was a perfect gentleman. I thought that they don't exist "Caroline swooned.

"Sounds unreal " Elena said.

"I know. But- Please let me have this, let me dream he is out of the ordinary."

"Just because crap happens to me. Things don't have to happen to you."

Elena now shared that Miguel and Rebekah came to the bakery shop and that she got the comission to make Cristobal’s birthday cake, aslod adding that Rebekah had invited them for lunch at Rafa's.

Yemaya couldn't make it as she was busy following a lead on a story, with Stefan, of course. She reported though that she and Stefan talked about their one nighter, and decided to  remain colleagues and that her career was important to her.

"She is crazy." Caroline said as she put the phone down after having spoken to Yemaya.

 "It’s her life.”Elena said, “anyway I talked to my aunt Jenna. She called me like at 3 a.m. She is coming back like in a couple of weeks. She has an exhibition or something."

"So her excavations went well?!" Caroline concluded.

"Yep. It will be so good seeing her. And so when are you meeting Klaus again?"

"Tomorrow night. Talking about exhibitions- there is one of his favourite architect Le Courbisier- now explain the Damon kiss?!"

"There is nothing to explain. He kissed me- but I didn't kiss him back - and when I said that we are done. We are done! He can do what he wants. I really don't care. Can we not talk about Damon ever again."

“Sure.” Caroline said and then said that she had to hang up as she had to rush.

A couple of hours later, Rebekah, Elena and Caroline ventured into one of their favourite restaurants. As they ordered, the first topic was Caroline’s date with Klaus.

"Ok - this is kind wierd, but I can’t tell him who to date or not. I got to tell you this. He is a great charmer and- I have told him if he breaks your heart he will be dealing with me!"

"I didn't mean to be negative. But, I like our friendship- and I wouldn't  want to lose that if something went wrong if I dated your brother " Elena explained.

She had a valid point.

"You would want to date my brother?" Rebekah then confronted Elena with a question she didn't expect.

"No. I was just saying." Elena quickly blurted out.

"I thought you liked Miguel?! I mean- yesterday-  you spent quite a lot of time talking to him" Rebekah would sometimes be too blind and straight forward putting a person on the spot.

"I was talking to all of you!" Elena defended herself and was now blushing. " I like him. Ok - I’ve said that I don't want to date anybody. I am not ready."

"Miguel hasn't dated in like- forever." Rebekah said.

"So, he seriously hasn't been with anyone since his wife died?! That’s like ten years" Caroline said.

"Not that I know of. I don't think he is capable of one night stands. He was always romantic and by the book. He takes the girl out and marries her!" Rebekah joked."He was born serious!"

Before they could continue Caroline's phone rang and it was Yemaya on the phone. She was frantically explaining to her friend that she was on the way to the hospital and that Stefan had been stabbed..

The lunch finished abruptly, and Rebekah now called her father, and then her office. All three women rushed to the hospital. Stefan and Yemaya were their friends for a long while, and they had to be there for both of them.

Elena was on the phone to her co-worker explaining that she would not be returning to the shop.

Caroline could not stay long as her father called her back to the office, as there was a new important client she had to meet.

"I'll be back when I am done with the meeting!"- she assured Yemaya, who was completely distressed.

At the hospital exit, Caroline bumped into her mother, who was now on the case. They just quickly exchanged words and Liz now went up to talk to Yemaya.

Damon arrived wanting answer about what had happened. Katherine was with him.

Elena explained what Yemaya told them, and that was that he was following up a story about gangs. Damon was furious, as Stefan would go for a good story to the most shady places and dealing with all kinds of criminals if necessary. There were numerous times that Damon would go with him and there had been occasions where they nearly didn't make it out of a bad situation.

Rebekah came up to them. She informed them that Miguel was operating with his team.

"Stefan is in good hands!" she said to Damon.

Krystal now took Damon away from them.

Rebekah now slipped to Elena nearly whispering.

"So much about Krystal being just a glitch!” Rebekah remarked.

“Well, I wish them all the luck in the world” Elena said, turning to Yemaya and  offered her the cup with the coffee and a sandwich.

"I can't eat!" Yemaya said. "Thanks yo so much, Elena. Oh- I just hope he is all right! He must be all right!!!"

"He will be all right. Rebekah's brother is operating and he is like the best of the best."

"How do you know?!" Yemaya slipped and then apologized, wrenching her hands with worry.

"I googled it!" Elena then said. "He is like the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the world- the best! Stefan will be fine!" She encouraged her friend to think positively. She said a little prayer inside herself. Stefan was a really good friend, she had met when he still lived in her building. They were neighbours. He had a crash on her, but he never told her, as he saw that she started showing interest in his brother. Their friendship grew into something strong and solid.

The wait was agonizing and the four of them kept quiet, although Damon was pacing back and forth several times. Finally, Miguel came out and now was asking who the next of kin was to give them the report.

Damon came up to him, explaining that he was Stefan's brother.

Miguel had promising news. The operation went well, although it was a chest wound. Damon would be able to see him in a little while.

Then he noticed Elena there, and greeted her cordially. She nodded saying a faintly hello. He excused himself and went away.

Not long after, the nurse came to Damon to take him to the ICU where Stefan was sent to.

When he got to the room, seeing Stefan hooked up on the machines monitoring his heartbeat and other vitals, overwhelmed Damon.

"Damn you, Stefan -what were you thinking - that you are not invincible." he muttered with mixure of pain and anger looking at his brother who was still unconscious.

Damon was a terrible womanizer, but when it came to Stefan, he could give his life for him. ***

Elsewhere

Bonnie now switched her phone on and there were tones of messages notifying her about Stefan's stabbing. She returned Elena's calls and told her that she would be in hospital soon. Then she called Kol to let him know why she was changing their plans for the night.

Charly knocked at her office door and Bonnie invited her in.

"Hi.How can I help you?" Bonnie said.

"Ms Bennett, I know I am probably late, but I was wondering if I could still do the audition for the musical?"

"Of course," Bonnie said, "Singing or - would you like the role of the narrator?"

"Singing, reading, anything. I want to be in the school play!" Cristobal said.

"Good. I will put your name down. It is with Mr Petrov on Wednesday at the School's Drama Hall. Details will be hung at the board just outside my office."

"Thank you." Cristobal said, happy that he got into the play.

Bonnie now got ready to leave herself.

***

Back in the hospital, Yemaya now asked if she could see Stefan but the nurse said that only the surgeon could authorize it, since she wasn't family.

Elena now told her friend to wait and she went to see where Elijah was and if he was available. The nurse directed her to his study.

She knocked at the door and when she heard him say to come in, she gulped a bit and then walked in.

"Elena?!" Miguel stood up surprised to see that it was her.

"I apologize for disturbing you. My friend has been told that you are the only person who can authorize visits. Yemaya is Stefan colleague, and practically his girlfriend, although it is not official."- she knew she went into the rambling zone, and hated that she was like this in front of him.

"Yes- All right. What is her name?" Miguel picked the phone to call the nurses station.

"Yemaya Baker!" Elena said.

He repeated it and then tol her how long Yemaya could stay.

"Thank you," Elena said,"I usually don't do this-use my friendship connections- but-"

"I understand. One can always make an exception. "

"Yes. Thank you!" And as she wanted to leave now, he uttered,"Elena-"

"Ha- Yes?" the brunette  turned around lookina at the surgeon breathing in through her nose, her stomach flipping uncontrolably again.

A knock at the door made both flinch. A man now entered, interruping them.

"Oh-excuse me. I didn't know that you were with a patient- You said you were done-" Dr Shepherd said.

"Uhm -yes," Miguel said and looked at his colleague.

"I will not keep you." Elena said and walked out of the office.

Elena's phone rang and it was Caroline following up on the message she received earlier.

"I'll be going home soon. I'll see you tomorrow." Elena said and hung up.

Bonnie offered to stay and wait for Yemaya, and so Elena left the hospital.

She wanted to walk and so she took off slowly through the nearby park. She wanted to clear her mind and try to make sense of her stomach making somersault everyt time she was around Miguel. 

***

Sometime later, Miguel went to checked upon Stefan, before he left the hospital, who was stable. He then told the nurses that Yemaya could see him on the daily basis.

As he got into his office, he rang Cristobal, who informed him that he was with Henrik and his friends.

“Right. I guess you will sleep over again?”

“No. Grandma’s chauffeur will drive me home.”

“All right then. Have a great time.” Miguel said.

“Ok. Night, papa.”

“Night, mi hijo.” Miguel said and as he picked up his jacket and bag, he exited his office.

He rarely put the radio on, but now he did. It played 'All of the Stars'. At a junction, instead of turning right to take the road to the house, he turned left. Soon he found himself parking not far from the cafe where he first met Elena by chance. It was closed when he got to it as it was only open till six o'clock.

It's just another night And I'm staring at the moon I saw a shooting star And thought of you

"Hello-" a familiar voice said, and he nearly jumped, turning around.

"Hello!" he said somewhat clumsily.

"I saw you- uhm this is closed - but the bar just here is open." Elena showed him the bar she had been in "they have great wine - you can join me if you’d like"

"I'd love to have a glass of wine!" he said with as small smile dancing up on his face and now followed Elena in.

Elena ordered their wine and eased into the conversation after a few sips.

"I don't know how much Rebekah has told you about me-"

"Not much really. Just some stuff."

"Just some stuff-"he repeated.

"It's not that bad. She is really happy you guys are back. Especially for Cristobal."

"Yes. Cristobal has really welcomed the move. I thought she would oppose." Miguel said and was surprised with what ease he could share something personal with the woman he had met just a few times.

"And you?” Elena asked.

"Same. I should have returned years ago.”

“Why didn’t you if you don’t mind me asking-”

"Rebekah probaby told you about my wife passing."

"She told us something - this must have been really so hard. I can’t even imagine it.”

“Cristobal was five years old - same as I when my parents were killed.” Miguel said taking a sip of the wine. He was clearly shook.

“I’m sorry - I didn’t want to - go there.“

“No - it is fine. I was lucky to have had the love and such great siblings, even thought I am adopted, but they have never made me feel like I’m not their real brother. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

Elena now told him about Jeremy and Jenna. as well as her parent's tragic accident.

"Jeremy was in his senior year, I was just finishing college. Our aunt Jenna came to live with us for a year.  Well, she lived with Jeremy. I was in the city. I miss them. Haven't been to my parent's house since Jeremy left to college."

"Memories." Miguel then said.

"Yeah- and Stefan being stabbed- just made me think how crazy life is. Everything can just end in a minute."

Then they both got quiet and Elena felt that the conversation went into a dead end street.

The waitress came up to them asking if they wanted anything more. Miguel declined as he was very conscious as to how much he drank. Elena declined as well. It seemed it was the end of the evening that wasn't going all too well. He offered to drive her home. Elena accepted.

"It's up and coming area. I plan on selling it and buying something closer to the Park."

As they arrived, he got out to see her to the door of her building.

"Thanks," she said, "this is me- fifth floor-ahm- thanks for the drink."

"Thank you." Miguel said dearly.

“What for -  it was  - you had a long day and I talked about me - sorry”

“It is fine. I loved listening to you talking” Miguel said.

“You did?”

“I did. You know -haven’t done this in a very long time - I -”

Strange awkwardness suddenly arose. And then there was this static encirling them from nowhere, that crackling in the air, a strange magical force field. Elena felt her face heat, and could hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Now or never. She stepped forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, slipping a faint good night.

His heart seized when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and almost by accident, he turned into her silky caress, their lips so close he could smell the hint of cherry on her lips.They froze in the same split second and his pulse thudded slow and hard as she beamed her eyes at him.

Miguel’s full lips were only inches from hers. She could feel his warm breath brushing over her skin.Slowly his head now lowered toward hers.Then his lips found hers. He buried his hands in her hair and pulled her closer.His mouth moved over hers, tasting her fully. His lips soft but firm. She opened to him, and he slipped the hot tip of his tongue between her lips. Her body dissolved into his, shuddering slightly, letting a soft muffled moan out as he deepened the kiss.

So open your eyes and see The way our horizons meet And all of the lights will lead Into the night with me And I know these scars will bleed But both of our hearts believe  

[coordinatesofher]

EVERYTHING FOR A WEEKEND IN NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

NOLA (New Orleans Louisiana) is such a quirky, fun, beautiful place filled with friendly people and AHHHHmazing food. Walking around the French Quarter and popping in and out of places you will find tons of food and drinks and loads of fun! If you are in need of some local references for food, drinks, or entertainment, then you have come to the right place! Here is everything you need to know to visit NOLA and have the time of your life!

FOODS YOU SHOULD TOTALY TRY IN NOLA:

Boiled Crawfish - Technically, you can find crawfish year round. But, many local will tell you, only eat boiled crawfish during crawfish season! The rest of the year it is either frozen local crawfish or it is sourced from elsewhere.

Beignets - Cafe Du Monde - This is a must! They have been serving Beignets since the Civil War! The line is often long so if you need a back up spot, Cafe Beignet is a great option as well.

Pecan Pralines -  Try pralines or fudge at any of the little shops. Super sweet, but yummy. Loretta’s in the French Market is really good.

King Cake - If you find it, eat it! King Cake is seasonal and typically found during Mardi Gras and it is SO yummy! It is basically a mix between a donut and cake stuffed with cream. You will love it!

Hot Sauce - Spice is a HUGE thing in Louisiana! Every place in the Quarter has dozens of them to try. Some are so hot you have to sign a waiver eating!

Chicory - OK. This is not my thing, but it is very much a NOLA thing. Chicory in Coffee is huge. Personally it isn’t for me, but by all means try it.

Po-Boys - It is a sandwich stuffed with various meats usually fried shrimp or seafood. In the Quarter you can go to Cafe Masperos or Johnny’s Po-Boys or Erin Rose, but the best one in the city and where you will find me every day is Parkview Bakery! It is worth the uber ride, and it is such a great, local, backyard vibe. 

Muffalettas - Central Grocery Co. is a super famous spot for this. I don’t eat meat so I have never had it, but everyone raves about it!

Oysters - Full disclosure, I have never eaten or even tried an oyster, but I have heard that Antoine’s Restaurant or Felix’s is the way to go for that.

Hurricane Alcoholic Drink - Pat Obrien’s is famous for this, but they have them everywhere. 

Hand Grenades - These are a huge thing on Bourbon. Be warned, the sugar masks the liquor and you will be beyond drunk afterward.

Absinthe - Pirate’s Alley is the place for it. 55% alcohol makes it a doozy. Their version is the legal limit.

SnowBalls - I lived for these as a kid, and Hansens is the place in the city to get it.

World Famous Fried Chicken - Willie Maes has been on every food network show and is SUPER famous. It is supposed to be life changing chicken. Now they have created a bit of a chain, but make sure to visit the original location.

Gumbo, Jambalaya, and Étouffée - These will be served lots of places and worth trying. Best spots: Jambayala - Coop’s Place / Gumbo - Stanley's

BEST COFFEE AND BREAKFAST NEW ORLEANS:

My favorite breakfast spot in the whole city is in the Lower Garden District at Hivolt Coffee. It is the best coffee in the city including pour overs and the pastries and breakfast are all great!

If you are in the Warehouse District there is a Stumptown Coffee in the Ace Hotel which is a great option as well!

Brennans is super famous for breakfast. I have never been. But, worth pointing out. Make sure to get a reservation.

When in town, I usually eat at Sasuma Cafe. Cheap, simple, and healthy, something hard to find in Louisiana some times ;)

Another favorite of mine is Surrey’s. To be fair, I have never tried anything other than their pancakes, but I don’t need to! Their pancakes are the best!

Elizabeth’s in Bywater is a super traditional southern breakfast with smothered everything and great biscuits. It is really good and a great way to try southern food!

Ruby Slipper is also a fun spot with cajun/creole breakfast influences. It is probably the best breakfast spot to please everyone and still get to try some unique things.

BEST BARS IN THE FRENCH QUARTER:

Pat O’Briens dueling pianos is a must! It usually has a line, but once you get in it is such a blast. They basically pack people into a room with two dueling pianos that play any song request and everyone in the room sings as loud as possible to classics and shares drinks. It can really be a blast!

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop is the oldest structure in the city to have a bar so it is a great spot to grab a drink.

Carousel Bar - This bar is inside of a hotel. There is a carousel inside it that moves and is it’s claim to fame. It doesn’t sprinkle my donuts, but people seem to love it!

Pirate’s Alley - if you dare try the absinthe. This is a famous spot and the only place in the city to sell legal absinthe. Fair warning the alcohol content level is HIGH.

Saints and Sinners - Nothing crazy about this other than Channing Tatum owns it so the girls tend to love it. And, for that reason, it is worth pointing out.

Ace Hotel’s rooftop is a really beautiful space! One of my favorite spots. My girlfriend from Los Angels and I always laugh going there cause its definitely like the other Ace Hotels in terms of lack of friendliness and run by New Yorkers. But, still the rooftop bar is super nice!

Frenchmen Street - SUPER famous for Jazz music. Places like the Spotted Cat are where all the greats played back in the day. It is the locals version of Bourbon Street, or at least it used to be. Typically, you can find lots of live music and fun spots.

Tchoup Yard is a super fun spot and great for a day hang out. There are loads of backyard games and outdoor vibes and usually lots of locals just playing corn hole and drinking beers. It is also located right where lots of brewers have popped up which is new to the city, so it is a great day drinking spot.

Musical Legends Park is such a cute romantic spot (maybe the only one) on Bourbon. I think it is only Friday nights, but a live jazz band plays outside and for a moment you feel like you are in a European city. Swoon.

Bourbon Street is filled with dozens and dozens of bars and intoxicated people. It is not where locals tend to hang out, but if you are looking to experience this side of NOLA and have a blast doing it, just pop in and out of all the bars along the street. No destination is needed here.

GOOD EATS NEW ORLEANS:

Cochon Butcher and Cochon Restaurant are both really good spots in the warehouse district with great vibes and food with a local twist. (Cochon means “pig” so that says a lot about what is on the menu).

Peche is a nice restaurant as well. Peche means “fish” so there is a lot of seafood dishes here. Nice vibes. Good food.

Pizza Domenica - Great pizzas and pastas and garlic bread knots, and a nice break from fried food.

Josephine Estelle in the Ace Hotel is a great little spot. More Los Angeles type foods like anything with a vegetable (lol) than the other places listed. Plus, you can pop up to the rooftop bar afterward.

NOLA in the French Quarter is really good. Typical cajun and creole dishes that are really well done. More pricey.

Emeril’s is super famous and fancy pants. I have never been. Heard great things! More pricey.

Commander’s Palace is SUPER famous and supposedly really amazing. Never been. Hard to get a resi. Heard amazing things! Most pricey.

St. Roch is a great stop and my personal favorite place to get biscuits. There are several vendors in this space like a small market and it is a great way to try different foods in the city!

BEST TOURIST STOPS NEW OREANS:

Napoleon’s House (yep, he had a house there that is now a restaurant) The food is not life changing, but it is cool to see. And, full disclosure, Napoleon died before getting to visit this house, so he never lived here, but it was built for him.

There are lots of huge plantation style homes in the Garden District one of which is where Mark Twain used to throw parties. These old southern homes are to die for.

Near there is St. Charles Ave. where 300-400 year old oak trees line the street. You gotta take a trolley ride down this street and see it. It is beautiful.

Jackson Square in front of the St. Louis Cathedral which is the most popular photo spot and dates back hundreds of years.

Cemeteries - Due to being below sea level, graves are all above ground in NOLA. And, many of them date back centuries and are well worth a visit. You can even visit Marie Laveaus (the famous Voodoo Queen’s) tomb. Across from Commander’s Palace is Lafayette Cemetery which is free to visit. My recommendation for a more historical tour would be to visit St. Louis Cemetery where notables have been buried. You have to do a tour, but it’s great. OH, and you can see the period tomb Nicholas Cage had built for when he dies. Kinda wild.

Swamp Tours - This isn’t necessarily “historic” perse other than people having been boating here for centuries and the cypress trees are hundreds of years old. The tours are a whole lot of fun and you get to see alligators out in the wild! I highly recommend doing one to see a completely different type of landscape and life on the bayou.

Museums - There are lots of great museums all within walking distance of each other. So, if you are looking for a break from Bourbon street this is your spot. The WW II museum is one of the best tin the country and a great way to spend the afternoon. There are also wonderful art museums like the Ogden and the Contemporary.

WHERE TO SHOP NEW ORLEANS:

The French Market in the French Quarter is the best place to shop for souvenirs and fun little things. Most of the goods are on the cheaper side so it is fun to walk about. As a kid, this was always my favorite spot!

If vintage clothing is your thing, then Royale Street is a great place for all things vintage. There are several vintage boutiques specializing in unique period clothing.

There are loads of Local shops selling New Orleans designers like Krewe Sunglasses which are great and well worth the stop in.

Magazine Street is my favorite street in the city and it is filled with loads of shops, antiques, and great eateries. It is a great way to spend an afternoon outside of bourbon. Just take the trolley car from the French Quarter.

WHAT TO PACK FOR A WEEKEND IN NEW ORLEANS:

Casual is a way of life there. While a few trendy spots have come to town and people dress more trendy/urban in those spots, for the most part, it is casual. The city is so laid-back and truly no one will care what you are wearing.

Comfy Shoes - The streets and sidewalks are uneven and often cobblestone. Tourism causes a lot of trash. And, rain doesn’t help. So, I recommend comfy shoes like tennis shoes that you are ok to get scuffed up and wet and maybe even just toss after the trip.

Sunscreen - The heat is no joke here!

Hat for sun - A hat or even an umbrella to protect against the sun is a must in the summer and maybe even year round!

Sunglasses - As mentioned above, sun protection is a must!

Backpack - I am a backpacker type of tourist because with all the heat and alcohol you will want water and a place to store your raincoat and sunscreen, etc. Plus, like in any tourist spot, keeping your things safe and protected is the way to go!

Toilet Paper/Kleenex packets - The French Quarter is old and packed with people. The bathrooms aren’t guaranteed to have TP in them so make sure to bring some! Oh and a few baby wipes wouldn’t hurt either!

Rain Coat/Jacket - If it rains, umbrellas are quite difficult on the narrow sidewalks, so a rain coat is the way to go. 

Bug Spray - When it is too cold there aren’t mosquitoes, but GURL mosquitoes are a very real thang there, especially if you are going on a swap tour in the summer!

Cash - A lot of the city will accept credit card, but there are still quite a few places that are cash only. Quite literally some spots have been cash only for centuries. So, I recommend keeping some handy. 

STAY SAFE AND LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL!

While the city is without a doubt one of my favorite places, it does have a darker side not all that different than parts of Los Angeles. So, I recommend being vigilant. As a tourist, you can be a target, so while I have never had anything happen, it is a high possibility. Put simply, I would just do your best to keep your wits about you and not flash money. Stay safe!

IN IT TO PIN IT:

Make sure to save this pin graphic to your Pinterest board when planning your trip to New Orleans, Louisiana!

MORE FROM LOUISIANA:

[voidwerks]

Ask List

For @absolutelynoterica

#3 rant. just do it

‘Cause you know where we are: that this town is as large as it is (by the standards of the entire rest of the country) but is 95% houses, fast food and copy-cat restaurants, and alcohol for days agitates me to no end. There’s one functioning mall, 3 movie theaters in a city of 300k+, and very little in terms of shopping besides routine big-brand stores. The govt wants people to come here to visit, to have tourism? You need to have things people want to see in the first place! Art museum, aquarium, warship, not a bad start right? They still need attention given to them to make sure people not only visit but have a reason to return. The town’s ‘illustrious’ shore road? Chock full of potholes and houses that look as old as their owners. Downtown? While they’re doing some work now, they’ve still got a lot of work ahead of them to make it a real destination. And half the time when someone actually wants to come to town (i.e. the water park), they end up going elsewhere. Why? A, the city wants too much money or some sort of deal on the project, B, the city gives too little and the project can’t afford to go forward, and/or C, the city tells them to piss off because old voters don’t want things to change. 

Change costs money. Change takes action. And yes, change also sometimes means getting rid of the old. But it seems like too many people in power here are content with the stagnation. And maybe it’s my northeastern upbringing, but it bothers the hell out of me that I can drive 30m in almost any direction in town and not run into anything new or exciting.

#4 do you think it’s ok to separate the artist from the art?

Yes. Similar to literature, though an artist’s experiences, politics, mentality, lifestyle, and more may influence the creation and intention behind a piece of art, I believe that art, film, books, etc, more often than not exist independent from their creator from that point forth. People create their own meaning when they interact with media, and over time something can be radically different than what the artist originally intended. In addition, no one lives forever, and after an author literally dies their work often has to speak for itself anyway. 

And this can be a double edged sword, no doubt. On the one hand, you’ve got artists who’s creations were effectively taken and twisted far beyond their original intention (i.e. Pepe the Frog), and struggle to return it to what it was meant to be. On the other hand, you can also have creators like JK Rowling who has largely been left to rot by the Harry Potter community because of how radically different the people’s interpretation of the series and world(s) they’ve made are compared to what Rowling says now. 

I guess in a way art is like having kids. While it’s nice if they’re able to not only support you but carry on your legacy after you’re gone, often times they go to forge their own path, and they can’t be blamed for it. 

#14 what’s your coffee order?

Probably a mocha or shop equivalent with a decent amount of cream. I’m not big on coffee at all. Then again, I probably haven’t had any actually good coffee before either. 

#15 what’s a question do you constantly get asked?

Not so much now that I’m out of school, but my last name. I’ve been dealing with people having no idea how to pronounce it or wondering where it comes from as long as I can remember. And to answer those two questions: it’s entirely phonetic if you spend a sec to break it down, and it’s Basque, a rather unique culture that has lived in the corner of NE Spain/SW France than either country has been around for. 

#23 if you could break one of your bad habits which would you choose?

Procrastination, hands down. There are just certain things that I have some sort of aversion to, even if I know that they’re Not Bad and Actually Productive. 

#27 how long before a trip do you pack?

Usually a day or the night before. I don’t like feeling like I’m primed to launch for extended periods of time, because anxiety. I’ve also traveled/moved enough times that I’m usually pretty good at making sure I have whatever I may need for the duration of a journey.

#29 what quote or inspirational setting do you think is bs?

Any quote or idea along the lines of “you make your own happiness/success”. The world is hard. The world is cruel. The world isn’t fair. You can try and be as happy or successful as you like, and however much we may want it, that is often not enough against the weight of the world and the actions of others. While wallowing in one’s own muck doesn’t get you anywhere, neither does beating one’s head against a wall, or trying to do everything alone. Know when to rest. Know when to ask for help, even if it’s hard. Know when to take a step back and re-evaluate things. Know that you’re doing what you can.

#33 what do you think about a lot? 

Too much tbqh, and that’s even without anxiety thoughts. What I could be doing wrong with my job hunt, or could do better on. How my ex is doing, since I worry about her well-being. What’ll I be up to in a few years? Am I forgetting something? Should I spend some time painting, or finding new music, or trying a game I’ve never played? It just goes and goes and goes. 

[tymeofnight]

Something new to write?

I think it’s time for me to start writing about something else, to move on to something new, to find a new inspiration elsewhere. When i first moved to Long Beach i was scared, not of the city (I’ve lived here before) i love long beach. I was scared of running into you. Then i started making the excuse that there is nothing here for me, that maybe i should go somewhere else, somewhere new. At the time that i moved here, I started traveling for work quite a bit, i was gone and wasn’t even enjoying my new home. I would literally get home from the trip and sleep here for two days and then fly out somewhere else. For about two months all that was in my room was just my bed and boxes. I hadn’t even set up my t.v. ( i was using my laptop for movies and my phone for netflix and hulu.)

I went to so many different places that i have never been too, never thought i would go to. I loved it, i loved seeing different parts of the country, seeing the people from those places i went to. I started thinking to myself, what if i move elsewhere, somewhere over here. I said to myself there isn’t anything for me anymore back in Long Beach. So for some time i contemplated moving, i thought about all the places i visited, and then i got stuck one time, everything got delayed, i spent more time than i was supposed to. The first few days were nice, but after i realized there isn’t anything here for me either, that no matter where i go there isn’t going to be anything there for me. This world, this country, these states and cities, and the people that live there, aren’t just waiting around for me. Wherever i am, whatever place i am in, i have to make it something for me. It’s why i started exploring the place i live, i signed up for beach football that’s literally right in front of my house, i started shopping locally instead of going to the places where i use to live, i started meeting people here in long beach, eating at the small restaurants here, going to the coffee shops, going to the parks and museums, the farmers market, i skate and ride and walk and run in my own city. I opened myself up to my own home, and im exactly where i need to be for the moment.

You know when you told you were thinking about moving back with your mom, that you felt like you failed, that there isn’t anything here for you anymore, i wanted to tell you this, that it will still feel the same at a different location, that you haven’t failed. You only fail if you give up, as long as you keep pushing forward, and celebrate the small victories along the way, you are never a failure. I realized though that even if i said anything, that it wouldn’t change anything, you have to learn from your own experiences, just the same way i did.

I use to think that i needed this and that, that i needed you. I bifurcated my life, i compartmentalized aspects of my life and was my own undoing. The only thing i need is myself (and my dog) everything else is just wants. Of course i want you, im in love with you, i will be here for you, but i will no longer allow myself to be untethered by the things i want.

[catholicartistsnyc]

Meet: Jennifer Delac

JENNIFER DELAC is a choreographer and stage manager living in NYC.  (jenniferdelac1@gmail.com or JenniferDelac.com) 

Catholic Artist Connection (CAC): What brought you to NYC, and where did you come from? How long have you been here, and why did you decide to move here?

Jennifer Delac (JD): I had always wanted to be in NYC. The vibrant art community has been a huge draw since I first visited in high school. I transferred to Fordham University at Lincoln Center my sophomore year and just stayed. I've been here almost 8 years now so I guess I'm a New Yorker at this point.

CAC: Do you call yourself a Catholic artist?

JD: I don't know that I identify myself as specifically a "Catholic Artist." I am a Catholic. I am an artist. But I don't work exclusively on Catholic projects. Much like a musician that isn't necessarily classified as a "Christian singer" by genre but still makes a point of pursuing artistic endeavors that encompass the values that they believe and support. I'm always looking for projects that bring beauty and hope to the forefront and that can be found in so many different places. 

CAC: Where have you found support in the Church for your vocation as an artist?

JD: I've found this incredible community as part of the young adult choir at St. Paul the Apostle. It's a volunteer choir made up of a lot of people pursuing art as a profession. It's so nice to be able to come together once a week and share our struggles and triumphs in the entertainment field. I've found it to be so important to have someone to talk to who is experiencing a lot of the same things you are in the city. 

CAC: Where have you found support among your fellow artists for your Catholic faith? How can the Church be more welcoming to artists?

JD: Inviting artists to use their God given gifts and talents to be involved in the community. For example, Inviting an actor maybe be a reader at mass and presenting it as a way that acknowledges and utilizes their skills. This could go even further in displaying artwork on a rotating basis or allowing musicians to host concerts in the church. 

CAC: How can the artistic world be more welcoming to artists of faith?

JD: I often find myself wishing the artistic community wouldn't be so quick to judge. In an often incredibly accepting community, I find there is a prejudice against artists of faith. Sometimes its because of a bad experience they've had or an unwelcomeness they have felt in the past. Their feelings are valid and I'm finding it takes patience and a lot of listening on both ends to not generalize when it comes to being an artist of faith and associating one person or experience with faith in general.

CAC: Where in NYC do you regularly find spiritual fulfillment?

JD: As an artist, there is an endless list of things to do, people to meet, dreams to chase. I'm learning slowly to take time out of my day for prayer or to simply just sit in a park for 15 minutes and be still. Yes, I could knock something off my to do list in that time but there will always be another item added behind it. It's so important for your spiritual life and for you as a person to take that time. 

CAC: How have you found or built community as a Catholic artist living in NYC?

JD: By connecting with artists who also practice their faith. There are so many more people in the city than you would think who fall into this category. Just like in anything else, you need to find people who are after the same things as you in life and reach out to them. It's good for you. It's good for them. It's good for the art you are trying to put back into the world. 

CAC: What is your daily spiritual practice?

JD: I try to start my day with a rosary on the train. The subway is a fountain of frustrations and I find that focusing on prayer as a way to start, helps me to keep perspective and not get bogged down by the little things that can affect my mood and mindset for the day. 

CAC: What is your daily artistic practice?

JD: I don't know that I practice my art daily. There are certain weeks that seem full to the opportunity to practice my art and then there are months when I feel like I haven't done much at all to contribute to my artistic growth. When I find myself in a dry spell I try to sign up for something like a choreography festival or a reading or a music series to give me a deadline to work towards and not stay too far away from it. There are so many ways to be involved in small projects in the city to keep the artistic juices flowing. It just takes a little internet research and a yes.  Also, singing at mass on Sundays as part of the choir has been a game changer for me in terms of feeding both my spiritual and artistic self on a weekly basis in a non competitive, community driven environment.

CAC: You actually live in NYC? How!?

I currently live with a wonderful stage manager I went to school with! I subletted for a long time through friends I knew or through the FB group Ghostlight Productions. I was in and out of the city a lot with shows so it didn't make sense for me to sign and pay for a full lease. It also gave me time to figure out which neighborhoods I enjoyed living in and what commutes I could do on a daily basis that didn't make me crazy. 

JD: But seriously, how do you make a living in NYC?

That is always the tough question and I don't know that I will ever perfect that answer. But there are many different opportunities in the city. I'm fortunate in that I pursue stage management in addition to choreography so it opens up a wider pool of job opportunities in the arts. I've found temping to be a good fit for me in between shows, especially when I'm often only trying to fill in a week or two here and there. I know many friends who work in restaurants which can be a great income source but easy to take up a lot of your time, leaving you too tired to pursue the artistic endeavors you came to the city to pursue in the first place (I will note that some people can manage this extremely well but it is not easy for everyone to juggle). 

I would encourage you to delve into other skills you have and the crossover skills that make you a good artist that can be carried into other fields as well. Some jobs allow you to work remotely for companies part time, giving you freedom to work around artistic projects, things like real estate, doing digital graphics, video editing for a marketing group, etc. 

CAC: How much would you suggest artists moving to NYC budget for their first year?

JD: Ideally, you would have enough to cover 3 months rent (approximately $3,000). You often have to put down a security deposit on an apartment (even if you are subletting) and it's good to be able to focus on settling in and giving yourself time to find a "survival job" that would be a good fit for you rather then settling on the first thing that comes your way. 

CAC: What other practical resources would you recommend to a Catholic artist living in NYC?

JD: Make friends with the people around you and don't be afraid to reach out to people for advice. It's a lot of information to learn on how both the city and the industry work. Most artists had someone give them advice and are happy to pass it onto a new person. Many people grew up elsewhere and moved here for a reason so they were once in your shoes and know how overwhelming it can feel sometimes. The Actors Fund can be a great resource as well as churches that have an artist community like St. Malachy’s. I've also found little coffee shops (not starbucks) to be great places to be productive and to meet other New Yorkers (Gregory's, The Chipped Cup, and Hamilton’s Bakery are some of my favorites).

CAC: What are your top 3 pieces of advice for Catholic artists moving to NYC?

JD: 1. First and foremost, stay close to God. It's not always easy and holding onto your faith will keep you grounded and sane, truly. It will remind you of why you started this artistic journey in the first place. God is the ultimate creator after all! 

2. Find a community to both hold you accountable and to support you in the high and low times. This is a big city with lots of people but can often feel incredibly lonely so find those people you can sit down for coffee with when you feel stuck or to have a drink with when you are celebrating your first NYC show! I would be nowhere without family and friends who remind me of the important things when I forget. 

3. Don't take life too seriously. Find time to take a run through the park, go to a pop concert, try the newest dessert that you see in the window of the bakery you walk past every day. It's a journey and there will be tough times but there is so much beauty and joy to experience as well.

[bestcompanynews]

Why Cape Town is the ideal destination for superyacht training

In recent years, Cape Town has become a prime destination for superyacht training, with many locals and internationals qualifying and going on to work onboard superyachts all over the world. Cape Town has also gained popularity as a port, making it the ideal backdrop to give prospective deckhands and stewards training that meets the standards of excellence expected in the superyacht industry.

Locally, the number of superyachts and cruise ships arriving at the V&A Waterfront is rapidly increasing, as is the need for appropriately educated local employees to work on them. A well-trained crew capable of providing a high level of luxury to visitors is necessary. On the other hand, South Africa is a crucial crew/staff feeder to superyachts in America and Europe.

Whether you’re a South African looking to work on superyachts locally or abroad or aren’t from SA and are looking for the perfect place to get your super yachting qualifications, Cape Town has something for everyone.

Cape Town as a superyacht training destination

Any boat is a highly disciplined environment, but the standards onboard a superyacht are unsurpassed. To guarantee the safety of everyone on board, new crew members must complete extensive training and be prepared to face the rigours of working on a yacht.

Superyacht training schools in Cape Town like SYSA offer the STCW certification, which is the minimum legal requirement to work on any commercial vessel at sea. This international standard is highly upheld, ensuring that you’re fully equipped for life onboard.

Other than the highest quality training, you can also turn travelling to Cape Town into a holiday. Cape Town has balmy, warm summers and mild winters. A wide array of restaurants, coffee shops and bars, entertainment and natural attractions ensure that you’ll enjoy every moment when you’re not training (And we’ll do our best to make sure you enjoy every moment of training, too!).

If you’re not a local and looking at travelling to South Africa for superyacht training, even better. The best part for you is that travelling into Cape Town, completing the required training, and taking a vacation at the same time costs approximately the same as remaining at home and doing classes in your own country.

Things to do in Cape Town (When you’re taking a break from superyacht training)

Trek through Table Mountain National Park

Visit Boulders Beach and play with the penguins

Walk the colourful streets of Bo-Kaap

Hike Lion’s Head

Visit Cape of Good Hope

Shop at V&A Waterfront

Take a day trip to the Winelands

Picnic in Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens

Explore Simon’s Town

Go sight-seeing on the big red bus

Cape Town as a super yachting destination

Coastal communities all around the globe strive to lure superyachts because they support tourism and local businesses with operational and recreational expenditure while also creating a sought-after sight in the harbour. Cape Town is also home to over 70% of the country’s boat-building industry, which keeps the technical capabilities needed to service all types of ocean-going vessels afloat and drives the industry’s high standards of excellence.

Cape Town is well located to accommodate superyacht cruises. The global trend towards larger superyachts also worked in Cape Town’s favour, as bigger yachts are better suited to local sea conditions. Cape Town is centrally located between South America and New Zealand, and we are closer to European markets than they are.

Cape Town is especially appealing because of its strong infrastructure, including roads and airports, as well as availability to vessel repair professionals and fuel and food providers. Through skill development, the super yachting industry also has a huge potential to promote rapid economic growth, job creation, and economic inclusion.

Overall there is a big push to market Cape Town as a superyacht hotspot. The city is already a frequent port of call for many of the world’s most prestigious boats, as well as a staging point for luxury yachts manufactured in South Africa and exported elsewhere. Cape Town’s luxury catamaran sector is already the world’s second-biggest, with a rich history of boatbuilding and sailing skills, with the super yachting industry not lagging far behind.

There’s no doubt that Cape Town is the ideal destination for superyacht training. If you’re looking for premium superyacht training, career progression in the industry and mentorship by highly experienced instructors, choose SYSA.

[timotheetea]

In this story, Elio visits Oliver in New York, after hearing his wife has passed away from a heart attack. read previous chapters here Chapter X

He called at seven something the next morning, which had awoken me of a restless dream. I could barely hear him, he was talking so quietly. I could make out a boy crying in the background, and a female voice sussing the boy. Family, I thought. Must be his son with his mother.

“Elio?” He greeted me, but I was too drunk on sleep to reply. I made a sound so he knew it was me on the other end. Something that said: I made it through the night. “Meet me in my office at three.” He sounded rushed, he must have been getting ready to go to work. “I hope you’re okay,” he said. Then the call ended before I could say anything. “I will”, I said to the lost connection, and then, sarcastically: “Thanks for asking,” but my voice sounded gruff and it came out as a whisper. As my mouth felt like a desert, I urged myself to get out of bed, and I moved to the bathroom to drink water from the leak. It tasted absolutely disgusting. What was wrong with New York?

I threw myself back on the bed and fell asleep again in seconds.

I woke up about two hours later feeling like there had been an earthquake during the night, and my body seemed too weak to move. For a while I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling contemplating life, feeling like I had never been so unattached to myself before. He wants to see me again, he wants to see me again, I repeated in my head. It made me feel sick with anxiety, though yesterday’s wine could’ve been part of the problem why I felt sick, with a slight, yet familiar headache.

I let the previous night play out in my head while I lay in bed. The coffee at the hotel restaurant seemed like it was weeks ago. The cigarette, sitting down on the wall in the park, his fancy restaurant, the break down: first his, than mine. How vulnerable it was, to cry in front of another man, and confess the truth, which had been playing in your head for years, but never dared to come out. The longer it takes for the truth to come out, the more it has become a part of you. To try and accept a truth you never wanted in the first place.  The slutty part of the night made me feel sick to my stomach, and at the same time, incredibly horny, which made me feel even more sick. Yet, I could not stop thinking about his naked body under mine, the soft palms of his hands, how rough his lips had been, how he had kissed me on my forehead and held me by my wrists. 

I masturbated quickly, to ease the sexual urge, thinking about him, and then took a shower to wash away the stickiness, sweat and my body which reeked of cigarettes. Just like that, I was Elio again, without any traces of Oliver on me. I felt hollowed out, stepping out of the shower and throwing on some fresh clothes. I felt strange - like the clothes no longer fit me, like they were no longer right for me. Perhaps it was the skin, or the organs, perhaps it was the inside of me that felt like it had been turned inside out, and was left in a trash can. When I thought of his name, it seemed to echo in me, as though there was nothing there.

My watch read noon, and as the bed was dirty, and the housekeepers would probably come soon, I decided to get out of the hotel for a bite to eat and some fresh air. Stepping outside, I barely noticed the terrible smell of the New York summer anymore - I was too occupied in my thoughts to be disgusted by it. Learning from my mistake with the pizza shop two days before, I sat down in what looked like a fancy cafeteria. Indeed, the sandwich I had tasted quite good and it made me feel a little better to have some food. To have something to do, I read the book I’d brought with me and which gave me an escape to not think about the time constantly, until it was three o’clock.

The book was called ‘By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept’ and was written by Paulo Coelho, the same writer who had written The Alchemist. It was about a woman who met up again with her childhood crush and falls for him again, after letting God back in her heart. The story disgusted me, and reminded me of myself, but still I forced myself to read on, for thinking back to the night before made me feel horrible in all kinds of way. I never wanted to feel like I had used him again - so I decided I would not reach out to him anymore - I couldn’t do it. Better hurt myself, than him.

When finally, finally, it was 2pm, I allowed myself to take a taxi to the university. It wasn’t too far, and I arrived half an hour early. I sat down in the yard of the university on a picnic table, and smoked three cigarettes back to back, feeling yet again, incredibly nervous to see Oliver. My mouth was dry, and I had barely said a word today.  How does a person cope with saying goodbye? What does one say?

I wanted to tell him: please let me stay in New York for you. I’ll hold you every night that you want me. I’ll fuck you, let you fuck me, my body will be a free museum for you. I will be the version of myself you want me to be. Sweet, horny, arrogant, cocky, romantic - tell me which you like best and I’ll rule out the others. I could find myself a small apartment here, I was sure, I would live in a dump for you, Oliver. I won’t talk about your family or kids, you will never have to introduce me. As long as I would be real to you, I wouldn't mind being invisible to anyone else.

And if he wouldn’t want that, well, maybe we could arrange something. A fuck once a year, or once in two years, would that fulfill his wishes? Would he mind? But then I thought: no, he would never. He has plenty of people he could sleep with, why would he want me? 

And sicker yet, I thought: if he never wanted to see me again, and the goodbye was definite, the agreement signed, the door closed, what would I do? What was to become of me? 

I thought of a verse by Pablo Neruda: “so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.”

I felt terribly connected to that verse - I felt like I was that verse. I wanted Oliver to live in me, however he wanted to, and with him in me, I wanted to live with myself.  And if he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore - I would be waiting for him like a lonely house. I’d buy the curtains, get some flooring in, buy the bed. Light the candles, stack the bookshelves. I’d wait for him to return to me again. 

Ten minutes to two, I walked into the building and remembered the way up to his office on the fourth floor as though I had walked those exact steps countless of times. How different from just two days ago, when I had been panicking about seeing him, and my lips had been bleeding from nervously biting on them! Now I was preparing for the worst: the final goodbye: thank you for coming, it was good to see you, but please leave, and never return.

I felt like I was walking into a funeral, except everyone around me was not paying any attention to the coffin. I envisioned every possibility of us, and the only logical conclusion I could come to, which was probably the best for both of us, was that I would have to accept that this was a one-time occurrence, and go home to Rome, and find it in myself to finally move on with my life. I probably had to move away from the city, maybe to the outskirts of town or a distant village, where he hadn’t been, a town in which we hadn’t made love, in which my body had never been his. I would get myself a dog. Yes. Dogs were good company, too. Yes, I decided, I should move someplace new. I could make friends elsewhere. A couple of friends had already moved out of Rome after graduation - I could do the same, find a job to keep me occupied, get a stable income for once, not live in an apartment from old family friends who had moved away, and which they let me stay in for cheap. Rent something myself, buy the furniture, pay for the electrics and gas and water and cable tv. 

And a job, yes. Find a sweet girl to marry, just as Oliver had done himself. Check up on her, make sure she had a good life, get her pregnant.  I could do it. I could force myself to do it. 

But it made me feel incredibly nauseous. I had never had to think ahead - life had always seemed to move along just nicely without any real future plans. I had taken the easy route: studied the most obvious thing, moved to Rome, which most childhood friends did, and had not faced the most troubling, most exciting part of me, until now: which was the Elio I was when I was loved and desired by the person I wanted to be loved and desired by.  How easy it was to live as your own shadow: hide in the dark while your body does the work. Look through the eyes, feel with the same hands, but as though I was standing behind it - never really experiencing anything. 

After knocking, and hearing him say “come in!”, I stepped inside his office. It was darker than I had remembered it. Why were the blinds closed?

“Hi,” I said nervously as I stepped in. “Hi,” he greeted, sitting behind his desk. The pile on his desk had gone away: instead he had been reading through some papers. The ashtray had been emptied - there were no stumps in there. His face looked serious. I felt like I was about to get lectured on my behaviour from the previous night, and then, expelled from his life. He should, I thought. I was preparing for the worst - pressed my nails in the back of my hand. I sucked on the tiny scar on my lip.  New chapter tomorrow

[flairmagazineblog]

Seven Fortunes; Coffee Beyond Tradition

Having recently launched their newest branch in Waterway, New Cairo, Seven Fortunes is arguably among the finest coffee brands you will come across in Egypt right now. We talked to Egyptian founder, Karim Hassan, who never offers a coffee to someone without drinking it with him. With that pace, he ends up drinking about ten cups a day, which is something we wouldn’t recommend but you get the picture of the passion and heart behind this exceptional brand.

“What amazes me everyday is how coffee brings people together. It’s always a sensory experience that you can share with family and friends.”

How did your coffee brand come about at the beginning?

Surprisingly it was a big mistake. To give you a quick backstory, I grew up in the Middle East and then went to university in Toronto. At the time, I had no clue about coffee and neither did I drink it, but I was working at Second Cup for a short period inside the school library. I realized all my friends were drinking their coffee at Tim Hortons, which was just around the corner. For some reason, I got bothered that they were drinking coffee elsewhere and I just had this sense of responsibility to start thinking about ways to increase traffic at the cafe. My takeaway was that we didn’t provide their coffee of preference, and I decided to sneakily use Tim Hortons’ beans in Second Cup machines. When I secretly told them, they started coming to the cafe and enjoying the coffee. This is how I began to develop a sensory experience in knowing the different tastes provided by different types of coffee from a commercial standpoint. As I traveled around the world, I actually began drinking coffee regularly and developed a habit for it. After that, I worked at a company in Toronto called Fidelity and I was constantly complaining about how bad the coffee was at the office. One day, the facilities manager came up to me and said, “You’re the guy who’s always complaining about the coffee in his emails to upper management?” He said there’s a company that’s coming to do a tasting, so come, try their coffee and tell us which type is best suited for the building. From that moment on, I was inspired to create something of my own but I kept that idea parked.

Fast forward a few years, I returned to Dubai and continued my career in finance with another major asset management firm. For some reason, I didn’t have access to any good coffee around me, so I took the risk of starting a project on the side of my fulltime job. I fitted a small roastery in Dubai’s industrial area. I sourced a few bags of the finest green coffee beans. Slowly, I started supplying a few cafes in the neighbourhood. Business started picking up from one cafe to the next, and eventually, I decided to quit my job because it was becoming very overwhelming for me to balance both. A couple of years later, Seven Fortunes is currently supplying to hotel chains, like the Renaissance, the W, the JW Marriott and the Ritz Carlton. I found myself up against competition like Illy and Lavazza, which are huge multinational chains; we had carved a reason for boutique hotels to work with smaller companies with a strong passion to deliver quality products.

When did you decide to bring your business to Egypt?

 My parents were consistently encouraging me to expand into Egypt. At first glance, I wasn’t convinced but before jumping into any judgments, I had to study the market better. After a few months of research I must say, my love for Egyptians and its culture drove my passion to influence and educate. 

100 million people are drinking average to poor coffee! Change must happen, and this instantly became my personal mission. I decided in late 2018 that I was going to enter the coffee industry in Egypt. I’m originally Egyptian and I simply loved the idea of sharing my coffee passion here.

From where do you source your beans?

I get my beans mainly from coffee-growing regions around the world. I’ve developed very close relationships with farmers that grow the crop in agricultural countries like Brazil, Colombia, Guatemala and Costa Rica. I buy beans specifically grown for Seven Fortunes. At the beginning, you start buying the coffee from traders but once you start building relationships with individual farmers, you get the advantage of sourcing the cream of the crop.

While anyone on the street can buy good coffee, a very limited quantity of people actually get their hands on the highest quality coffee. And there’s a reason for this – no matter how many acres a farmer has, he usually puts aside the cream of the crop for roasters like Seven Fortunes, whom he knows will treat the product well and transfer his name onto the market. We like to be transparent in how we do business, for instance you will find the source of each coffee on my coffee bags, and every farmer gets his name printed on our bags. This is the kind of relationship we like to build with them, and of course, it took time – around four to five years to build.

Why call it Seven Fortunes?

 Interesting that you ask! It took me nine months to develop the name and the branding. I arrived at the name three different ways. First, I chose the number seven for being associated with a lucky connotation in our Arabian culture. It’s relatable because, for example, in Egypt we have one of the seven wonders of the world which is the Pyramids. The brand was also founded in Dubai, which is one of the seven emirates of the UAE. It’s meaningful to me, so wherever I am in the world, I can relate to the number and I feel like it’s a point of engagement with consumers. As for the word fortunes, as far back as I can remember, my aunties would tell each other their fortunes using coffee cups. The term Seven Fortunes also relates back to a mystical story in the history of coffee – the story of the Seven Seeds.

We love that you made your brand accessible for both expert coffee connoisseurs and absolute beginners. How do you balance both audiences?

Honestly, I encourage people to drink coffee the way they like to drink it. Do it your way. If you’re a person who enjoys a classic Cappuccino, then go for it and Seven Fortunes will make sure you have the best quality coffee in your Cappuccino. If you like Espresso or American-style coffee, we’ll make that for you. There’s no need for us to over-complicate it. As long as you have a great quality coffee, you can make it anyway you want and it will taste exceptional. Coffee is so rooted in our culture that we’ve been drinking it for years and Arabs kind of already know what they like. There are so many flavor profiles you can experience. Once you engage any of my team members with coffee-related questions, be prepared to take notes.

A simple sensory example we like to share is the different flavor profiles of coffee. Brazil is completely different from coffee from Ethiopia. Generally, Central American coffee tends to be nutty or chocolaty and African coffees tend to be fruity or floral. If I can educate you about the options, which is our purpose, I can guide you to find out your preference.

Our brand image is sophisticated but we’re also inviting to anyone who is interested to learn about coffee. I believe in always meeting the consumers where they’re at. I take it step-by-step – first, I provide the coffee that they know they like. Then, I introduce them to a few more flavor profiles. That’s when the experience begins.

Tell us about the barista training you offer for those who would like to venture.

I am part of an internationally-recognized group of trainers, which is quite commonly known as Specialty Coffee Association (SCA). There are actually many pillars you can study in the coffee world. There’s a diploma system that you can earn within a year. You travel to the United States, the UK or Dubai to get the training, given by people like myself. This is what I wanted to bring to Egypt. Most people who tell you they are certified are probably certified in one or two courses but rarely will you find people who earned a full diploma.

There are five categories you can dig into. One of them is just learning about all the flavor profiles in the coffee world and being able to differentiate when a coffee is nutty, fruity or what taste it resembles – whether you can detect caramels, vanilla or fruits. Another category is all about brewing and preparing coffee manually. Then, there’s the barista category where you prepare coffee using espresso machines, and there’s green coffee, which is a whole different avenue about understanding and evaluating coffee directly from the farms. The last one is roasting.

You’re definitely way more than just a roastery. Do you have any plans to expand your services even further in the future?

When I came to Egypt, I set up the business to supply cafes, restaurants and hotels – a field which brought me a lot of success in the Middle East. However, I failed very quickly. Most of the hotels and business owners expressed no interest in providing higher quality coffee at their venues. They wanted to continue using commercial quality coffee and satisfy the already existing demand instead of taking a leap of faith in educating consumers about better options; although there is a very small price difference between commercial and specialty coffee. In the past year, I shifted my strategy in order to achieve success in my wholesale coffee business.  I’ve decided to open coffee shops to encourage other businesses to see the quality that really works. I’m creating this proof of concept to encourage a shift to specialty coffee over commercial coffee in the Egyptian market. I’m here to make an influence. My vision is to create supply rather than cater to a demand. We also want to empower more consumers to make the coffee they love at home, and in general, drink better coffee.

Seven Fortunes; Coffee Beyond Tradition was originally published on FLAIR MAGAZINE