#so that just makes everybody more chicken with their heads chopped off than usual. i forgot to bring popcorn to watch with s from paing.

[onepiexe]

well we know these work

[basementdoll]

Spanish Inquisition

Wednesday 13

What does this part-time Murderdoll, chicken lovin’, eyebrow shavin’, horror movie watchin’ dread head have to say for himself when Cardinal Doran asks him your questions and applies the thumbscrews? Read on and find out. Noose of the world: Brother Naki.

Weds: “Right, you must be here to ask me lots of offensive questions?”

Hammer: Usually when we do this we only get questions about how gay are you or how much dick do you love to suck, but this time we’ve only got questions about chickens.

Weds: “Cool! Questions from real fans!”

READ THAT YOU HAD A PET CHICKEN, OMAR. DID YOU JUST GET SICK OF LOOKING AFTER HIM AND EAT HIM?

Pear Black, Via Email

Weds: “No. Unfortunately, not being farmers or anything and not knowing how to take care of chickens, he died. We had a little chicken coop at the side of our guitar amps and our drums. It was the summer, we’d go to practice and leave him and he died of heat exhaustion. So I chopped off his legs and made a little memorial for him by hanging them off my guitar but they got ripped off during one gig. Peace Omar.” [Thumps heart emotively.]

Hammer: What benefits are there to having a chicken instead of a normal pet like a cat?

Weds: “None. The reason I got the chicken was cos when I was a kid people always told me that people like Ozzy Osbourne and Alice Cooper used to bite the heads off chickens live on stage and drink their blood. So for me, I’ve always associated chickens with rock’n’ roll. I never wanted to kill the chicken, I just always wanted it to be there. I'd recommend your readers get a cat instead.”

Hammer: But chickens are good for voodoo rituals as well.

Weds: “And for feathers…”

Hammer: Say if you were going to cook a chicken, what recipe would you use?

Weds: “I’m a big fan of Cajun chicken. I bake chicken pretty much every day of my life, except when I’m on tour because you don’t have access to a stove. You put the chicken in the oven and sprinkle it with salt, pepper and spices and cook it until it isn’t pink in the middle - unless you want to get sick.”

WITH ERIK JOINING NAPOLEON BLOWNAPART, BEN IN NOCTURNE, ACEY IN TRASH LIGHT VISION AND JOEY IN SLIPKNOT, IS THERE ANY HOPE FOR THE MURDERDOLLS GETTING BACK TOGETHER?

Decaying Wench, Hell, Third Door On The Left

Weds: “Well, yeah. There’s always hope. Everybody’s doing their own thing. Joey went back to Slipknot and I started doing this so everybody had to find something to do. I can only speak for myself, because I don’t know what the other guys are doing, but I’m putting 100 per cent into this and it is my number one priority, I’m going to tour this record for as long as I want to. But when the time comes right, everybody feels like doing another Murderdolls record and everybody is on the same page, then yeah, I’ll do it. But there’s no way it’ll happen next year.”

Hammer: How has the material off ‘Transylvania 90210’ been going down?

Weds: “Amazing. I was expecting to get raked across the coals but the kids have been digging it and the reviews from the journalists have been really good as well. People are telling me that it’s much more diverse than the Murderdolls; a lot more like a rollercoaster ride and it’s got many different levels to it.”

HEY TUESDAY, DON’T YOU THINK THAT THE MURDERDOLLS SOUNDS LIKE A REALLY BAD GOFF PORN WEBSITE?

Dan, Chiswick

Weds: “I don’t go to goth porn websites and I don’t think it sounds anything like one. Frankenstein Drag Queen sounds more like a goth porn website.”

Hammer: What are your views on pornography?

Weds: “It happens. I don’t find myself ringing lines or going on websites but if that’s what people do and it makes them happy then more power to them. You won’t be finding me turning up in any porn films by the way. Unlike Fred Durst.”

Hammer: He didn’t come out of that looking well.

Weds: “Fred Durst doesn’t come out of anything looking well.”

SAW YOUR TATTOOS IN METAL HAMMER AND WANTED TO KNOW THE TATTOOIST’S NAME?

Chris, South Africa

Weds: “There was this old guy that I used to go to in my home town of Charlotte, North Carolina but the guy pissed me off and I don’t go to him any more. My new guy is called Mark Evans, who did my stitches which are healing up and he did the new Michael Myers tattoo. I don’t promote my old guy because he was a douchebag.”

Hammer: Did you weep like a six year old girl watching ET when you got them done?

Weds: “No. As I was getting them done I was watching Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure so I was laughing. They hurt though. The ones on the wrists, I think I would have been better just chopping my hands off and sewing them back on: it would have hurt less. It was pretty painful.”

AS THE FUTURE PRESIDENT OF KFC, WHICH DO YOU PREFER: POPCORN CHICKEN OR A FAMILY BUCKET?

Cyhiraeth 13, Via Email

Weds: “Family bucket. Popcorn chicken is different here. In America it is actually just what is left over from the other chicken in the bottom of the tray dumped into a bucket. But also the way you guys cut chicken here is totally different. It baffles me, I don’t know what I’m eating. In America you have a leg, a breast, a thigh and a wing. Over here you have a throat, an ass, an elbow…”

Hammer: We don’t have chicken’s elbows.”

Weds: “What the hell am I eating here? It’s all fucking mixed up, I think I had a throat today!”

Hammer: Just say you developed a food intolerance to chicken what would you do then?

Weds: “I’d eat turkey. I’d just move from one bird to another. And turkey’s better for you.”

Hammer: You should try ostrich. Terminator X, the old DJ from Public Enemy, is now an ostrich farmer in the USA, that’s why he doesn’t go on tour with them because someone’s got to stay home and look after the ostriches.

Weds: “I can’t say that I’ve seen a Kentucky Fried Ostrich restaurant yet but when I do I’ll stop by. I fancy a KFO.”

RECENTLY MY MUMMY BROUGHT HOME A BABY CHICK. AS YOU USED TO HAVE A PET CHICKEN, CAN YOU GIVE ME A FEW TIPS ON HOW TO MAKE IT BE QUIET? ITS TWEETING IS DRIVING ME INSANE.

Eddie, London

Weds: “There’s no way to keep them quiet. Keep them out of the heat. Don’t feed them after midnight. They will actually eat anything you put in front of them. They’ll eat chicken, so give your chicken some KFC and watch it become a cannibal.”

IF YOU COULD REMAKE A HORROR MOVIE AND STAR IN IT, WHAT WOULD IT BE AND WHICH CHARACTER WOULD YOU TAKE?

Charlotte Humphreys, Andover

Weds: “Probably The Abominable Dr Phibes and I would be Dr Phibes because he was the master of revenge and it is my favourite Vincent Price movie. He didn’t really even have to talk to be frightening.”

HEY WEDNESDAY, I WAS WONDERING IF YOU MANAGED TO EAT ONE MILLION PIECES OF FRIED CHICKEN IN 2004 LIKE YOU PREDICTED YOU WOULD?

Storm McCracken, Paraparaumu, New Zealand

Weds: “There’s a good possibility, yeah. I lost count along the way but probably. Not this year though because I turned over a new leaf and now I only eat grilled chicken. I’ve been trying to make sure that I don’t have a heart attack before I’m 30.”

Hammer: Speaking as a bit of a tubby bastard, I was wondering how you stay so slim on such a chicken rich diet?

Weds: “It is basically not eating fried chicken. I went on a diet and I lost 40lbs which shows you how bad it can be.”

COULD A REGULAR PERSON KILL A SHEEP WITH JUST ONE PUNCH TO ITS FACE? I DON’T THINK SO.

Ken B Wild, The Fields 

Weds: “Hmmm. It depends on the person. Me? No. I can’t punch a sheep to death but say you’re Tor Johnson from the Ed Wood films, the big guy, he could probably hit a sheep once and break its spine.”

Hammer: I reckon The Thing from The Fantastic Four could waste a sheep.

Weds: “Well, Tor Johnson is probably the closest a human has ever got to being The Thing.

Hammer: What is the biggest creature that you’ve ever killed? Purposefully, that is. Not just forgetting that you’ve left a chicken in a hot room.

Weds: Probably a grasshopper. I don’t hurt animals. When I was a kid I used to do mean stuff but I don’t now. I go out of my way not to hurt stuff.”

DO YOU STILL BELIEVE IN THE EASTER BUNNY?

Goldfinger Rule 502, Via Email

Weds: “Hell yeah! He just came to my house a couple of months ago. He brought my kid a box of candy and $20.”

Hammer: What are your favorite kinds of sweets?

Weds: “I love peanut M&MS. Those things are addictive. I will eat about 10 bags a day if I don’t watch it.”

DEAR WEDNESDAY 13, ARE THINGS STILL TENSE BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR RIVAL THURSDAY 14?

Antibody, Via Email

Weds: “Yeah, we’re still going head to head. One day we’ll meet and slug it out but I will win.”

Hammer: It’s Wednesday the 13th soon, do you do anything out of the ordinary on those days?

Weds: “Not normally but this year we are doing the London show so that should be really remarkable.”

DOES YOUR MOTHER FEEL ASHAMED THAT HER GROWN UP SON FEELS THE NEED TO DRESS LIKE A SPAZZ AND WEAR BAD MAKE-UP?

Eyen, Poshland

Weds: “My mom’s pretty proud of me. She goes out and buys all of the magazines and everything else. She is totally supportive of me and is into what we’re doing.”

WHO WOULD WIN IN A FIGHT BETWEEN A GRIZZLY BEAR AND A SIBERIAN TIGER?

Bobby G, Via Email

Weds: “A grizzly man! You can’t fight a bear! I’ve seen a bear- you can’t fight them.”

Hammer: You saw a bear?

Weds: “On TV. In a zoo. You can’t fight them.”

Hammer: My Chemical Romance got attacked by a moose once. What is the biggest animal you’ve ever been attacked by?

Weds: “I got attacked by a Doberman when I was eight years old. And they can kill you. The dog had cancer and it had this giant tumour on its side and they were going to put it to sleep in a few weeks. But it came up to me while I was on my trampoline and put its legs up and started growling. I was like, ‘Oh shit, what do I do?’ So I decided to try and run down the hill to get home and the dog jumped at me, knocked me down and I ate grass. It never bit me but it stayed right on my ass growling and I just cried all the way home. Which is OK if you’re eight: a Doberman could bite your arm off!”

Hammer: If you say so. Are you nervous about dogs now?

Weds: “I’m not a big dog fan. I like cats and small dogs but big dogs give me the old phobia.”

ISN’T WEDNESDAY A GIRL’S NAME, LIKE THAT BINT OUT OF THE ADDAMS FAMILY? SHOULDN’T YOU BY RIGHTS BE CALLED PUGSLEY 13?

Mr D Monkey, No Fixed Abode

Weds: “Well you know, I don’t have to buy the rights to be named after the day of the week and yeah, I was totally inspired by the character out of The Addams Family, I’ve always admitted that and never tried to hide it. She was always much cooler than Pugsley because he was a little fat guy.”

WHY DON’T YOU HAVE A JASON VOORHEES TATTOO?

War Machine, Via Email

Weds: “It’s in the process. I’m getting Voorhees and Freddie very soon. So gimme some time dude!”

WEDNESDAY, WHY DO YOU SHAVE YOUR EYEBROWS OFF? IT MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A PLOPHEAD.

He Man, Reading

Weds: “A plophead? A guy with a plop on his head? What is that? If you mean shit head, say shit head. You know, I shave my eyebrows off for one simple reason: my hair is blond. When my eyebrows grow out they are blond, it just doesn’t look good. I don’t have cool eyebrows, so I shave them off. You can hardly see them anyway. I do notice not having them because of the sweat. If you ever see me on stage squinting like this [scrunches up face as if in agony] that means my eyes are burning out of my fucking head.”

[littlemisspascal]

Formula 101 - Prologue Part 3: November

Summary: The first weekend of November begins with Eggsy cooking in your apartment’s kitchen.

Pairing: eventual Javi/Fem!Reader "Oddball" (OFC)

Word Count: 10,000+ (I think??? this is my longest single chapter ever??? 😮)

Rating: T

Warnings: Social Media Fic, Formula One AU ft. multiple Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe characters, Switching POVs, Worldbuilding, Headlines inspired by true events but edited for this plot, Usernames were created for fun and if they do exist irl there's no affiliation, Slowest of Slow Burn, Language, Alcohol

Author Note: Massive thank you to everybody who gave this fic a chance! The support is beyond appreciated 💗💗💗

A03 Link | Series Masterlist

The first weekend of November begins with Eggsy cooking in your apartment’s kitchen.

You blink at him, slowly shutting the front door behind you. This happens sometimes, the boys showing up at your place and letting themselves in with the spare keys Past-You was stupid enough to give them. Truthfully, you don’t mind their presence, it’s just normally you get some kind of semi-polite head’s up text instead of making the spontaneous discovery when you return home from your afternoon gym session drenched in sweat. 

“Nice of you to drop in, Eggsy,” you say. Then you sniff the air, eyes widening with alarm even as your mouth waters. “Oh my God, you made chicken tacos.”

“And avocado salad,” he replies, without looking up from the cutting board where he’s diligently chopping perfectly marinated chicken thighs into smaller pieces.

You start toeing off your sneakers, brow creasing. “When did you get here?”

“About an hour or so ago. Caught a red-eye flight then took a cab.”

Oh shit, you think, wrestling your backpack off your shoulders. A red-eye flight and a cooking session? This is more serious than you thought.

Everybody’s got their own eccentric trait or two. Little quirks that set them apart from the rest of the world. The thing with Eggsy is he becomes a Michelin star chef when he’s stressed out about something. And that ‘something’ could be small like he can’t remember if he told his beloved pug JB he loved him before leaving for a race, or it could be major like he was papped joining in a drunken pub fight and possibly jeopardized his whole career. It’s all or nothing with Eggsy, and since he’s known to get snappish when confronted with questions, there’s not much you can do until he decides to reveal his current crisis besides eat his delicious food and try not to let the increasing speed of your heartbeat induce a panic attack.

“So,” you begin in-between bites of chicken-and-avocado goodness, forcing yourself to actually chew and savor the tacos instead of scarfing them down like an animal. “I’m pretty sure Diana tried to kill me today.”

Across the small circular kitchen table you found at a local thrift store, Eggsy snorts with amusement. “You say that like you haven’t accused her of murder a dozen times before.”

“She threw a dumbbell at my head.”

“You probably deserved it.”

You’re tempted to throw an avocado chunk at him, but it’s too good to sacrifice and instead you settle for silently glaring at him.

His answering smile is a mere shade of his usual mischievous grin, and he looks back down at his plate, poking at the contents with a fork. 

Leaning forward, you fix your expression into one of casual nonchalance, not letting any of your bubbling concern leak through in the lines around your eyes or mouth. “You sticking around for the whole weekend with me or—?”

He looks at you then, the first noticeable flicker of nervousness on his face. “Shit, I forgot to ask if you were free, didn’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but,” you’re quick to hold up a calming hand before he does anything stupid like run out the door, “it’s cool, Eggsy. We can hang out tomorrow after training. Or you could totally come along—I’m sure Diana would love another victim to bully around.”

“Thanks,” he says, scratching at his jawline and going back to avoiding direct eye contact. “I’ve got a few calls to make tomorrow though, so…” A small shrug of his shoulders. “Plus, I think Charlie might feel a little betrayed if I went to another trainer. He’s the jealous type.”

You chuckle as you reach for your water bottle, imagining the older Brit stomping his foot like a toddler who’s been forced to share his favorite toy. 

“Statesman asked me to join their team next season.”

You promptly spit out your drink, eliciting a disgusted complaint from across the table, and manage to ask in-between pained wheezes, “What?”

“Van Chance also asked if I’d be their reserve driver.”

“Eggsy,” you gape at him, brain struggling to catch up with the back-to-back bombshells.

He buries his face into his hands. “I know.”

“What the fuck.”

“I know,” he’s on the verge of whining now, peeking at you through the gaps of his fingers.

You start to smile, only for it to falter when you realize how positively unexcited he looks at the amazing news. Like he’s two seconds away from crawling under the table and curling into the fetal position.

“Is this…” You tilt your head, hesitantly asking, “Is this not good news?”

Eggsy lowers his hands, leveling you with an incredulous look. “This is the greatest fucking news of my whole life.”

“Then why the hell are you stress cooking in my kitchen?”

“It’s not stress cooking.” Eggsy shakes his head, scoffing just a little too loudly. “I just cobbled this together with stuff from your fridge, it’s no big deal—”

“Eggsy,” you interrupt, voice calm but firm. “I know for a fact the contents of my fridge did not contain six chicken thighs or corn tortillas or avocados when I left for the gym this morning. Face it, buddy, you stress shopped and then you stress cooked.”

There’s a second where it looks like his stubbornness is going to prevail, but it’s extinguished in the next beat, shoulders slumping with defeat. “Aw fuck.”

Aw fuck indeed.

Considering drivers aren’t supposed to talk to each other about these kind of deals—something something confidentiality is key blah blah legal jargon—it says a lot about Eggsy’s nervousness that he's come all this way to speak with you. It says a lot about your friendship, too.

Propping your chin on your hand, you softly ask, “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Eggsy lets out an explosive sigh, leaning back in his seat like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “I just don’t think I’m Formula One material,” he admits finally.

“What? Of course you are!” you exclaim.

“I’m not like all those guys,” he argues. “I haven’t won a Formula championship.”

“Neither have I.”

“Yeah, but you’re—” he waves a hand, vaguely gesturing.

It takes a second for understanding to sink in, and when it does you immediately bristle, temper flaring. “A woman? Are you seriously suggesting I only got into F1 because of my–”

“What? No! No,” Eggsy denies vehemently, eyes widening, reaching out a hand to grip onto your wrist, a reassuring touch. “That’s not what I was saying at all, I swear. I meant that you’re you, Oddball. It doesn’t matter if you’ve won a championship or not ‘cause you’re twice as much of a badass as any of them.”

You take hold of his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Damn right I am,” you agree, trying to get him to laugh or at least crack a smile. “And you need to give yourself more credit. You deserve a seat in F1 just as much as the others do. It wasn’t some random fluke two teams reached out with contracts.”

His mouth twists, unconvinced. “But what if it was though? What if the only reason they reached out is because of the 1% chance I’ll beat Ben in the final round and when I don’t do that they dump me on the fucking curb?”

“Then they’re absolute dicks.”

Eggsy’s frown deepens. “I’m being serious, Odds.”

“So am I,” you say. “If they can’t see your talent then fuck ‘em. It’s as simple as that.”

He stares at you for a moment, the little pinch between his eyebrows indicating he’s thinking about your words, turning them round in his head. 

“Also if you’re not there, then it’s just going to be me and Ben and you know we’ll drive each other mad.”

At last Eggsy smiles, rolling his eyes. “There it is. The real reason you want me to join. It was never about my talent as a driver, it was about my talent as a babysitter.”

You pinch your index finger and thumb together. “Only just a little bit.”

He playfully cuffs your jaw with the bumps of his knuckles. “Thanks, Odds,” he murmurs. 

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?”

The Brit nods, only for his nose to suddenly scrunch up like he’s smelled something rotten.

“What?”

“No offense,” he begins, slowly leaning away, “but a shower would really benefit you right now.”

This time you don’t hesitate throwing an avocado chunk directly at his dumb face.

 _________________________________________________

HoloNet

November 2022 Latest News

Statesman confirms Eggsy for 2023 WWS - 45 minutes ago

Statesman has announced British driver Gary 'Eggsy' Unwin will drive for the team alongside Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels in 2023...

All F1 seats filled: Eggsy Unwin signs for Statesman Formula1Daily - 3 hours ago

Statesman team principal Jefferson Champagne said: "Eggsy has had a mighty impressive F2 season. We look forward to him joining us."

Future Statesman driver Eggsy Unwin's focus is on the F2 championship BBB - 5 hours ago

Eggsy says the recent announcement of his future F1 career is not going to distract him from the goal of beating Ben Miller at the upcoming final round of F2...

 _________________________________________________

PODCAST EPISODE

Javi Gutierrez Interview 2022

Off Track & Up Close with Sean Knox

Episode Description: This week I sat down and talked with Javi Gutierrez! Only 25 years old, Javi has learned several valuable lessons about life and racing throughout his career in F1. We started our chat reflecting on his rookie debut in 2018 with Crane (4:50), what he wishes he’d known before entering F1 (7:00), his strict training regimen (10:06), how he deals with the stress and pressure of the sport (16:34), and what insight he gained during his second season of F1 after he joined Black Gold (24:12). 

In the second half, Javi discusses his transfer from Black Gold to Triple Frontier (28:44), finding out Dave York was given his previously promised seat with Black Gold (32:58), the opportunity to join Vulpecula (35:19) and teaming up with rookie Oddball next season (38:30), his goals he hopes to accomplish as an F1 driver (40:40), and his advice for any young drivers out there who want to start racing (49:11). 

~

Sean Knox: You’ve signed with Vulpecula for next season. Congratulations! Always great news worth celebrating when a driver secures a seat. I gotta ask though, since it’s going to be your fourth team in your career, is it a good thing or a bad thing to flip flop around like that? 

Javi Gutierrez: It wasn’t something I expected to happen by any means. Most drivers will agree when I say you need at least two seasons to get fully used to a team—their strategies, their technology, the design of their cars. With Crane I only got one year, and essentially that’s what I’ve also had with Triple Frontier since it felt almost like I had to hit the ground running when I joined them during last year’s midseason. I had my personal best results the two and a half seasons I was with Black Gold because I had the time to become familiar with their dynamics. So, no, I don’t think it’s a particularly good thing, flip flopping around as you said, but I’m also extremely grateful for the opportunity to keep racing and improve my skills.

Knox: It must be such a relief then, having signed a two-year deal with Vulpecula from the start. 

Gutierrez: Immense relief, yes. I’m looking forward to it.

Knox: Maybe even snag your first podium with them?

Gutierrez: Fingers crossed.

~

Knox: For the first time in your career in F1, you’re going to be the #1 driver on a team. How does it feel, having that extra bit of responsibility being the leader? Do you feel ready for the role?

Gutierrez: I thought I would feel nervous, but strangely enough I actually feel pretty confident about it all. I’ve learned a lot over the years, especially how important it is to trust yourself, your instincts. I know what Vulpecula expects from me, and I believe I can get them the good results they want. 

Knox: Love the confidence, man. Love the positivity energy.

Gutierrez: It can be hard to cling to that. Frankie says I’m–what’s the word? Broody sometimes after a bad race. I can neither confirm or deny that. But when everything feels like it’s falling apart, it’s true even the smallest bit of positivity helps.

~

Knox: You have a good history of getting along with your teammates which can be a rarity in Formula One for some. First you were paired with Garin, then Indelicato, and now Morales. What about your future teammate Oddball? How well do you know her?

Gutierrez: We haven’t actually met yet. With how different and busy our current schedules are, there just hasn’t been a moment yet where our paths crossed beyond seeing glimpses of each other during the race weekends.

Knox: A couple weeks ago a video came out on social media of you waving at her after she hilariously called out Ben Miller in the middle of the paddock. That was–I’m assuming from what you just said–one of your first interactions with her?

Gutierrez: Yeah, it was. Frankie and Ben were getting to know each other, so when I saw her it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment. 

Knox: You think your streak of amicable partnerships will continue with her or…?

Gutierrez: We’ll be spending a lot of time together these next few months preparing for next season, so I hope we’ll get along. I heard she’s a fan of Nicolas Cage which means we’ve already got one thing in common besides racing.

Knox: It’s like I always say, the best friendships in life are forged over a bowl of popcorn while watching Nick Cage do his thing. In fact, I’m calling it now: this time next year when we chat again, you two are gonna be joined at the hip. 

 _________________________________________________

Trending

F1

#NYGP22

Sunspear Racing

#MorenoWins

Marcus Moreno

 _________________________________________________

There’s something magical about New York City during a race weekend. A buzz in the air you feel even beneath multiple layers of clothing warding off the frigid air. You like the skyscrapers and the bright lights, the eclectic masses of people everywhere you look, that there’s always something to do no matter the hour. Even if that ‘something’ this time around happens to be a party in the penthouse of some mega social media influencer you couldn’t pick out of a lineup to save your life.

“Krystal Kris,” Benny reminds you for the umpteenth time during the elevator ride. He uses the mirror on the cabin wall to check his appearance, running a hand through his hair to muss it up in a way you’ve heard him describe as ‘ruggedly debauched’. He notices your unsubtle eye roll. “All the teams have been invited to celebrate. Eggsy and Ricky texted they’re already there. I know you can’t drink yet, Miss Underaged Minor, but just try to have fun, alright?”

It shouldn’t be appealing to your inner introvert, living it up in some random girl’s home surrounded by a bunch of people you don’t know all that well, but it actually sounds kind of fun. Maybe it’s that NYC magic.

“I’ll give it a shot,” you say, a grin curling at the corner of your mouth.

“Awesome,” Ben says, looking as satisfied as a fat house cat.

The elevator opens directly into Krystal’s entry area and her penthouse is every bit as glamorous and extravagant as you imagined, decorated with an abundance of string lights and balloons. Somewhere a karaoke machine must be set up because you can hear the caterwauling notes of somebody attempting to sing a Queen song over the miscellaneous sounds of laughter and chatter from the seventy or so guests scattered about. Just about everybody seems to have a drink in their hand, some already halfway to three sheets to the wind.

You wade into the crowd, snippets of conversation and the smell of alcohol passing you by, overwhelming your senses. The happy, carefree atmosphere starts to sink into your bones, fills you up with excitement, makes everything seem twice as thrilling. You find yourself smiling for no real reason, and it grows when you see Eggsy lounging on the living room couch with Ricky, the latter talking animatedly with his hands even though he’s holding a drink, just one wild gesture away from sloshing its contents all over the floor.

Making a beeline for them, Ricky’s face lights up when he catches sight of you.

“You’re here!” Ricky crows with delight, cheeks a little flushed. He immediately scooches over against the arm of the couch, making just enough room for you to settle in-between him and Eggsy.

“We’re so glad,” Eggsy grumbles, twisting his body to find another comfortable position.

“Ben dragged me,” you reply, nodding towards where your friend is mixing some drinks together at the open bar. “Probably for the best. Somebody’s got to get his drunk ass back to the hotel later.”

Ricky takes a sip from his cup. “Krystal’s the perfect host. Stocked the bar with every kind of drink you could ask for.”

You perk up. “Even—”

“Yes, even non-alcoholic, good old-fashioned lemonade,” he interrupts with a knowing smirk.

Your night just improved tenfold. 

“Speaking of Krystal, where is she?” you ask, gaze drifting around the room, as if a spotlight will single her out. Most girls in the nearby vicinity are unfamiliar to you, probably models or other influencers hoping for a fun time and a chance to flirt with the drivers. Sure, there’s something inherently attractive about men in fast cars, but you also know firsthand just how profoundly stupid a lot of them can be when they’re not driving.

“Around,” Eggsy answers unhelpfully, proving your point exactly. You give him a flat look and he shrugs. “She’s literally bouncing all over the joint, documenting everything on her phone to impress her followers.”

“So be careful about pineapple faces then, got it.”

Pineapple face is, essentially, a resting bitch face except it’s 99% of the time made intentionally when you think somebody is annoying, stupid, or a combination of both. It also coincidentally happens to look like the same face you make when eating sour foods like pineapples, hence the moniker.

Ben appears in front of the couch then, carefully carrying two drinks at once. “Who’s doing a pineapple face?” 

“Your mom,” you say reflexively, reaching out to take the bottle of lemonade from his grip. Seriously, these boys know you so well you might as well live in each other’s pockets. He lets you take it with minimum fuss, only a mere disapproving tsk of his tongue for the lame comeback. 

You down almost half your drink in one sip, the burst of sourness pleasurably electrifying your tastebuds. You’ll never get tired of the lemony taste, bringing memories of childhood summertime afternoons to the forefront of your mind. Back to those calmer, simpler days without any responsibilities except your chores.

For the most part, you four spend the evening hanging out around the living room couch joking and sharing stories with each other. Ricky ropes Omar Assarian into the conversation at one point, who then in turn calls over Gio Bravo, but he only sticks around long enough to playfully knock Ricky’s hat off his head before disappearing back into the crowd. You remain seated comfortably on the middle cushion, manipulating Eggsy and Ben with your best puppy dog eyes to keep the lemonade supply flowing.

“Let’s play a game,” Ricky decides abruptly just as you check your phone screen, stunned to find you’ve been here almost two hours and the party’s still going strong.

“What do you have in mind?” Omar asks, looking half-tempted to play, half-tempted to make up an excuse to leave.

“Two truths and a lie,” is the decisive response, no room for counter suggestions. “If we guess the lie right, the person drinks. If we get it wrong, we drink.”

“Ah, what the hell, I’ll go first,” Ben says with a long-suffering sigh like it’s so hard being the center of attention. His brow scrunches up, thinking of what to say. “If I wasn’t racing cars, I’d want to be a professional boxer,” he starts with, and you know it’s true because he drunkenly confessed it the night of his birthday a few months ago and then proceeded to punch a hole in the wall of his brother’s house as if to prove himself. Good times, good times. “My favorite movie is Fast & Furious,” also true, “and I had all A’s before I dropped out of school.”

And that’s total—

“Bullshit,” Omar declares without hesitation, reading your mind.

“Mate,” Eggsy says through guffaws, “you texted me last week asking if psychology was a real word. No way in hell did you get high marks in school.”

Ben grumbles something that goes unheard, probably cursing the group’s existence, and takes a drink of his beer.

“I’ll go,” Ricky raises his hand eagerly. He starts listing off on his fingers, “I love donuts. I’ve never had a speeding ticket. And I write poems.”

“Everybody gets a speeding ticket,” Ben says. “Even Oddball, and she’s a goody two shoes.”

You stick your tongue out at him. You’d been rushing home to watch the finale of your favorite show, but did the police officer who pulled you over care about that? Nope. He gave you the longest thirty-minute lecture of your life on the dangers of speeding while he wrote you a ticket for going 40 on a 30 dusty back road. By the time you finally got home you’d missed the entire episode. Lesson learned the hard way.

“You tweet about poetry all the time,” Eggsy says. “And donuts are impossible to hate, so I’m going with the speeding ticket is the lie, too.”

Ricky smiles, that cherubic little grin of his where his eyes seem to sparkle, but something about it seems off. You rack your brain, trying to think of a memory of Ricky eating anything for breakfast other than yogurt, eggs, or oatmeal. He’s always been the strictest about his diet within your little group, rarely allowing himself even the smallest pieces of candy for a treat after a win. This night out is most likely the only one he’s allowed himself to indulge in this whole race season.

“You’re a donut hater,” you announce, pointing at him shamelessly.

Ricky throws his hands in the air, drink thankfully sitting safely on the table or else you’d have been showered in alcohol. “How? How did you guess that right?”

Ben gapes at him, as if he’s suddenly become a total stranger to him. “You’ve never got a ticket? For real, man?”

“Are you sure you’re a F1 driver?” Omar asks, just as equally incredulous.

Ricky attempts to weakly defend his spotless record against the rowdier boys, but their taunting persists, drowning him out. You decide to intervene when it looks like Ricky’s on the verge of sulking so hard he becomes one with the couch. Definitely a sight not worth the risk of Krystal filming, even if the other drivers find it hysterical.

“I had a pet womp rat as a kid,” you say, raising your voice to be heard over them fooling around. A couple of extra people in the room swivel their heads to look at you along with your friends and you feel the back of your neck prickle with heat. “I, um, my favorite show as a kid was Puzo the Tardigrade. And The Princess Bride is my favorite book.”

And it should be impossible, with all the lights and people and especially the karaoke shrieking, but you hear a voice from behind you utter an amused, “Inconceivable,” that has you immediately twisting around to see. You can’t help the reaction, anytime you hear someone quoting your favorite story, it’s like the words are a taser against your skin, lighting up every nerve ending all at once. 

Javi Gutierrez is standing behind the couch, carrying four beers fresh from the bar with large hands your eyes can’t help but notice, his fingers wrapped around the bottles’ necks. His eyes widen when he realizes you’ve heard him, shoulders twitching like he’s suddenly got a spotlight beaming down on him. 

Your mouth opens, to say what you’re not entirely sure. Hi would probably be the best place to start, or offering another Princess Bride quote might put him at ease enough to officially join the game. Or maybe—

“What the fuck is a tardigrade?”

Or maybe Ben fucking Miller has to ruin the moment.

“A water bear,” Ricky, the nerd, says just as you face forwards again.

“...A water bear?” Omar echoes, eyebrows arched so high they nearly disappear into his buzzed haircut.

“Yeah, you know,” Ricky flaps an unhelpful hand, “a moss piglet.”

Eggsy chokes on his drink, spraying Long Island iced tea all over your jeans, prompting you to screech and slap at his arm while he laughs himself to tears. Meanwhile Ben and Omar remain totally in the dark about tardigrades, staring at Ricky for a second time like he’s from another planet.

You’ll look behind the couch again later when the truth’s come out—no pet womp rats for you, just loth cats and the occasional frog—but Javi’s long gone. 

 _________________________________________________

 _________________________________________________

“You actually look like you’re having fun in this one,” Gabriela teases, holding her phone in front of Javi’s face, showing off a photo of him, Frankie and some other drivers at Krystal Kris’ party. He’s pointing at something out of view, eyes screwed shut as he laughs hysterically, and his memories of the night are a little fuzzy around the edges but he thinks the photo was taken when Dieter Bravo drunkenly collided face-first with a wall.

He hums noncommittally. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Gabriela rolls her eyes at his stubborn reluctance to admit okay, maybe the party wasn’t as horrible as he thought it was going to be. The drinks were good, the company decent. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to hear Queen again without cringing at the memory of Nico Loro’s horrid efforts to impersonate Freddie Mercury though.

His PR agent is quiet for a bit, scrolling through Instagram’s slew of tagged photos and videos from last night. Then her movements abruptly pause, eyebrows twitching with the barest hint of surprise, so subtle Javi would have missed it entirely if he wasn’t looking at her face. He moves closer, tilting his head for a better look at what’s caught her attention.

It’s a short clip of him and Oddball—specifically, their little Princess Bride moment where she’d turned around on the couch and they’d engaged in a brief staring contest with each other. He remembers how she’d looked at him, with surprise and then recognition. He remembers she seemed like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t make up her mind. He remembers she was drinking lemonade.

The video is barely ten seconds long, not much to linger on in his opinion, but then he notices the view count has almost surpassed 500k and his eyes threaten to fall out of his head. 

Gabriela is still staring, expression inscrutable, and just when Javi thinks she’s going to watch it a million more times, all she says is, “You didn’t tell me Oddball was there.”

He leans back on his heels to better study her face, unsure from her tone what she’s feeling. “Yeah, I only saw her that little bit,” he answers. “She was hanging out with her friends, playing some kind of game.”

Gabriela finally continues scrolling, manicured finger tapping at the screen. Something about her silence makes his chest tighten, hair on the back of his neck prickling with unease. Surely she isn’t mad at him, right? No, he tries to assure himself. He’s seen her furious before, and when she’s angry the whole country knows about it, hearing her long-winded ranting from miles away. 

Something else is wrong here.

“Javi,” Gabriela starts, biting her lip, noticeably strange in the way she struggles to make eye contact. “You know I don’t like interfering in your personal life and it’s, uh, not exactly against the rules if you two were to—actually, I’m not sure if there even are rules since it’s not common yet, having a woman on a team. The FIA are always a step behind the current times,” she makes a face at that, “but it’s probably better for you, and Oddball, too, I imagine, since it’s her rookie season, that you and her don’t, um…”

She trails off, just looking at him, waiting expectantly, and Javi merely blinks back.

“That we don’t…what?”

Gabriela exhales a heavy sigh, glances away, seems to gather her wits, and when she looks back she’s back to her usual cool and collected PR manager self. “Don’t do anything stupid, alright, Javi? I like my job to be uncomplicated.”

 _________________________________________________

Speed Beasts Magazine

United States' Top Motorsport Weekly November 14 2022 Issue

In This Issue:

4. Badillo and Ballard join Formula E 6. Dornish Grand Prix speculations 9. A chat with Outer Rim Sports' Axe Woves 10. A chat with Statesman CEO Jefferson Champagne 14. Fan opinions on next season's circuits 15. Eggsy joins F1 22. Ahsoka Tano's advice for 2023's rookies 25. Formula 2 in 2023: who will be the next champion? 30. Be kind rewind: 1999 highlights and controversies 34. Why Van Chance is in desperate need of a win next season 40. Kingsgrave's new motorsport museum 45. What to watch this week 52. How well do you know F1 driver trivia? Test yourself!

 _________________________________________________

The alarm clock on your nightstand displays 11:50pm and no matter how much you toss and turn, your mind won’t shut off. 

Let it be noted, when you reach for your phone, giving up on sleep, you don’t intend to search for your future teammate on Instagram. It just kind of, sort of happens. One second you’re looking at your home feed, specifically of a picture of Ben hanging out at Triple Frontier headquarters, and the next your fingers are typing Javi’s name in the search bar. There he is at the top of the list with an official blue checkmark: javigutierrez53. 

He has a larger follower count than you, which, of course he does, because he’s been an official F1 driver for almost five years now, professional and—your eyes linger on his profile picture, dressed in his racing suit, curls sweaty and disheveled with one single strand dangling rebelliously over his forehead. Good lord, he really is like a piece of art come to life. How the hell is he real? It’s unfair, that’s what it is. Completely and totally unfair, because you’re going be photographed next to that man and while everybody’s oohing and awing over him (rightfully so), you’ll be standing there beside him looking like—like a—

Whatever is on the spectrum between a potato and a naked mole rat. That’s what you’ll be. Oh yeah, and make sure to add breasts to that mental image because lord knows that's the main thing people are gonna be looking at. Female driver, the press keeps calling you, like they’re gonna get in trouble for leaving the descriptive out. It’s accurate, sure, but is it really necessary to single you out from the rest of the grid just because you’re a woman? Once you’re in the car, you’re a driver, it should be as simple and indifferent as that. But alas, that’s not how the world works.

Who cares about your skills and accomplishments when there’s far more interesting details to gossip about like the clothes you wear and your dating history. 

Jokes on them ‘cause you’ve never even had a single boyfriend for them to analyze. Ha ha ha. Really, it’s so fucking hysterical being alone all the time. 

You shove those disparaging thoughts aside for another sleepless night, looking at some more of Javi’s photos with his family, with his PR manager, of him enjoying time off at home in Mallorca. Javi driving a speedboat. Javi cliffjumping. Javi showing off his collection of movie memorabilia (which, on second glance, appear to all be Nicolas Cage memorabilia and hell if your future teammate didn’t just gain another gold star in the how is he real column). 

Everybody keeps saying next season will be interesting—Vivian, the press, your friends, even your parents. And only now is it starting to sink in that Javi isn’t some famous person to read about and gawk at anymore. He’s your teammate. Your. Teammate. Somebody you’re going to be spending 99% of your time with these upcoming months, on and off the track, practically all day every day. Which means you’ve got to pull yourself together. Less ogling. More looking respectfully.

And, according to your sleep-deprived brain, step one of your new resolution is to quit stalking his profile and press the follow button. Because there’s nothing weird at all about following someone at—you look at the clock, immediately cringe—1 in the morning. 

That’s just…great. 

You throw your phone back on the bedside table with a groan. If your brain was awake before, it’s a live wire now, thoughts somersaulting and ricocheting. You wind up burying your face into your pillow, wondering how long it will take to smother your jittery mind into unconsciousness.

~

Within thirty minutes you’re a drooling and snoring mess of limbs starfishing on the mattress.

~

In the morning, you wake up to your blaring alarm and a notification from Instagram. You blink at it groggily, slow to understand what the small font is telling you, only to then sit up so fast you’re dizzy and seeing black spots when it finally registers. 

Javi followed you back.

And he liked your most recent post of Diana holding you in a headlock after you dared show up to the gym two minutes late, captioned: Anyone know where I can find a new trainer? This one has no chill. Even adding his own comment: if you like running for miles and being sprayed with a water gun, I’ll gladly give you @/carlos_scipio’s #. Just find me in the paddock and lmk 😉

A stupidly big grin spreads across your face and something inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, uncoils just a little bit. Next season is going to be interesting and challenging and scary, no doubt, but you’re starting to think it’s going to be pretty great too.

 _________________________________________________

 _________________________________________________

Outer Rim Sports

F1 2023 entry list: Rookie numbers revealed By: Axe Woves / November 15 2022

The official 2023 F1 entry list was published last night by the FIA confirming the race numbers for the three rookies making their debut next season.

Vulpecula’s Oddball will be keeping her F2 number #13, Triple Frontier’s Ben Miller will race with #94, and Statesman’s Eggsy Unwin has chosen #98. 

All three numbers have been previously used by other drivers in F1 history over the decades. #13 last belonged to Gregor New, while David Portillo raced with #94, and Hal Packard used #98.

Here is the complete entry list:

Sunspear: 76 Marcus Moreno, 52 Nico Loro

Aurelac: 28 Ezra Green, 7 Ricky Hauk

Nevarro: 66 Din Djarin, 99 Cobb Vanth

Statesman: 34 Jack ‘Whisky’ Daniels, 98 Gary ‘Eggsy’ Unwin

Crane: 45 Pero Tovar, 19 William Garin

Vulpecula: 53 Javi Gutierrez, 13 Oddball

De Excelente Auto: 2 Javier Peña, 83 Steve Murphy

Black Gold: 40 Dave York, 35 Omar Assarian

Triple Frontier: 12 Frankie Morales, 94 Ben Miller

Van Chance: 42 Dieter Bravo, 41 Gio Bravo

 _________________________________________________

Wonder World Sports Football | Tennis | Golf | Olympics | US Sports | Motorsport

Formula One: Ricky Hauk, Oddball, Ben Miller, and more rising stars to watch

By Steve Trevor, WWS Wednesday November 16 2022

(Picture Gallery 1 of 6: The 2022 Formula One season is coming to an end. Once again, Marcus Moreno takes the lead over the rest of the grid. But in 2023, a collection of young drivers has the potential to shake things up…)

(WWS) — Next season will see the return of several well-established drivers on the grid, but 2023 also has the potential to be especially memorable due to the abundance of fledgling up-and-comers eager to make household names for themselves.

Including a young woman set to make history as the third female driver in F1 history, F2’s predicted 2022 champion, and Aurelac’s youngest driver in over a decade, here’s a closer look at some drivers I believe will have a tremendous impact on the sport.

Ben Miller - “My whole life changed with one text message”

Age: 21 Team: Triple Frontier 

(Photo : Ben Miller in mid-conversation with a Triple Frontier mechanic in the paddock garage, gesturing towards future teammate Frankie Morales’ car. Caption: Miller is the current lead for the F2 championship.)

“It hasn’t really sunk in yet that next season I’ll be on the grid with some of the fastest drivers on earth,” Ben Miller said after the announcement was made he’d been drafted for Triple Frontier next season.

Miller, one of three rookies joining in 2023, has quite an impressive record despite only being 21-years-old. Like most F1 drivers, he began his career by racing go-karts before going on to win the F4 championship in 2017. 

In the literal days following his victory, he drew interest from several team leaders in the motorsport community, but Santiago Garcia stood out from the rest by sending a text message asking for a meeting which would ultimately alter the course of Miller’s career.

“My whole life changed with one text message,” Miller told Speed Beasts Magazine. “It just seemed like a no-brainer to accept Santi’s deal.”

Miller, only 16 at the time, was offered a spot in Triple Frontier’s young driver program. With their training, he went on to place second in the F3 championship as a mere rookie and has so far come out on top over his competition in Formula 2 as well. 

“Triple Frontier has really helped my skills develop over the years. Being an official F1 driver for them is exactly what I want to be,” Miller told BBB following Triple Frontier’s announcement in October.

Ricky Hauk - “Whatever happens, happens”

Age: 21 Team: Aurelac

(Photo : Ricky Hauk smiles during the Romanian GP press conference. Caption: Hauk had an impressive debut season this year and currently ranks 12th.)

Aurelac, usually preferring experienced drivers on their team, has promoted 21-year-old Ricky Hauk to join Ezra Green in 2023. “One of the best days of my life,” Hauk said in a Twitter post.

The decision for Hauk to replace Pero Tovar is remarkable due to the fact he is the youngest driver to join the team since Fahr Sater in 2007. Aurelac CEO Damon McCall has stated Hauk’s impressive rookie season with DEA led to the surprising choice being made. Hauk finished fifth in the Chinese GP which was only his third race and has since earned 33 total points.

Hauk’s journey to F1 hasn’t been without personal struggles. He has spoken openly about being a victim of childhood abuse from his late father, as well as his experiences with verbal bullying from classmates during his high school years.

When asked about the pressure of joining Aurelac, the young driver didn’t seem overly concerned.

“There’s always going to be pressure in this sport,” he said in an interview with Formula1Daily. “I’ll just keep giving it my best shot behind the wheel and God will take care of the rest. Whatever happens, happens.”

Oddball - “I hope to be an inspiration for young girls everywhere”

Age: 20 Team: Vulpecula

(Picture : Oddball on podium holding a second place trophy at the British Formula 2 round. Caption: Oddball will be the youngest driver on the grid next season.)

READ: The young woman set to make Formula 1 history

Oddball will be making the jump from reserve driver into an official F1 seat for Vulpecula next March at the Australian Grand Prix. She will also be the only female competing on the grid and the third woman overall in the sport’s long history.

Vivian Etten, Vulpecula’s chief executive, has high hopes the young driver will help the team become a force to be reckoned with on the grid again. Expectations are high for Oddball to succeed alongside her future teammate Javi Gutierrez.

Oddball has competed in seven different junior motorsport categories and won first place championship in four. “I hope to be an inspiration for young girls everywhere,” she told reporters. “And to prove just as much as Ahsoka and Anita did that women have a place here in F1.”

(Picture Gallery 1 of 35: Marcus Moreno celebrates his tenth win of the season as the victor of the Florida GP over Din Djarin and Pero Tovar.)

Gary “Eggsy” Unwin - “I never back down from a challenge”

Age: 22 Team: Statesman

Eggsy Unwin is another rookie driver expected to have a big impact in 2023. “He’s finer than frog fur,” Jefferson Champagne has said of his new Statesman driver. “We believe he’s championship-material, bet on it.”

The 22-year-old will be Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels’ partner, an accomplished veteran of the sport who Champagne has said he still “expects big results” from next season. 

READ: Unwin’s “mind blown” to be drafted by Statesman

Unwin caught Champagne’s attention when he made headlines for usurping Oddball in the F2 ranking last month and claiming second place which is the highest a Kingsman driver has ever been in standings. He initially considered a deal being Van Chance’s reserve driver before Statesman approached him with an official contract to join their team.

“I’ve dreamed of driving in Formula 1 since I was little,” Unwin told BBB. “I’m absolutely over the f–ing moon to join Statesman in 2023.”

As one of the oldest teams in F1, Statesman has a prestigious reputation for producing top-notch drivers time and time again. Unwin is looking forward to the training sessions and, if all goes right on track, podium finishes.

“I never back down from a challenge,” he said. “And with how competitive this sport is, I’m going to look forward to a new challenge every race.”

Omar Assarian – “I’m only going to get better from here”

Age: 23 Team: Black Gold

Crowd-favorite Omar Assarian has been driving in F1 for two seasons now, making his debut with Vulpecula last year before joining Black Gold where he felt his “skills will be better appreciated.” And given his strong results this year (currently fifth in driver standings), fans and critics agree Black Gold looks to be a better fit for the young driver.

The 23-year-old will partner with returning F1 legend Dave York next season. York’s decision to come out of retirement resulted in a ripple effect heavily impacting the grid. Willem Ballard, Black Gold’s current number two driver, will be pushed out of the sport entirely after failing to secure a new seat, while Javi Gutierrez, who was initially promised Ballard’s seat by Black Gold’s CEO Maxwell Lord in the aftermath of his temporary transfer to Triple Frontier, has signed a new contract with Vulpecula for 2023.

“They know exactly what I need when I need it. When to offer advice and when to challenge me,” Assarian said to reporters after joining Black Gold.

Assarian’s debut season with Vulpecula was a rocky one due to multiple incidents of car trouble throughout the year. Although he did manage a third place podium finish at the 2020 Scottish GP, he ultimately came in eleventh in the driver standings. 

“I’m only going to get better from here,” he told WWS at the recent Texas GP in October. “Next year, the other teams better watch out.”

 _________________________________________________

 _________________________________________________

 _________________________________________________

FIA Thursday Press Conference November 17, 2022

Transcript of audio recording, ft. Pietro ALVAREZ (Vulpecula), Marcus MORENO (Sunspear), Oddball (2023 Vulpecula Driver), Ben MILLER (2023 Triple Frontier Driver)

Q: (Ginger Ale - Formula1Daily)

Pietro, how does it feel going into this weekend knowing it’s your final Grand Prix?

Pietro ALVAREZ: Right now I’m treating it as any other race. I’m looking forward to being out on the track, hopefully finishing high. Dorne is always a special time. If you ask me again on Sunday, the mood will definitely be different. It’s just not something I’m allowing myself to think too hard about at the moment.

Q: (Ginger Ale - Formula1Daily)

Are there any special memories during your years in F1 which stand out in particular?

PA: I’m fortunate to have the number of victories that I do, but more than those I’m going to look back on the people I’ve met and worked beside and shared my life with. I’ve been a part of this sport for almost twenty years, that’s a lot of time spent with some of the most talented and knowledgeable people on earth. I think they are what I’ll remember and miss the most.

Q: (Axe Woves - Outer Rim Sports)

Oddball, you’ve been busy preparing for your debut with Vulpecula next season and part of that preparation process has been working closely with Pietro. Will you be sad to see him leave? What has he taught you about the sport?

Oddball: Pietro has become a good friend and mentor so it will be sad no longer seeing him around the garage and HQ anymore. He’s taught me a lot about F1 and life as well. If I listed everything we’d be here for hours, but something in particular he told me that I wholeheartedly agree with is to make sure I’m enjoying myself. Yes, this sport is a tough job, and yes, it requires a heck of a lot of hard work, but at the end of the day it’s still possible to have fun. When the joy is gone, that’s when you know it’s time to move on.

Q: (Carolina Álvarez - El Tiempo)

Thank you, Oddball. Ben, of course it’s exciting news you’ll be racing for Triple Frontier next season, but first comes the Formula 2 championship. You’re in the lead by a large margin, but are you feeling any nerves at all?

Ben MILLER: Feeling any nerves? Definitely. Doesn’t matter how good the results are, I’ll always feel them. I’d be worried if I didn’t have them, to be honest. Anything can happen during a race. I’d love to win the title, but we’ll just have to wait and see how it goes.

Q: (Steve Trevor - Wonder World Sports)

Marcus, on the subject of Pietro’s last Grand Prix, will you miss competing against him?

Marcus MORENO: Of course. The whole sport will miss seeing him out there. He’s an absolute legend.

Q: (Steve Trevor - Wonder World Sports)

I’ll ask you both, Marcus and Pietro, since you’ve raced against him in the past, what are your thoughts on Dave York’s return to the sport?

MM: I think it’s great news, honestly. He’s extremely talented, and it’ll be exciting to see him on the track again. It’s a wonderful opportunity for him, not many drivers have the strength to get back into the pressure and grind of it all after leaving, so I hope it works out for the best.

Q: Pietro?

PA: Like Marcus said, York is an extremely talented driver. If his car’s performance is good and his skills are sharp, he’ll be an exciting one to watch next season. 

Q: (Carolina Álvarez - El Tiempo)

Pietro, what would you say are the chances of you returning out of retirement in a few years? Do you think it’s likely you’ll follow York’s footsteps?

PA: I haven’t even had one day of actual retirement yet, so it’s difficult to say one way or the other. I love Formula 1, always will. If I get bored in a few years or my family gets sick of me being around all the time…maybe I’ll make an attempt to come back. That’s all I can say. Maybe.

Q: (Carol Cobb - Speed Beasts Magazine)

Oddball, redirecting to your future with Vulpecula, could you talk about your plans for next season? Do you think it will be a smoother one than this year’s?

Oddball: Optimistically, I’m hoping so. Realistically though, it’s tough to say until I’ve actually driven the car. Everyone at Vulpecula is working hard to improve next season’s results, but progress is a marathon not a sprint. It might take a few races, maybe even a year or two, but my plan, and the team’s as well, is to just keep making positive steps and earning points until we’re back on top once more.

 _________________________________________________

Pietro catches up with you in the Vulpecula hospitality in-between media sessions, his third cup of coffee in his hand. “That was your first F1 press conference, wasn’t it, Oddball?” he wonders, taking a seat across from you. He smiles a little, just a faint crinkling of his eyes. “You did good.”

“Really?” You nearly drop your phone, text message to your mother temporarily forgotten. Pietro’s one of the most successful racers in the last decade. He’s not as grumpy as Tovar, but after this long in the sport few things surprise him anymore. Even fewer things earn his praise. “Thank you.”

He chuckles slightly like you’ve said something amusing, raising his drink to take a sip. The cup is engraved with his initials, a present given to him by Cobb Vanth last year during the F1 Secret Santa gift exchange. Almost every time you’ve been around the man, that cup hasn’t been far from his reach.

“I’ve never lied to you, Oddball.”

“I didn’t think you had,” you say slowly, frowning.

Another sip. Pietro crosses his legs at the ankles, leaning back in his seat without seemingly a care in the world. Meanwhile your shoulder blades are sharp, tense points beneath your shirt, waiting for him to continue.

“Everything you’ve asked me about cars and my career, how to find a balance between life and work, I haven’t sugar-coated my answers because I remember being a rookie,” Pietro explains, words smooth as velvet on his accented tongue. “However, for as much as I have to tell you, for as many tips as I can offer…we both know our paths will always be unique from each other.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There are a dozen different meanings which can be applied to his words, but one stands out above the rest, floating in the air of the room, pressing uncomfortably against your skin. He’s a driver and you’re a female driver.

“People won’t ever let you forget you’re different, Oddball. They didn’t let Anita or Ahsoka forget either, even after all their triumphs. Talk, talk, talk is all these critics do all day long. And you know what I say to that?”

A deliberate pause follows.

“Encourage them.”

“Is…” Your brow furrows, a bitter taste on the back of your tongue. “Is that supposed to inspire me or something?”

He looks at you, dark eyes piercing. “Give them something to talk about, Oddball. Enjoy the process of making a name for yourself in this sport. Of making ripples in the pond. I came into F1 too late to race Anita, but I shared the grid with Ahsoka. I saw the spark in her eyes. Her determination. I thought she was one of a kind. That nobody else had even a smidge of her talent. And then I met you.” He points a finger at you, certainty brimming in his gaze. “Call it driver’s intuition, or perhaps the ramblings of an old man who’s hit a barrier one time too many, but I think you’re just the driver F1 needs to shake things up for the better. Those critics and other drivers won’t know what hit them next season.”

There’s an embarrassing stinging sensation behind your eyes, a sudden lump lodged in your throat making it hard to swallow. You attempt a smile, wobbly at the corners. “Thanks. That–that means a lot, especially coming from you.”

“It needed to be said,” Pietro replies, standing up and giving your shoulder a pat before heading for the stairs. And it’s the simple, blunt way he says it that makes you understand why he’s so well-respected in the racing community. Why the hole left behind in the wake of his retirement will be impossible to fill.

 _________________________________________________

Busy Bee Blog (BBB) - Vlog Post #63 Friday November 18 2022

Summary: Join me, Frankie Morales and Javi Gutierrez at the Dornish GP as we play a game of Mr & Mr.

The camera pans over the interior of the Triple Frontier hospitality before settling on a smiling Bee Castle. Behind her, Frankie and Javi sit back-to-back in chairs, heads turned to listen to her introduction. “Hello! Your Queen Bee is back again for another vlog and this time I convinced the Triple Frontier drivers, Frankie and Javi, to join me for a little game of Mr & Mr.” She turns to look at them. “Are you ready for some fun, boys?”

“With you? Always,” Frankie answers with a wink. 

Javi rolls his eyes, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Get a room’ but the microphone on his shirt fails to catch it.

Bee’s cheeks redden, but she remains composed and professional. “This is the final race of the season. It’s also your final race as teammates before Javi leaves for Vulpecula. So I’m going to ask you some questions about each other and we’re going to find out how well you’ve gotten to know one another during your time together. Remember, we’re looking for matching answers.”

The camera zooms in on the paddles in Frankie and Javi’s hands. Pictures of their faces have been glued to either side for the game. Javi holds his paddle up, mimicking the expression of his photo by sticking his tongue out.

“Let’s do it,” Frankie says, twirling his paddle between his fingers. “I’m looking forward to the win.”

“Yeah, because you know so much about my life,” Javi scoffs.

“Shots fired,” Bee smirks at the camera. “And on that note, let’s begin. We’ll start with an easy one. Who has the most laps?”

They both seem to think about it, but end up agreeing it’s Frankie.

“Correct. Great start so far.” Bee nods. “Everybody knows about your mutual love for snow cones. Who has the best taste when choosing a flavor?”

Javi and Frankie immediately hold up their paddles with their own faces displayed. Bee makes a buzzing sound at the mismatched response, prompting Frankie to twist his head to look at his teammate’s paddle, eyes widening with surprise.

“Are you serious? You pick the absolute worst flavors.”

“And you always pick lavender bubblegum,” Javi counters, reaching backwards to swat at the other man’s arm. “How is that having better taste?”

“Because it’s always good!”

“Agree to disagree.” 

“Guess we’ll have to take our favorite reporter with us next time so she can see for herself if I’m right.” Frankie shoots Bee a flirtatious grin, prompting another blush to appear while her camerawoman laughs quietly as she films the two.

Bee looks down at her cue cards, asking, “Who is a better driver off the track?”

Javi chuckles, holding up his picture without hesitation. “No doubt about it.”

“He picked himself, didn’t he?” Frankie asks, aiming for disgruntled but missing by a mile, barely fighting back a smile.

“Because it’s true!” Javi crows, waving his paddle in the air enthusiastically.

“Who would win in a fight?” Bee wonders, hiding her grin behind her cards.

They take a second to think about it, flipping their paddles back and forth indecisively. 

“Here’s the thing,” Javi begins, humor creeping into his voice. “I can throw a punch as well as the next guy, but I also know Frankie used to get into a lot of fights when he was younger in McDonald’s parking lots, so…”

“First of all,” Frankie manages to say through his chuckling, pointing a finger, “it was Wendy’s not McDonald’s. And second, man, you couldn’t even kill a fly the other day, what the hell makes you think you could ever take me in a fight?”

Javi slowly turns his paddle around, displaying Frankie’s image. “He makes a good point.”

The camera manages to catch Frankie’s quiet snort before he hides his face behind his paddle.

Bee’s stare lingers on him a second longer than necessary, expression soft, before she reads aloud the next question. “Who’s more likely to fall asleep in a team meeting?”

“Oh, Javi, for sure. 100%,” Frankie answers, paddle lifted before Bee’s even finished speaking.

She laughs. “Does Vulpecula know about this problem?”

“No, because it’s not a problem. It only happened one time,” Javi complains. He aims an irritated look directly at the camera. “ Once , and he’ll never let me forget it!”

“Alright, final question,” Bee says, schooling her smiling expression into one of exaggerated seriousness. The two men mimic her, eyebrows drawn low and lips pursed. “Who…is a bigger fan of BBB?”

Frankie’s out of his seat in the next blink, wrapping Bee in his arms and swinging her around in a hug with her feet off the floor. “Me!” he exclaims over the sound of her giggling.

In the background, Javi tosses his paddle in the air, pretending to be upset at the loss.

 _________________________________________________

 _________________________________________________

Ben holds the Dornish Grand Prix trophy up over his head, tears streaming down cheeks, smile stretched so wide across his face there’s no other word for his expression other than absolutely ecstatic. After all his hard work and training and sacrifices, he's officially the 2022 Formula 2 Champion. 

You stand at his side on the second-place podium, wearing a matching grin and proudly holding up your own trophy. It doesn’t matter you didn’t win the champion title. This—this feeling of breathless jubilation, of shaky knees and the thunderous applause of the crowd—it’s more than enough. (Although, you gotta admit, reclaiming your second place in the standings does make this occasion all the more sweeter.)

Somewhere down there amongst the sea of spectators and the familiar faces of your fellow F2 drivers and members of your team, you know Eggsy’s cheering his head off for you and Ben. He didn’t podium, crossing the finish line fourth, but the amount of points puts him third in the standings and you can’t imagine the season ending any other way than with you and your boys on top. 

God, it’s crazy the year’s almost over. Even crazier how much has happened these last few months.

2022 will end with the three of you conquering F2. 2023 will begin with the three of you ready to do it all over again on the grid of F1. New tracks, new challenges, new responsibilities. Facing off against the best of the best, each one chasing after the same ultimate dream.

Ben slings his arm around your shoulders, crushing you against his side so tight it’s like he’s trying to make you one entity. You lean into him, the top of your head beneath his jaw, and a single thought drifts through your mind right before you’re blinded by a ripple of camera flashes: I can’t wait.

[jere-me--oh-my]

SWYNWRIMO2023

November 5 – Family Ties One-Shot: Write a one-shot revolving around your character’s family, include 3 family members minimum.

Friday night dinner at the Johnson's

“Ok, so. What iiiiiiiiis six times six-” Jeremy held a pencil out to Suzie, who was sitting at the other side of the dinner table as the little girl held her hands over the top of her list of times-tables, being quizzed. 

“Thirty … six?” She scrunched up her face, before counting it through on her fingers and deciding she had cracked it. 

“Thirty-six!” Jeremy confirmed. “Good job.” 

Friday nights were his sacred night, where (unless there was something really cool he wanted to go to instead) he would go home for dinner and to spend some quality time with his family. This wasn’t enough, in Suzie’s eyes, but it would have to do. She was even more cross that she’d been forced to do her homework before she could actually have any sort of fun and show Jeremy the new kingdom she was designing for all of her toys upstairs. But still, she had his virtually undivided attention, which was alright.

Mr Johnson was in the kitchen, where there was a rhythmic sound of chopping as he handled the vegetables for dinner. He craned his head briefly through the door to look into the dining room, and smiled. Jeremy was high-fiving his sister. 

“Jere?” 

His son’s head turned around to face him. “Yeah?”

“Can you have a look at the potatoes and check if I’ve done enough? I never know how many to do when your Uncle comes over, it throws off all my quantities. It can wait until you’ve got a good break-” 

Jeremy nodded. “Sure thing. Just give me a minute.” It could wait until they’d got through Suzie’s homework, rather than him disappearing now. It wasn’t like his Mum had even got back from collecting Uncle Joe from the station (he’d been at a meeting in Salisbury earlier in the day, and was swinging by for a flying overnight visit before he headed home). Then there would usually be the inevitable ‘cup of tea, get him settled into the guest room, give everybody a chance to decompress from the work-day’ before dinner was actually served. So he wasn’t in a rush, even if he was the designated roast potato master. “Alright, now, Suze. You want to run through those six times tables for me another time? Show me you’ve mastered it, yeah?”

Suzie nodded, and began to recite the numbers in pattern, as Mr Johnson returned to the kitchen.

“What’re you listening to?” Jeremy asked as he made his way into the kitchen. His Dad had something soft and mellow playing, that Jeremy didn’t recognise. There was a large cup of tea on the worktop, and a small mountain of vegetables piled up. In the oven, a chicken was roasting away. 

“Hm? Oh… boring,” Mr Johnson chuckled, “Just some old folk band.” 

“It’s nice,” Jeremy smiled. His Dad listened to a lot of classical music, he wasn’t one for big things or loud things, and apparently never had been (the music scene of the 80s had really passed him by), but this somehow seemed to suit him. “You know the Gentleman’s President is really into his folk music? He wants us to make sure we include at least one folk or trad. Track in every arrangement this year.” 

“Really?” Mr Johnson raised his eyebrows. “Nice to see some appreciation for tradition, I suppose.” He couldn’t imagine that it was all that glamorous, of course, compared to what the young people loved these days. “Anyway, there’s your potatoes. I’ll leave them to you, Potato Chef,” he gave Jeremy a smile, with a twinkle in his eyes. 

Jeremy quietly went about filling a pan with water to begin the necessary rituals for his prized roast potatoes, listening to the music. His father was stirring gravy on the stove, and the two of them quietly went about their business. Suzie came stomping back downstairs from putting away her maths book, and came to sit at the table, when there was the tell-tale sound of the door opening and a loud call of, “We’re home!”

At that, Suzie leapt back away from the kitchen table and ran to the hall, where Uncle Joe made a suitably large fuss of her. 

“Hi darling,” Julia Johnson laid her hand on her husband’s arm and pressed a kiss to his cheek, before she dumped her coat and bag down on the kitchen table. “And hello you,” she gave Jeremy a kiss on the cheek too, which made him scrunch his face slightly in a smile. It sounded like it had been a long day. 

“Tea, or wine?” Mr Johnson asked, turning around from the stovetop. 

“Just water, for the moment, I think,” Julia sighed, as she sat down and took her shoes off. 

Uncle Joe emerged from the hall, with a big broad grin on his bearded face, and Suzie balanced on his hip. “Howdy Johnsons!” He greeted everybody, looking cheery and as if he hadn’t spent the whole week sitting in a blank, boring conference centre. “Jeremy Johnson, did you get taller?”

“It’s just the hair,” Mr Johnson cut in.

Jeremy grinned, and left the water to heat up so he could go and give his uncle a hug. “He’s right, I’m definitely not getting any taller.” 

“We’ll get you some shoes with a big platform on them-” Uncle Joe joked. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeremy crept slowly out of Suzie’s room, where the nightlight bathed everything in a purplish glow. He turned around as he left, with one hand on the door. A chaos of blonde curls spilled out all over her pillow. Hopefully she was having nice dreams about the story book they’d been reading through (all about a park keeper named Percy). 

He pulled the door to behind him, but didn’t quite close it. If he did that, it would make a noise, and in an instant she would be awake and the whole process of bedtime would have to be repeated. 

He padded down the landing, keeping to the side of the corridor to avoid the squeaky floorboard in the centre, and made his way down the stairs. 

“It is a worry,” he heard his Dad’s voice drifting up the stairs. Jeremy slowed, one foot hovering above the next step. “He hasn’t really said anything about it, but I think he probably wants to do something with his music.” 

The disapproval was obvious in his tone, even from here. 

“He has at least agreed he’s going to finish his degree and make sure he gets a good degree,” His mother added. Jeremy lowered his foot, but stayed still. He didn’t want to eavesdrop but it felt like lately he’d been on the outside of these conversations all too often. Uncle Joe said something that Jeremy didn’t quite manage to make out. 

“You’re right,” Mrs Johnson conceded, but she sounded troubled about it. “He is a good boy, I just … I worry, you know? I don’t want to see him throw his whole future away and then break his own heart for it.” 

Jeremy felt his heart break a little in that moment anyway. He didn’t want to worry them, he didn’t want to break his own heart and risk having a future that would be difficult and would maybe never pay him back for all of his hard work. But wouldn’t he be doing all the same things if he settled for a career that didn’t actually bring him any joy? Wouldn’t that be heartbreaking and unfulfilling?

“He’ll be alright,” Uncle Joe spoke. Jeremy felt very warm towards him for a moment. “He is a good kid. Maybe this is just something he needs to explore, you know? It’s not as if he’s not a talented little sod,” he added. 

Jeremy smiled to himself, then continued down the stairs, deliberately taking a few loud steps, before he swung the living room door open (and everybody looked around at him as if they hadn’t just been discussing him). “Sorry, I’m putting the kettle on, did anybody want anything?”

“Oh, no, thank you darling,” Mrs Johnson smiled, raising her glass of wine. 

“No thanks Jere,” Mr Johnson shook his head. 

“All good, thanks kiddo,” Uncle Joe smiled. 

Jeremy swung the door shut behind him as he went to go and make himself a cup of tea. He would join them again in a moment or two, once he was done. For now he tried to fight the unsettled feeling in his stomach, and he pulled out his phone to reply to some texts that had come in while he’d been putting Suzie to bed. 

[namjoonchronicles]

healing | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship ↳ words 1.9k ↳ summary Yoongi maybe the worst in projecting his emotions, but his actions don’t lie ↳ warning suggestive content ↳ song james arthur ‘let me love the lonely’ ‘safe inside’ ‘can i be him’ ‘certain things’

“I would do anything to forget.” “And I would do anything to remember.”

The second male lead actor bore a wounded expression on his handsome face. The female lead actress was unapologetic and relentless to his heart. She swore that forgetting that she ever loved him is the only way to go on with her life. But the actor finally remembered all the love they had before he loses his memories as a result of an accident orchestrated by his step mother. He pretended to not remember just to know how she really felt about him. She said enough. Yoongi gawks at the screen. “Does that even make sense? How can he stay silent after that? How can he be okay with just that? What a load of bull--” His phone vibrates just as he is about to curse. With his wife’s picture flashing on the screen, he wipes his hand on his flannels and refastened the velcro straps of his arms to secure them back on. “Hello?”

“Hey sweetie, what are you doing?” “Watching that episode was a mistake, why would they ruin the story like that, everything was going just fine, I don’t understand…” You chuckled at your husband’s adorable whines, and “How far in were you?” “Joonsoo told Bora that he wanted to remember…Ah! I am so upset, I am not going to watch the rest of the episode… I don’t care…” “But you have to see what happens after that! A little spoiler for you…” you sang and he replied, “Ah! Ah, no. Don’t tell me what happens. No!” “She knew that Joonsoo’s memories came back, but she is doing that to follow Joonsoo’s mother's instructions…” you told him anyways. Yoongi leans back into his chair and it wobbles back and forth at his weight. He swiveled away from the screen, holding the phone close to his ear and he sighed out loud. “Why did you call me?” “I am just walking out a fried chicken hawker stall and was wondering if you’d like some but I remember your doctor saying you can’t have oily food… so that’s cancelled.” His wife is a tease. All she does is tease. Yoongi left his home studio and walked down the hallway to the living room. He then revealed to you that he found your gastric medication laying around the cabinet with several pills gone. Yoongi had always been so attentive towards things like these. Ever since he had to stay home longer than usual because of his shoulder surgery, he is policing you around with his keen eyes. He found out that you don’t really take care of yourself as well as you told him you were. There were antacids, antiemetics and all kinds of painkillers he found in the medicine cabinet that weren't his. This was alarming, at least to Yoongi. “You’re telling me that you crawled to work despite having gastric two days prior?” he scolded you with a low monotonous voice, pinky pushing the blisters away to see just how much you’ve been taking behind his back. “It’s nothing to worry about, it’ll go away soon… I learn endurance from the best,” you pushed your tongue to cheek, leisuring down the pedestrian walk area, pouting hard at your husband. “You’re talking back at me,” he scoffs, “I taught you that? I guess it's fair… Have you eaten?” You didn’t eat because you don’t have the appetite. After the gastric attack happened, you have been vomiting every time you ate, and your throat burns every time from the acid reflux. “Eating is terrifying…” you confessed. Yoongi poked his head into the refrigerator after the call ended. He took out leek, dried lavers, and whatever he could find in the fridge to start a small dinner. And he did them all with one hand. It wasn’t easy. The carrots were roughly chopped and the potatoes are barely peeled properly. It’s the best dish to take after gastric. He took a couple cups of rice and had them washed under running water. He measured the water and threw in a thumb-sized ginger so it got cooked together. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he really enjoys cooking. He was raised in a house that always belittled women's chores and because of the whole ‘boys shouldn’t cook’ agenda, he was more curious than ever in the kitchen. It comes naturally to him. He would secretly help his mom cook and prepare food to sell in school during the day. It remains one of the memories he is most fond of. He doesn’t really like telling people out loud how he feels. It was something  you both had in common. Coming together was difficult. It was like a race to the end, who will clamor up or who will fall apart faster, to you. Yoongi was determined to keep his emotions sealed in his dungeon called heart. Which was ridiculous, because everyone knows, the more you try to hide your feelings, the louder it is. He doesn’t say ‘I love you’ like normal people. His ‘I love you’s’ are scattered all around you. It was in the walls he painted and in the bookshelf he helped build. It’s in the picture of the milky way he took and in the pile of bandages he bought you when you sprained your ankle. They say, the eyes are windows to the soul. Yoongi had never looked you in the eye. It’s like he runs away from the things he wants the most. It almost made you give up. Seeing how the feelings aren’t verbally reciprocated almost made you leave. Winter, several years ago, “For Yoongi-hyung, you have to force it out of him…” Taehyung advised. “I don’t want to force him…” you sighed, “What if he does this to all his girl friends?” Taehyung stared at you dead in the eye with a cunning smile. “What does your heart tell you?” He asked. “My heart had been wrong before,” You shot back. Taehyung suddenly turned his attention to his phone, his face shone by the light from the screen and he smirked, “If he doesn’t, would he be running all the way up here at this time?” Just then, Yoongi bursted through the door. Chest heaving up and down, eyes blown wide, mouth gaping. His eyes darted to Taehyung and then to you. “You know he won’t leave his bed for anything…” Taehyung glances at you with a knowing smile, “What could this mean?” He feigned a surprised face at you and walked towards the door at Yoongi. And even then, he wouldn’t confess. “You love me, right?” you asked him. “It’s already so late…” “Please answer me…” He appeared conflicted. “Min Yoongi, you don’t love me?” “I… Let’s not do this…” “I think you do… Everyone knows you love me, everybody. Everyone, but you…” “Let’s talk in the morning…” At that time, Yoongi is afraid of commitment despite never really having problems actually committing. His past relationship didn’t go so well because he felt inadequate. And for that, he feared karma. He left the last one because he didn’t think he could be a good person for her. He was bound by depression, crippling sadness and fear so great, it left him in shambles. Being in a relationship back then made him feel like a boulder to a smooth sailing ship. He felt dragged along. He was responsible for two hearts and it felt a lot at the time. He knows just how much hurt he caused her and he knows that karma will come after him. That’s why when he fell for you, his first reaction was to be defensive. He doesn’t want the same hurt to happen to you. Because, what if he hurts you?

“And if I tell you I don’t care?”

The winter arrived on schedule this year. You shivered as you walked into your house. Yoongi is still in the kitchen, turning off the stove. “You didn’t rest like I told you to!” “How could I if you were not eating… I rested for a surgery and couldn’t cook ever since I returned, and you are already getting gastric from not eating…” You helped Yoongi carry the soup on the table. And you scooped him his rice. He was right. Your appetite went down ever since you had to cook on your own. His cooking has always been the thing you look forward to when you return home, but now, you don’t feel like eating because it’s always the same food over and over again. “Does it taste good?” He asked, lovingly. His eyes oozing fondness. “So-very good…” you said with a mouthful. “I have to shower after this… I am sweating so much,” he spoke to his bowl of rice. You unbuttoned his shirt and carefully slid the long sleeves down his arm. You keep glancing up his face to see if he is in any type of discomfort. His ears were the first to turn bright red and he had been biting his lower lip ever since you started undressing him. That wasn’t alarming. The strange thing about Yoongi is that he giggles or laughs when he is in pain. No giggles is fine. No smiles are good. By the time you took off his flannel buttoned up shirt, his face was bright red like he had been drinking whiskey. You couldn't help but smile when he gets sheepish like this. He looks like a sheep ready for the slaughter room. Next thing to come off is his trousers. The bath is ready and he climbs in. You went to the cabinet and showed him two bath bombs he could choose from. He wanted the lavender one. You always liked how it smells. Yoongi sat docile in the middle of the bath, while you swept his hair back and dabbed his face with a dampened towel. Then you move to his back and wipe along the spine, carefully avoiding harsh movements around the stitches on his shoulder. “The stitches are coming together nicely,” you spoke in whispers. Just the sound of the water dripping into the pool was heard. Yoongi let out an encouraging, “Is it…” “The skin around it is not swollen, and its closing up prettily,” you gushed, “At this rate you can start physical therapy around next month...?” “That’s nice to hear…” He hums happily, “I had been feeling rather helpless, and shackled, and unable to work at the speed I used to.” “Hence,” you started with a scolding tone, “Take care of yourself better from today onwards. Everyone frets around you, worried and bustling over you. Coddling you like a baby…when you get hurt like this, you worry everyone. Why did you keep quiet about this pain for so long…This type of perseverance is inhumanly. What are you… a saint?” He chuckles. You took off your own shirt and garments. Yoongi mashed his lips together, stealing glances on your body and when you climbed in the same tub and started washing yourself, he started to gather all the foams. “That’s why, stop hurting yourself…” you repeated your warning, unhooking your bra and throwing it on the marble floor next to your crumpled heap of blouses and trousers. Yoongi sighs. Loudly this time. “What is it now…” you blinked at him. “I want to get well faster… I missed unhooking your bras with my own hands…” 

.

.

.

.

Copyright © January 6th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are free!

[ao3bronte]

the skies belong to no one

[Chapter 2: Marinette]

[Chapter 3: Adrien]

The ride home from Marinette’s is quiet, with nothing but the sounds of Parisian traffic to keep him company. Nathalie isn’t in the vehicle today, not that she would have provided much of a distraction; she’s been off sick more often than not these days and Father has been keeping her primarily on office duty until she gets better. Adrien worries for her health sometimes, especially when she gets into one of her coughing fits, but he’s long learned not to interfere or ask questions. He used to make that mistake quite often when he was younger, but not anymore.

Adrien is sixteen and wears the weight of the world on his winged shoulders.

(He’d feel a lot lighter if he didn’t have wings at all.)

He finishes his homework mechanically and eats dinner in the dining room alone. Again, Nathalie doesn’t come around to watch or report on tomorrow’s schedule. He checks his calendar between bites of chicken and notices that he only has a fitting tomorrow. It’s a light week, which is nice. He enjoys them as the rarity that they are and tucks his mobile back into his pocket, wary of being surveilled.

Adrien doesn’t have anything better to do tonight but sit and stare blankly at the screen of his monitor. He tries to play a game but he can’t focus, his mind too wrapped up in the potential consequences of Marinette’s discovery. No one is allowed to know about the binding or the clipping; while wing binding — like plastic surgery and hair/fur pigmentation — is one of Hollywood’s worst kept secrets, having his wings physically clipped is completely illegal in the European Union. Only felons have their wings clipped and even then, not many felons are winged to begin with. The only other cases of wing clipping have happened to people who are victims of hate crimes and children who are abused by their parents. 

Adrien doesn’t consider himself to be any of those things.

Or he didn’t, until this afternoon.

Marinette had looked like her soul had left her body when she noticed that half of his primaries were missing. He’d been getting them clipped every year since he was a toddler and he’d long gotten used to the painless, but still mentally exhausting, process. Marinette, however, certainly wasn’t. She’d pinned him with questions that Adrien had struggled to answer and suddenly his babbling, bashful friend had turned into a tempest right before his eyes, furious and vehement that she would find a way to “fix things”.

Adrien sincerely doubts that. There aren’t many people who could expose Father for doing something illegal and get away with it unscathed; in fact, he can only think of one. Maybe if he asks Ladybug kindly enough, she’ll whisk him off to a foreign island where he can live in peace for a year or two until all of his primaries grow back. Once he can fly with his civilian wings, he’ll be unstoppable!

Dubious, he laughs through his nose and flops belly first onto his bed. His foreign island would have to pave a postage address or else he’d run out of his allergy medication. It’s a pain in the ass, being allergic to his own feathers. It’s why he loves being Chat Noir instead.

Well, maybe Ladybug could drop him off at a nice vineyard in Corsica for a year or two. He could help prune the vines and get a great tan in the process...he’s never shied away from hard work before and after a few months, his Adrien hands would be just as strong as the ones encased within his Chat Noir gloves.

That, and once he turns eighteen, his trust fund will be released to him and Adrien will finally be able to stand up for himself about the wing clipping. Adrien’s no idiot; he could barter his modelling for his freedom if he really wants to right now, but with no cash in the bank, Father would surely make his life as miserable as he could under his formidable roof.

He doesn’t want Father to get in trouble with the law. In anything, Adrien would rather just...try and navigate that landmine on his own. He’d long learned that asking about being allowed to fly would lead to punishments — sometimes severe — but Marinette had been clear about one thing. Wing clipping is wrong in every sense of the word, especially if it’s done without consent, and Marinette seemed to even grow paler when he explained to her that he’d been clipped for as long as he can remember. Father was and always has been explicit about never using his wings for flying; his wings are for decoration only, property of Gabriel®. 

Until Plagg came around, Adrien just thought that being grounded, quite literally, was normal.

And, as Plagg assured him, having no autonomy was not a very normal thing at all. 

Speaking of which, Adrien spots his companion staring at him from across his bedroom, “What?”

"You're thinking too loud," Plagg grumbles around a mouthful of Camembert.

"Sorry to bother you," Adrien snarks back, taking comfort in their familiar song and dance, "But one of my best friends just learned the biggest secret of my entire life and if she says anything to anyone and word gets out..."

Plagg meanders over, his eyes just a little bit greener than usual, "Eh, so what if Pigtails found out that dear old dad is cutting off your feathers."

"Well, when you say it like that…"

"Just because you're famous, doesn't make it okay," Plagg spits, "You ever see someone being declawed before?"

Adrien pales, "What?"

"It's not the same thing exactly," the kwami of destruction shrugs, plopping down on Adrien's pillow, "But one of my former wielder's had her claws removed. Want to know why?"

Adrien shakes his head. He really doesn't.

"Because it was the trendy thing to do at the time. Just like chopping off half your feathers and stringing you up like a roast chicken is now."

"Is it really that bad though? I mean, I can’t be the only person who’s clipped..." Adrien murmurs, glancing away, "Marinette made it sound like I was...I don't know, repulsive or something."

Plagg sighs, "All your famous friends, the ones on your Instant Spam—”

“Instagram.”

“Whatever,” Plagg quips, his whiskers raised, “The fur removal, the snout reductions, the eye widening, the scale bleaching; it’s all the same thing. Everybody’s gotta look like something different. But do they really want it? Just like you, you don’t think they have someone else pulling their strings?"

"I'm...not a puppet."

"And I'm the kwami of bath tubs," Plagg rolls his eyes, "Look, your dad has control of you. You don't. It's that simple."

Adrien’s expression hardens, "I don't want him to control me anymore."

"Then don't, cause guess what? You’ve got something all your other puppet pals would kill for”

“And what’s that?”

“Me!” Plagg rubs his paws together, his fangs gleaming in the lamplight, "You wanna be free? Let’s make it happen. What do you have to lose?"

[Chapter 4: Chat Noir]

[hereliesanotherfic]

Three’s a Crowd || Erwin x Reader x Levi || Modern AU

Chapter 2 - Comfort in Comedy

You parked your good ol’ reliable highlander in your new, shared driveway for the 6th time this week and relaxed back into the cloth seats. It was hard to believe another week has come to an end, especially with how crazy it’s gotten for you. This previous Sunday, you had agreed to be Erwin and Levi’s new housemate, taking the third bedroom in their beautiful home. You felt a bit pitiful when you didn’t have many belongings to move in, but Levi commented it made it easier overall. Erwin took your clothes; Levi grabbed the couple boxes you had, and you were in your room in less than an hour. The rest of your night simply consisted of putting your belongings in the closet or drawers.

During the weeknights (since everybody went to work during the day), was the time you spent getting to know them better. Both work at a private detective company called the Survey Corps and have been partners for many years. Erwin is the commander of the sector and Levi is the captain. You knew almost nothing about this stuff, ignoring the fact you were new to their city. Levi explained how most of their days consist of paperwork at a desk in their ‘shitty office’ but the PD (Police Department) would give them a case here and there where they have to go to the scene or hunt somebody down. They almost constantly have a case or multiple going and you understood now why their house is so nice and why they’re so built.

Your coffee shop work has grown steady too. Each day the drinks were easier to make, you flowed more smoothly between customer service and food preparation and you met the remaining coworkers. Historia was the heir to the coffee shop, and she seemed like the perfect fit to run it and Connie was a master at fast-paced drink mixing. He even went through some efforts to create little foam bear faces in their drinks. (He said he’d teach you later, you’re holding him to that!) Him and Eren oversaw baking the pastries too, which one day when you’re comfortable, Armin said they could consider training you on.

Out of nowhere, your driver’s door flung open like a jack-in-the-box, triggering you to jump a bit out of your seat and back up onto the center console. Levi stood in the open-door space with his usual half-lidded stare, in which you proceeded to slide off the console as he spoke to you.

“What are you doing passing out in your car again? You have a room,” he huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. He was dressed in a simple black suit, white button up, no tie. Even on Friday’s these guys dressed for success. His hair seemed a tad messy compared to how he left the house this morning. But you noticed even during dinner, socializing time, and whatnot, he would run his fingers through his bangs a lot.

“I-I wasn’t passing out!” You protested, sitting up a bit straighter in your seat. Levi, very obviously, didn’t believe you, waiting for a better answer. “I was just thinking about how the week went and work, that’s all…” your cheeks held a brief tint of pink, being caught dozing off was a bit embarrassing. Especially by someone strict and disciplined like Levi.

“Huh…so I guess you can wake up an hour earlier when you make coffee for us tomorrow.” Your cheeks puffed in pout at his snide remark. Smartass… “C’mon, if Erwin’s not home yet then we start making dinner tonight,” Levi stated while stepping aside to allow you room to exit the Highlander. He led you both in, unlocking the door and you both took your shoes off to leave them at the mat.  

You had changed out of your coffee smelling work clothes into some comfortable dark green joggers. By the time you had walked back to the kitchen, Levi had already started preparing. He had changed into a light grey, v-neck sweatshirt, and black sweatpants. On top of that he wore the pure-white kitchen apron that normally hung in the pantry. It was tied securely around his waist, tucking in the sweatshirt a bit and giving slightly more definition to his shoulder blades. Your eyes trailed it, following along his broad shoulders and the bit of skin exposed on the back of his neck. Just as you were admiring his sharp jawline again, he turned his head looking over at you. You immediately perked up in your stand and bee-lined over to him to help cook. He didn’t seem phased at your staring if he truly had caught you.

“Make sure to chop it finely,” Levi stated while chopped up the chicken breasts into clean strips, proceeding to place them in the sizzling frying pan of butter and olive oil. It was incredible how well these guys can cook, and the taste was remarkable!  Your next job after the parsley was mincing the garlic, Levi took care of cooking the food, which you didn’t mind. He started to mix all the ingredients together, one by one, and the smell of the food made you anxious for dinner.

“It smells amazing…” you hummed, looking over his arm to see the little bubbles of oil popping from under the chicken. Levi let out a satisfied ‘hmp’.

“Just don’t drool in our food. We’ll be eating shortly, brat,” he said, using his free hand to push you back down flat on your feet. You didn’t even realize you were on your tipy toes to stare at the dish. You looked up at his steel grey eyes that looked so tired.

“Why do you keep calling me brat?” you inquired.

“’Cause you are one still.”

“You’re only a couple years older than me,” you huffed. Levi turned his head to look at you, your (e/c) orbs locking with his steel ones.

“Maybe once you cook a full meal that doesn’t taste like the inside of a coffin, you’ll be less of a brat,” he stated, plain as day. His rude comment of your cooking was only dulled by you practically getting lost in his eyes. You broke eye contact and look away from him towards the open living room.

“I’ll get there, I just cook simpler meals,” you muttered. Levi watched you for a moment before a brief ‘ha’ escaped his lips and he looked back to flip the chicken strips. “Where did you learn how to cook so well?” You challenged.

“A friend of mine,” he said softly, his voice a bit quiet. You stared at him intensely and he felt it, glancing back at you before back to his cooking. You weren’t going to let up so easily. “When we first started living together, he did all the cooking, much better than I. I picked up his tricks and tips.”

“What’s his name? Maybe he could be my teacher too!”

“Farlan, and don’t get your hopes up. He doesn’t live in this town, so he’s not around often.”

“Then you teach me, Captain Levi,” you grinned largely, leaning your elbows on the counter and hands holding up your head. Levi stared down at you for a moment, your smile was incredibly pure and beautiful. He reached a hand up and ruffled your hair briefly, muttering another ‘brat’, before reaching above you and grabbing a large serving plate. You smiled as you moved towards another cabinet to get the dinner plates. You knew you got Levi to teach you how to cook!

As you both were plating the hot meal, Erwin stepped in the door and his nostrils immediately caught whiff of the food. You popped your head around the corner to greet him.

“Erwin, just in time! Levi and I just finished making dinner, hurry to get changed before it gets cold!” You smiled, earning a smile from the blonde man himself.

“Of course, (y/n), I’ll join you both in a moment,” he chuckled and headed to change in his room. You set down three plates and all utensils, Levi scolding you for placing them in the wrong positions and having you correct your mistake. Erwin stepped to the dinning table’s head seat wearing a comfortable pair of dark wash jeans and pastel yellow t-shirt. You eyed how the hem of the t-shirt line ended at the mid-section of his arm muscles, giving a nice view when he naturally flexed, the t-shirt barely giving definition to his chest muscles too. You glanced back down at your dinner plate of pale chicken. Either they bought shirts that were a size too small, or their bulging muscles were too much for their clothes. (You didn’t entirely mind though.) The three of you proceeded to enjoy a well-made dinner, you while ignoring your curious thoughts.

“Erwinnnn!! Leviiiii!!!!” Came a shrilling voice from behind the front door, sending a wave of chills down your spine. It was unexpected right after finishing your meal, normally the nights were quiet chatter. Immediately, Levi groaned, elbow on the table and hand holding onto his forehead. The black tea in his cup was almost completely gone. Erwin smiled pathetically at the raven before standing up and heading to the door. Erwin’s plate was completely cleaned, his cup of black tea standing empty. The door opened to a hyper-active brunette with glasses, immediately running inside the door to the dining table, Erwin not too far in pursuit of her.

“Did you guys hear?!” She exclaimed, hands practically slamming on the table. “Deadly Devour almost had another kill!!” Your eyes looked at her with worry, not necessarily about the horrifying words she said, but the fact it looked like their cheeks were red from blushing and their happy exclaim about it. “The only reason the victim survived is thanks to a patrol cop on duty who called backup! He’s making his moves!!” The brunette panted, licking her dry lips from excitement. You face paled a bit, was this person okay???

“Hange, please settle down, you’ll worry (y/n),” Erwin pardoned, motioning to you and her eyes followed, softening a bit. Levi sighed.

“What’s the status of the victims?” he calmly moved the conversation along, wanting as much information as the crazy detective could give him.

“The woman and the first officer are in the hospital in critical condition, they’re doing everything they can, so we just have to wait.” She then stepped around your chair to the free one on your side, pulling it out and taking a seat besides you. She outstretched her hand a bit with a gentler smile gracing her face. This was a pretty side of her from the five minutes you’ve seen.

“My name’s Hange Zoe! I live a house over and I work as a detective with Erwin and Levi! I’m specifically in charge of experiments and research!” You took her hand to shake, a small smile lifting on your lips. Her hand was larger than your own and had a strong shake to it too. “You must be (y/n), the new roommate they were telling me about!” You nodded, a faded blush on the top of your skin. You never thought they would talk about you at work, you were just a roommate. “If ya ever need anything these guys can’t do, give me a call!” Hange seemed pretty sweet when she wasn’t yelling.

“Thanks Hange,” you said. Hange then turned back towards the table, taking a piece of the lemon chicken strip on a plate for herself. It impressed you how quickly she made herself at home.

“Well, unfortunately we can only investigate so much until we can get more information from the victims,” Erwin sighed as he sat back down, fingers interlocked with each other. “But if both victim and officer are in critical condition, it can go either way.”

“And the damn doctors won’t let us in to ask anything until they’re dead or surviving,” Levi grumbled, finishing his chilled tea. Hange nodded vigorously.

“All we can do for now, is investigate the scene of the crime. It’s been crossed off for now, but we only have tomorrow to scout the area,” she said calmly, taking a bite of the food after their words. You sat at this table completely miffed by what was being spoken about. You were they were all detectives for the private company, Scouts, but this sounded serious and it made you sweat a little inside. Erwin must’ve picked up on your nervousness.

“Don’t worry about it (y/n)” he assured, resting a hand on your shoulder giving a light rub. “He doesn’t attack just anyone, you’re new to town so you’re safe. And no matter what you have the three of us here too.” His words were so comforting, you nodded in appreciation. “Why don’t you go get some rest, the three of us have more to discuss and you don’t need to hear more.” There was a part of you that wanted to stay, as scared as you were, you wanted to hear it. But Erwin didn’t give you the option. His words, his body language, it all told you to leave the room. You stood from the table, reached to collect the empty dishes before Levi lightly swatted your hand away. Your eyes locked with his for a moment, the exact same language was silently being stated like it did from Erwin. You let your head fall slightly and made your way to your room. None of them spoke until they heard the click of your door.

“You boys could be a little nicer, ya know,” Hange said while chewing on some bites of chicken. Levi grimaced at her action, demanding she speak only after she swallows.

“She doesn’t need to concern herself with this information, it’s a bit much for a new girl in town to hear.” Erwin said softly.

“We’re getting too close to Deadly Devour anyways. If any of us become a target, that increases her chances of becoming one too,” Levi added. Both men agreed before you moved in that this was a case too dangerous to let you get close too. Hange agreed, but whined that they didn’t have to be so cold to such a hot young lady like yourself.

You laid on your bed in your room. You had taken a nice hot shower and dressed yourself in your comfortable pajamas and bathrobe. The light in your room was naturally dimming as the sunset set farther down the globe. It felt a little hard to be calm. Hange just barged in with this ‘Deadly Devour’ guy making moves, trying to kill people. How was he going about it? What was his next target or where? Were Erwin and Levi in real danger too? What about Hange? Erwin consoled that you wouldn’t be a target for such an event, but it’s still scary to think about. You rolled around on your sheets, flipping side to side before filling curling up in a ball, squeezing your blanket into your face. This town was wonderful so far…you don’t want anything to ruin this one. You weren’t sure when your brain finally took a pause and allowed you to pass out.

_____________________________________________________________

***I am a visual aid person so writing stories I either make a map or borrow one. This is to help any readers like me who do better with visual aids! :)

For reference, their house similar to this Only diff is all 3 bedroom sizes, bathrooms and closes are the same size on the left of the house and that extra space where the master bathroom is, is a larger study room. ***I do not own pic/design, simply using it as a layout reference. Credit goes to proper owners.

[notbecauseofvictories]

Re: your tags - Any tips on planning a good dinner party?

The first step is to decide what kind of dinner party you want to have. A dinner party where everybody brings something, potluck-style, and you sit on the floor eating off paper plates is still a dinner party! So too is inviting everybody over to an apartment-warming party so you can show off the fact that you have actual glassware now, like a real adult, or even putting in the table leaf and planning an elaborate menu so your mother will stop talking about your cousin’s dinners.

Deciding the kind of dinner party you’re up for requires stepping back and looking at how much time you have to plan it, how much money you’re willing to spend, and what your space can accommodate.

Time. Planning and executing a dinner party takes a truly ungodly amount of time. It takes time to pull together a guest list, time to collect RSVPs (whether that’s via text, fb group, invitation, etc.), time to plan and then shop for the menu, clean your space (not just the dining room, but also where your guests will sit, and the bathroom they’ll use), prepare your space for guests (set the table, clear away any clutter), and then actually cook the dinner you’ve decided on.

And that’s all before your guests show up. 

The more elaborate the plans (and the more people you’re inviting) the more time you’ll need to prepare. For a casual sit-down dinner party I’d want at least 5 days lead-in time to prep; probably more to give people a chance to block off that night in their schedule. For something more formal, I’d want two or three weeks. 

Money. Another major factor in deciding what kind of dinner party you’ll have is budget. An elaborate home-cooked meal for any size group of people is expensive—an American-style sit-down dinner is typically a salad, a main dish (usually a meat of some kind), and 2-3 side dishes. Ingredients for just that can cost around $200, easy, and without taking into account appetizers, dessert, or drinks.

If you’re working on a budget, hosting a potluck is the easiest way to share out the cost among you and your guests. I’ve also hosted appetizer parties to great success—people love bite-sized stuff, and you can use the same ingredients in several different dishes, mixing in impressive, costly recipes with easy, less expensive ones.

Finally, consider your space. If your table only sits two, or live in a cramped studio apartment, you should take into account those limitations. If people will be sitting on couches you need to consider your capacity and what kind of food that means serving; even if people will be sitting on the floor, you need to consider how you’re going to make that happen. People in any space want to crowd around each other in a vague circle shape, and I’ve definitely lived in apartments where you couldn’t make that circle comfortably.

Additionally, your space also means the stuff in it. If you only have two wine glasses for four people, serving wine is probably not a great idea. (Though, tip from someone who has been refurbishing their apartment, Salvation Army/St. Vincent de Paul/Habitat for Humanity resale stores have crazy amounts of very attractive glassware for extremely cheap.) 

Once you decide what the party will look like, then you can get onto the real business:

PLANNING THE MENU

The best part of a dinner party is, of course, the dinner. Whether you opt to go for something simple, lavish, or quirky, the menu is something of a centerpiece. 

The most important part is to take into account your guests’ needs. The best pasta primavera in the universe is still the wrong meal to serve to a gluten-free crowd. I have a steak marinade that’ll blow your socks off, but the vegetarians and the no-red-meat-thanks people will leave hungry and dissatisfied if that’s all that’s served. 

Still, the typical American formal dinner party menu does allow you to extend in several different directions, and hopefully please as many different palates as you can. For example:

Appetizers—Appetizers are by no means required, and it’s totally normal to have guests over for dinner without offering appetizers beforehand. However, I think this is a fool’s errand, because appetizers are super easy to make (e.g., baby carrots and veggie tip, olives, cheese and crackers) and if people eat them, they’re less hungry for the dinner. Which, depending on how you feel about your main course, might be a pro or a con.

Salad—First course, nowhere near as many people will eat it as you think, but vegetarians and the healthy people will. If you just want something to throw together, most grocery stores now sell bagged salads, complete with toppings and dressing. If you want to prepare something unique, more power to you.

Can also be substituted for soup, though people have stronger feelings about soup and you’re less likely to please everybody. Whereas salads are basically the same dead leaves, with different kinds of sauce.

Main Course—A typical midwestern main course involves chicken or beef of some kind. However, the main course can also be seafood, pasta, or really any kind of food “substantial” enough to be the main fixture of the meal. 

Depending on the size of the party, it may be worth it to make several options; barbecue for one half and grilled chicken for the other. People are always happier with a choice, even if they choose the one that would be have available anyway.

Side dishes—I think sides are the best part of a meal, and really the opportunity to expand the palate of the dinner. If you’re serving steak with a traditional marinade, then the sides are an opportunity to expand into vegetarian or vegan territory; if you’re serving a cayenne-rubbed whitefish, then serving it with mild roasted cauliflower will let people catch their breath.

It’s also an opportunity to make dishes that you know people will like. For example, I made waldorf salad for my mother’s birthday, and she loved that more than the steak—but it was because I knew she liked waldorf salad. Sides are a kind of deliberate gesture to the people you know will enjoy them. And also, pair well with whatever the main is.

Dessert—Much like appetizers, dessert is optional. It is especially optional given the fact that by the time you get to it, people have been eating for at least an hour, and are generally not hungry. Something light, even just ice cream, will usually work work well. And if your showstopper is a dessert, make sure you plan a lighter dinner, so people still have room for the “main event.”

……none of these needs to be homemade, mind you. I actually think that you’ll have the most success if you combine complicated recipes with simple ones; a frozen appetizer and homemade sides, or a pre-made dessert with chicken you baked yourself. That kind of combo allows you to balance your time better, and effectively carry out your dinner plan.

OTHER TIPS

Think about your guest list before sending out the invitations. A dinner party is an opportunity for your guests to talk and get to know each other, but that’s hard if you invite people who can’t, don’t, or won’t get along. When you’re planning your guest list, think about whether this group will gel, who knows who already, and whether you’ve invited talkative people to balance out the quieter ones. (A dinner party of introverts who don’t know each other is going to be awkward.)

Prep your space as much as you can ahead of time. If you do a really thorough cleaning of your space on Thursday for a dinner on Saturday, then Saturday afternoon you’ll just have to do some spot-cleaning and set the table. Buy groceries before the day-of, unless you’re cooking with something like fresh-that-day fish or just-baked bread. Do not just be planning a menu the day of the party, that way lies ruin and madness.

Prep as much of the food as you can ahead of time! Chop all vegetables the night before, make your marinades and casseroles, shred your cheeses, etc. and then store them covered in the fridge. Some things will have to wait—salads shouldn’t be tossed until it’s almost time to serve them; freshly-cut fruit bruises and browns pretty quickly; anything with a lot of milk in it will separate and have to be re-mixed in the morning; unless you’re dealing with a very tough piece of steak, you shouldn’t marinate overnight. However, do as much as you can ahead of time. This also helps cut down on mess the night of, because my next piece of advice is to…

Clean as you cook. I know cooking generates a lot of dirty dishes and pans, especially as you get into more complicated recipes. However, at the ideal dinner party, your guests should arrive to a clean and empty sink, where the only dirty dishes are the ones in the oven. The only way to make this happen is to clean as you cook. I always add in a couple hours’ lead-time so that I can have everything in pans and ready to pop into the oven even as I clean up the chaos.

Something will go wrong, just roll with the punches. You will realize an hour before the party that you forgot to get napkins, or burn a side dish, or awkwardly offer a drink to a friend who doesn’t drink. People may butt heads at the party, and require intervention. (I once went to a dinner party where the table broke. The host was mortified, but I have very fond memories of trying to rescue food and dishes from the wreckage. We sat on the floor afterwards, laughing and eating off paper plates.)Something will go wrong, so roll with the punches and don’t let yourself spiral over some little thing. You can use paper towels as napkins and apologize for any faux pas. Pizza delivery was invented for a reason. At the end of the day, the important part is to give your guests a nice night, some food, and conversation---and those will exist even if you’re sitting on the floor, eating off paper plates because the table broke.

[iknownothingihearnothing]

BoJack Horseman: 5.2 The Dog Days Are Over

Kay, we ended episode 5.1 with the Goldfish Ladies doin’ their thang in BoJack’s pool. Aside: if their water ballet team isn’t called the Goldfish Ladies, I’ma be disappoint. 

Fish Fridays have gotta be like The Purge for these ladies. 

We also left off, at the tail end of the episode, with Diane and Mr. Peanutbutter. He was dropping her off at her new, um, let’s just call it “not a mansion in the Hollywoo Hills” after a trip and giving her a set of signed divorce papers. 

“Take *that*, our marriage!” she joked awkwardly before leaving. 

So, Diane and Mr. Peanutbutter are friendly but awks around each other. As tends to happen when exes who’ve seen each other nekkid many, many times try to stay friends with each other.

The episode starts with Diane crying in her car, mascara running down her face. She is wearing an outfit that is very unDianeish and she has cut her hair short. AKA the post-breakup haircut all girls know and eventually come to regret.

As poor Diane is cryin’ her eyes out over her canine ex-husband, uh, this happens:

This couple must be transplants from the underwater land BoJack went to for the premiere of Secretariat in season 3. 

Still crying, Diane heads to the airport and asks to be taken as far away from Los Ageless as possible. She demands this of the airport attendant, who is an emu. 

After the title sequence, Diane lands in Vietnam, and as she is walking through Hanoi, dodging people and reptiles alike (look, conspiracy theorists! lizard people!), Stefani calls, salivating for fresh content. Diane, if you remember, is a contributer at the website Girl Croosh, which I guess is a site for, like, everything. 

She promises to write something up from there, the article of which becomes the Top 10 Reasons Why You Should Travel To Vietnam 

I, personally, do not have ancestral roots with Vietnam...as far as I know. I took one of those Ancestry DNA tests a few weeks ago and am waiting on the results. As far as I know I could be 15 percent Tongan, which would be awesome. 

I should visit Germany. Or Austria. Or Russia. Those I know I have roots to. Really close roots. Munich-y roots. My dad’s side of the family were from a valley near the Caucasus Mountains. I am literally Caucasian. 

Sometimes, I don’t know whether to interested in the rich history or saddened and embarrassed at how white that is.

In VO, Diane explains that her family wasn’t much help in explaining to her where they came from when she was growing up, or their family history. We are shown a flashback of pre-teen Diane inquiring to her dad about just this, but he is busy with baseball. Likely a Red Sox game. Or a Red Fox game. 

Furthermore, many of the stores and billboards bear her last name.

I know. Many people in Vietnam share surnames. One of my friend’s last name is Nguyen. 

Everybody she passes, Diane continues, look like her (except the flamingo in the  nón lá hat).But then a woman bumps into her and speaks Vietnamese to her and she has no idea what she’s saying.

At the gorgeous (cartoon) hotel, Diane checks in just as a gang of American filmmakers bust in; they are filming a movie in the hotel. It stars Laura Linney as a recently divorced woman who comes to Vietnam to find herself.

So much for escaping the LA life. 

Diane puts on the dress she bought and the rice paddy hat but she still feels like a tourist.

Speaking of tourist--

Cut to Diane in her usual clothes plus the rice paddy hat appearing to take a selfie in front of the Thien Mu Pagoda.Then everything zooms out.

Pretending to be somewhere more awesome than where you actually are to make other people jealous of you on social media? The hell you say, that never happens!

Diane eats her chicken in the park when Mr. Peanutbutter calls, and, in his usual Mr. Peanutbutter way, inquires as to why she left his party early. He was gonna ask earlier but he was distracted by Todd getting his tongue stuck to the ice sculpture. Todd’s tongue swelled up, and Mr. Peanutbutter had to interfere between him and a mob boss when Todd started talking to him all muffled, the mob boss thinking he was making fun of his deaf sister.

Ya, don’t blame the mob boss.

She makes up an excuse about having a plane to catch to Vietnam while Mr. Peanutbutter literally catches his newspaper in his mouth like a good boy and he promises to pick her up like a good boy/ex-hubby. He is also glad that he is not paying for her phone bills anymore because that international call is gonna be bazongers

Wah wah wahhhhhh as joke falls flat.

In flashback, a still longhaired Diane and Mr. Peanutbutter, recently separated, are celebrating how friendly their separation is by having a divorce dinner. Their waitress turns out to be an excitable young pug by the name of Pickles and I need to call my next dog that. Not fit for a pug, tho. Maybe a dachshund.

She and Mr. Peanutbutter seem to hit it off right away, much to Diane’s annoyance. They both like water! And food scraps! And are full of boundless energy! Amazing! Diane just wants to know if he’s signed the divorce papers yet. Then suggests a housewarming party to curb his loneliness. 

Back in the Bojackverse present, a family of American tourists dressed in American flag shirts and polos mistake Diane for a Vietnamese citizen and talk to her like she’s an idiot.

Yup yup yup. Reminds me of the tourist from California who carved her initials into the Roman Colosseum and then took a selfie.  

I can go a few streets over and meet new people, Diane!

This is a bad reason to travel to Vietnam, Diane!

The internet exists, Diane!

At the hotel bar, Diane meets one of the only other Americans staying there, a dude working on Laura Linney’s movie about the recently divorced woman going to Vietnam to find herself. He appears to be a bald eagle, but we do not know that he is indeed bald because he is wearing a hat. 

He is likely bald, tho. 

I mean, unless people start fake tanning and fist-pumping there. Then I’d feel right at home.

In flashback, Diane hangs a painting of the gorgeous Te Huc Bridge at the Hoàn Kiếm Lake in her crappy new apartment just as BoJack stops by. While helping her move, he, in true blunt BoJack fashion, informs her that this place is a shithole and invites her to stay at his place for a bit. She likes the shithole though. It may be a shithole, but it is her shithole.

At Girl Croosh HQ, Stefani is signing a contract outside of their be-tented building. It seems that the “cockroaches at IT tried to unionize” so Stefani called an exterminator--ahem, “negotiator”. The exterminators, natch, are flies. She also requires that listicle from Diane of 5 Empowering Roles For Women Over 40 Who Would’ve Been Better Played By Jennifer Lawrence. 

Somehow, I predict that role opposite that (now 58) year old actor Maggie Gyllenhaal didn’t get because she was told she was “too old” to play his love interest at the shocking age of 37 will go to JLaw. She’s, like, 28 now! That’s almost thirty!

Still in flashback, Diane’s trying to get work done in her shithole when a pipe leaks and a stray cat meows and someone burps. She shows up at BoJack’s door intoning “I’m a sad, sad girl with a dirty apartment” as was the phrase agreed upon she needed to utter if she ever needed a space. 

Diane finishes her article there and has a glass of wine with BoJack before going back to her shithole. But it turns into...

Keep saying it, Diane. Maybe if you utter it enough times, it’ll actually come true! like the Darling kids shouting “I can fly!” 

Diane mumbles drunkenly how weird it is that they are both single at the same time. BoJack knows why he thinks it’s weird, but why does she? It is just weird, they can totally make out and it’d be okay. But that is gross because he’s BoJack and he’s gross and she’s getting a divorce and allowed to be mean. Then, just as BoJack is ruminating on the last time Diane stayed in the guest room, when he went to New Mexico *andtotallydidnothookupwithateenager* she passes out on the couch in a drunken stupor.

In all my years of seeing therapists, not once has any of them advised me to fly to the capital of Vietnam. 

Diane’s therapist also gossips about the non celebrities she sees. Including Demi who had a first husband named Bruce and a second named Ashton. And a client named Angelina J., who does not think of herself as an actress anymore.

An actress, a director, a humanitarian, a savior of all mankind, all in a painfully obvious attempt to keep the spotlight on her. 

Yeah, I am not much of a Jolie fan.

Diane meets American Bald Eagle working on the Laura Linney movie at the bar and helps him order a drink. He thinks she’s a Vietnamese citizen. They walk through Hanoi’s market area, he tells her about his life in America, thinking she cannot understand a word he is saying, and she kisses him.

I have no bloody idea how you tongue a dude with a beak. There must be some particular angling involved.

American Bald Eagle takes her to Ha Long Bay...the set. It’s actually a backdrop for the Laura Linney movie. American Bald Eagle is the executive grip on the crew. He is Very Important. Or so he claims. But then, as they are perplexedly kissing again, a klieg light falls beside them and Diane curses. In English. 

The jig is up!

Diane tries to defend her actions but American Bald Eagle ain’t havin’ it. She’s the bad guy here! 

Diane is NOT having it, y’all.

Oooh, mic drop!

Number 9 reason to go to Vietnam:

She worries that this is similar to reason #5, which is Get Out Of Your Natural Habitat, but it’s whatever. Diane is getting divorced, she is owed a whatever.

In flashback, Diane has just chopped off her hair and she is wearing a kick jumpsuit looking all fly ready for her ex’s party but when BoJack arrives and compliments her she flies off the handle a bit, accusing him of trying to take advantage of her when she is vulnerable. He sighs and leaves, telling her that Mr. Peanutbutter will love her new hair.

At the party, Todd is wearing what he always is and eyes the ice swan greedily. Yes, he will lick it tonight. Oh, yes he will.

Oh, Todd. You are a delight.

Diane wanders into the library that used to be hers (her Belle-room) and bumps into Mr. Peanutbutter dressed in a tuxedo shirt and what look to be electric blue plastic pants. Carrying a dog bowl full of nachos.

Mr. Peanutbutter mumbles that she looks good. The new haircut really brings out her...neck. It is all really awkward and uncomfortable and Mr. Peanutbutter quickly finds an excuse to greet someone else.

PC hugs Diane and cries that she saw the whole thing; she will be her rock as long as it does not interfere with being Mr. Peanutbutter’s rock because they are both her friends and it also cannot interfere with her work, which is keeping her very bizzay.

There are a lot of heartbreakingly awkward moments in this episode. I kinda sympathize with PC, though. It’s always a fragile position to be in, being a friend of both parties in a divorce. There’s a fine line you have to tread. 

In the present, Diane gets on a plane in Hanoi and calls BoJack to apologize for how shook she’s been post-divorce. She really just needs a friend right now. Get that, BoJack? A friend. 

No more yanky your wanky, BoJack.

Or maybe do.

On the plane, none other than Laura Linney sits down beside Diane.

After she gets over her initial star struck reaction, Diane asks her how her movie ends. Does Laura find herself in Vietnam? Well, yes. Literally. She finds her clone sleeping with her ex. And they team up to take down the government.

Someone call Alex Jones!

But those, Diane says in VO, are not the real reasons to go to Vietnam. The real reason is because you see your ex-husband kissing someone else at a party.

Mr. Peanutbutter picks Diane up from the airport, we are shown the uncomfortable exchange from the first episode in his car, and just as she is about to leave with the signed divorce papers, Mr. PB admits that he is seeing someone. Who is not her. 

Flashback to the party. PC is still rambling on about being supportive while talking on her phone about work related stuffs when Diane spots her ex and Pickles through a window. She kisses him, and, at first, Diane waves it off as just Mr. PB being drunk. Then, the golden retriever and the pug kiss more thoroughly, and poor Diane is crushed.

There. You can fully see the shock and heartache in her eyes, rendered perfectly through simple animation. Another reason why I heart this show so much. 

Because even though she left him, even though she knows she made the right choice, it still frigging HURTS. Like shards of glass pricking her heart.

The heart is an unreasonable muscle.

Diane spends the next few frames drifting through her days. At her shithole apartment. At BoJack’s. On the plane. Even in Vietnam. In VO, she tells us she had hoped the vacation would give her some perspective, but it doesn’t. When she returns, she feels worse than ever.

And that is okay. It’s okay to ache. It’s okay to be confused. When your heart is crushed, nothing makes sense.

So, back in the present, Diane takes a deep breath, smiles a little, and says--

Wow, that was a great episode! I mean, they are all great, but this one was particularly awesome. Took FOREVER to cap, tho. I loved the artistry of the animated Vietnam, how beautiful Ha Long Bay and the Pagoda looked even rendered in animation. The attention to detail is exquisite. 

The emotions were so real. When our hearts ache, whether it be after a horrible break up or a divorce or any kind of tragedy in our lives, we tend to be erratic like Diane was in this episode. We lash out at our friends. We try to doll ourselves up when we know we’re going to see ex boyfriends or girlfriends. We feel as if we’ve been stabbed when we glimpse them moving on when we cannot. Sometimes, we take unplanned trips. Or some of us spend a lot in lieu. I could not take such a trip as Diane took after the worst breakup of my life because I was in the middle of a semester...so I spent money at the local mall. Everything I earned. My paycheck was GONE as soon as I got it. I think I spent over a grand in one month alone. 

We find ways to cope. And eventually, we start on the road to becoming okay again.

[supersoldierfreak]

Take It or Leave It

Hi!!!

This is something new I’m trying where the reader is a Lawyer for Tony Stark but after the Avengers get back together after the Accords Ross is still coming after them. Tony Stark wants the reader to get Ross off their backs but what happens when Ross decides to play a little dirty? 

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 – Chapter 7 – Chapter 8

“What is this, Tony?” Steve looked from the sheets in his hand.

“It’s a resume.” Steve stared at the man. “Y/N L/N, she’s my go to lawyer. When I met her she had only just started at her firm. She had just finished a case and was handing it in to Hayden Hughes, the Managing Partner at the firm, when I was in his office. Instead of taking me to a senior partner to sign with, he told me to sign with the girl. I’ve never regretted it.” 

Steve looked back at the paper. “So you trust her.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Listen, Rogers, if there’s anyone you can get you out of your predicament, shall we say, it’s her. Her record runs on a strictly win-only basis.” 

“She’s worth a shot, Steve. I may have only met her for twenty minutes once before when she was getting Tony to sign something but she’s a good kid. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone keep him in line as well as she did apart from Pepper.” Bruce looked up from his StarkPad to affirm Tony’s praise of the lawyer. 

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” 

Natasha spoke up from her quiet conversation with Clint. “You’re only proving his point, Stark. Besides, this L/N lady can’t be that bad; she’s from the best law firm in New York, Hughes and Wood, which means she came from Harvard, the best law university in the country. She’s used to working cases which have high stakes so she knows discretion is key.”

“What’s the worst that she can do? We’re already wanted fugitives.” Wanda quipped in her thick accent. 

“Call her, Stark. Let’s see what she can do.” 

“No need, Mr Rogers, Mr Stark already called.” You waltzed out the elevator bags scattering your body. “But more importantly, I brought the Chinese.”

“We’ve already eaten.” Steve turned to look at you front on.

You laughed. “Oh that would be a good joke if takeout menus weren’t scattered across the coffee table, members of your team weren’t holding the aforementioned menus, half the people didn’t perk up at the thought of food and I didn’t get all of your favourites.” 

“How would you know our favourites? You have never met us.” Wanda queried. Her distrust for you was clear on her face and through her body language.

“Then how can I do this, Miss Maximoff?” You plopped most of the bags on the floor apart from the food. “Crispy Shredded Beef for Mr Stark, Chicken Chow Mein for Dr Banner, Sweet and Sour Chicken Balls for Captain Rogers, Szechuan Spare Ribs for Miss Romanoff, King Prawn Chop Suey for Mr Barton, Honey Pork for Mr Odinson, House Special Foo Yung for Miss Maximoff, Special Crispy Noodles for Mr Vision, Singapore Mixed Meat Chow Mein for King T’Challa, Stir Fried Mushrooms in Black Bean Sauce for Mr Lang, Shrimp Chow Mein for Colonel Rhodes, Beef Shanghai Style for Mr Wilson, Chicken Singapore Noodles for Mr Parker, and finally Crispy Chicken Fillet and Roast Duck Fried Rice for Sergeant Barnes.” You finished as you placed the final tub on the table. 

“Oh that’s it. She’s my favourite lawyer.” Clint fist pumped the air dramatically. 

You raised an expectant eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you miss the memo? I wasn’t done. I also got Prawn Crackers, Prawn Toast, Crispy Seaweed, Spring Rolls, Crispy Wontons, Salt and Pepper King Prawns, Honey Roast Spare Ribs, Yung Chow Fried Rice, Fried Dumplings, Deep Fried Crab Claws, Aromatic Crispy Duck and finally Fortune Cookies for a bit of fun.” 

“I think I’m in love.” Scott whispered, staring at you.

Ignoring the blubbering man, you pulled out a gift bag from the collection around your feet. “Sorry I couldn’t make your birthday Mr Stark, you know I had court the next day and you can’t arrive in court under influence.” 

“Sure thing, Bunny, no worries.” The man smirked as the nickname came out again. Apparently when you were working or thinking your nose scrunched up and Tony had made it his job to entitle you with a nickname because of it; he thought of Bunny to be a sufficient name. Either way, everybody was watching with rapt attention as Tony removed the black tissue paper from the top of the bag and pulled out the box inside. Tony’s face lit up at the sight, prompting the question. 

“What did Lawyer Lady get ya, Tin Man?” Sam asked expectantly, like a petulant child. 

Thankfully Vision saved him from his despair. “It appears to be a Glen Garioch 46 Year Old 1958 Whiskey, average pricing around $2,777.” 

Low whistles ran throughout the men of the room. 

“Vis! You don’t tell people the price of gifts!” Wanda gave an exclamatory hiss in said man’s direction causing him to frown in thought.

“Damn, L/N. That’s good whiskey.” Sam addressed you but his eyes were still on the bottle. 

“If you play your cards right, Mr Wilson, you might get gifts like that too.” 

He shot you a flirty smirk. “I’ll play you any cards you want if it gets you around here more often.” 

“I’m surrounded by people like Mr Stark, and more, all day, Mr Wilson, you’re going to have to do better than that.” You pouted slightly at the man, fully enjoying the little exchange. 

“I like her. I’ve been telling you for a long time, Birdbrain, you’ve got to up your game.” James permitted himself to join the conversation. 

“Damn, and here I was thinking the only person you like was you boyfriend: The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan.” 

“Didn’t you get anything for yourself, Miss L/N?” Peter asked you as he leant forward to get his noodles. 

“I got the Szechuan Spare Ribs. They’re the best thing on the menu.” You replied with a nod towards Natasha. 

“Amen to that, sestra!” She raised her beer to you and it reminded you of the other bag. 

You pulled out the beer that you had brought with you, alongside the Chinese. “Vy khotite drugogo?” You held out a bottle for her. 

“Ty govorish’ po-russki?” She looked surprised as she took the bottle. 

You nodded. “My parents were quite pushy and strict when I was younger. They made sure I knew as many languages as I could so I would be well prepared for life.” You took a can opener from your bag; you were starting to feel like Mary Poppins. Carefully popping the cap off your bottle, you offered the opener to Natasha and she gratefully accepted. 

“It’ll be fun to have another Russian speaker in the mix.” James stirred his food quietly before taking a bite. 

“The Three Musketeers.” Clint raised his bottle to us jokingly. 

“Any other talents we should know about, Sweetcheeks?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows and you simply gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Alongside Russian and English, I also speak French, German, Portuguese, Spanish, Latin, Italian, and Mandarin. Fluently. Mum made me do Ballet and Gymnastics whilst my Dad made me do martial arts whilst growing up. And I had to learn the piano at school.” You listed them off with an impressive air of nonchalance. 

“You have the skill set to join the Avengers.” Scott announced dramatically whilst chewing on his mushrooms. 

“And you clearly didn’t read the resume.” You quickly rebutted, taking a swig of your beer.

“What’s making you say that?” 

“Honestly, Mr Lang, it’s obvious.” You shook your head to yourself. “The only people who have read my resume in this room is Mr Stark about 9 years ago; Miss Romanoff, Mr Barton and Sergeant Barnes all have read it because they wanted to assess my threat level to themselves individually and the team, hence why they have been carrying most of the conversation as they are trying to evaluate me; Mr Vision will have read my resume due to the fact that he has never seen or interacted with a lawyer before; and finally Captain Rogers will have read my resume as he doesn’t trust me in the slightest right now, his feet are angled ever so slightly towards me showing interest, he hasn’t spoken at all to me apart from a defensive lie at the beginning and now he’s contemplating on how to talk to Tony about me after I’m gone without causing conflict. Tell me I’m wrong.” No one said anything. You stood up from your seat and gathered your bags. “Mr Stark, I presume I’m in the usual room?” 

Tony let out a tired sigh. “Yeah, Bunny. Please just call me Tony for the millionth time.”

“Of course, Tony.” The pair of you shared knowing smiles as you picked the bags up and disappeared down the hallway.

[easyfoodnetwork]

Cecilia Chiang, in Her Own Words

At 98, the iconic San Francisco restaurateur is as bold as ever. Now, she shares her life story with her friend, pastry chef Belinda Leong.

Editor’s note: Cecilia Chiang died on October 28, 2020, at the age of 100. This story, originally published in July 2018, sees Chiang discussing her life, career, and influence on Chinese food in America with close friend Belinda Leong, who notes “hers is a career any chef today would envy.” Looking back at her great successes at the time, Chiang said, “When I started, not that young. I was 30. In a foreign land. Didn’t know the background or the history of the USA. And that’s not very easy. This [is] something I’m very thankful for.”

It’s not an understatement to call Cecilia Chiang one of San Francisco’s most beloved culinary figures. Her first restaurant in town, the Mandarin, opened in 1961 — a time when the white Americans she needed to support her business were far more familiar with egg foo young and chop suey than they were with the traditional dishes she served, like beggar’s chicken and smoked tea duck. Like many restaurateurs, it took Cecilia some time to find her groove in San Francisco, but she did — and by 1968, she moved the Mandarin to a bigger space in Ghirardelli Square, where she presided for over 20 years. Then came the Mandarin Beverly Hills. And then came two more restaurants. Alice Waters and Jeremiah Tower attended her cooking classes. Her cookbook is a must-have for anyone interested in Chinese cooking.

Hers is a career any chef today would envy.

I sat down with Cecilia earlier this year to talk, to hear her tell me her story (again), and to show the world the wonderful woman I’ve come to know as a close friend and mentor.

Cecilia and I officially met at a party at restaurant critic Michael Bauer’s house. I was working at Restaurant Gary Danko at the time, and Cecilia had been in, and said hi, but it was at the party that we really connected. We started to get to know each other, and would see each other around town at events. When I wanted to leave the restaurant to open my own bakery, I turned to her for advice. I was hearing mixed things about the location I was considering. When Cecilia opened her first restaurant in San Francisco, she heard mixed things about her location too.

Cecilia: My first restaurant was on Polk Street. At that time, 1960, Polk Street had no offices, no nothing. Everybody said, “This is a really bad [location] ... This is a pensioner’s area.” I didn’t know at that time what “pensioner” meant.

Others said, “You don’t serve Cantonese food. You don’t serve chop suey; the only Chinese food people know is chop suey.” I said, “I just try to do my best.” I wanted to introduce the real Chinese food to America. That’s how I did it.

I explained that to you. I said, “Don’t listen to everybody, otherwise you’ll get very confused.” That’s how we got to know each other better. Sometimes you’d call me to ask a few questions, because after all, you weren’t experienced [running your own business]. Sometimes little things would happen, and it can hurt your feelings. I told you, “Really, not that important. You just do whatever you can.” I said, “You’ll be just fine.”

I see Cecilia a few times a week. Together we talk, cook, and go out to eat. I asked her to walk me through her typical day.

You probably know my age. I’m 98 now, but I’m still what you can call a self-disciplined person. Every morning I get up at about 9 o’clock, and I have my breakfast, and then make some important phone calls, and then I go to the park. I walk, and also I do my exercise. At my age, I cannot do a lot of very extreme things, like jogging. About three years ago, I fell. I had seven stitches on my head. I injured my shoulder and my leg. At home I use a walker. But I still manage to take myself out. I live alone, but every day I have my routine.

I don’t have a computer, so I read a newspaper, like the New York Times, every day. Not too much local news: the Chronicle, only the food section.

I go out a lot with friends. I love to eat out. When you cook Chinese, you cannot cook a little. Once you cook, you have to have somebody share with you. In Chinese food, the prep work is a lot: You have to cut it, wash it, and slice it, then you eat. That’s no fun at all, so I go out to eat. But once in a while, I get some friends, we just eat, cook together, and have a little fun, a little glass of wine or Champagne. We laugh a lot, talk silly things, have a good time.

I think it’s very important, especially when you’re getting older, to have really good friends, because your own kids marry, have children, they move to somewhere. You need good friends to keep you company.

My friends say, “Cecilia, you’re a really very disciplined person.” When I’m home alone, I don’t drink. I don’t touch any wine, anything. I just eat and get work done. If friends call me, I must return the call. If people ask me to do some work, I do it right away. I don’t drag on. I like to get things done. Every day I have a schedule I put on a piece of paper. I look at every day: “Oh, pretty good, I finished everything today,” then I can sleep better.

People ask me, “What’s the secret?” I have lived such a long life. The first thing I must say, I have to thank my ancestors. We have good genes. My father died at 98 during the Cultural Revolution. My mother died at 94. Those days in China, most people don’t know how poor they were. My father got a little bottle of this much cooking oil a week: Everything was on ration. They were so poor. My father wasn’t sick; they just starved to death, there was no food. Most people don’t know all these things. I think I’m very lucky I have good genes.

Another thing is I try to learn Chinese moderation. I really believe that: Never overeat, or never overdrink. Never overdo it.

Also, I work. I love to work. I take care of my flowers. I planted all these by myself. I fertilize them, I prune them back, I like to work with my hands. I think you do too, Belinda. Look at my hands. I like to use my hands and keep busy.

Cecilia Chiang was born in 1920 in Wuxi, a wealthy town near Shanghai, along the coast of the Chang Jiang River (also known as the Yangtze). When she was 4, her family — including her father’s extended family — moved to Beijing, at the time the capital of “old China.” As Chiang remembers it, her family moved to be a part of the new Republic of China. Even so, she still thinks of herself as a “southerner,” especially when it comes to food.

I’m from a family of 12 children by the same parents. I say that because those days, all the rich families had concubines. Legally you could have two, three wives, and they all lived under the same roof. On my husband’s side, his father had five concubines. Five. But we had no concubines, 12 kids, nine girls and three boys.

Fortunately, we all had good educations; we all went to college. But those days that was not very easy, because we didn’t have enough public schools, it was mostly all private school. Not too many families can afford to send all the kids: Usually people would say, “Oh, the girls ... after they grow up, they just get married, raise kids.” But my father said, “No, I want all my girls to go to college, have a good education.”

Another thing that was very important: Those days, in the Qing Dynasty, they bound your feet, and my mother had bound feet. When my number one sister (we call the eldest sister “number one”) was 4 years old, my mother started to bind her feet, but my father said, “No. You cannot do that.”

My mother said, “Oh, if I don’t bind her feet, who’s going to marry her? Nobody will marry her.” Because that’s the status. Only farmers, the peasants, have big feet. If you’re from a high-class, wealthy family, you have to have your feet bound. My father said, “Don’t worry about it. If nobody marries them, I’ll keep them at home.” This is very unusual. So in our family, we all have natural feet.

In the old days, the girls were not supposed to work. Once you go out to work, the family loses faith: “Oh, you must be poor [to] send your girl off.” Most girls always stayed home. With my older sisters, my father hired this opera-singer tutor.

My parents were very artistic people. They loved music. They loved opera, the grand opera, and they loved all the old paintings. My father loved all these old porcelains, and he also made all these little bonsai with a little tweezer. Doing the bonsai was very unusual. Also, my father played violin, Chinese violin, and then my older sisters started to sing the opera. My older brother also played the violin. I must say since I can remember, we really had a happy childhood.

In summertime, we had a ranch, near Marco Polo Bridge, and you had to take [a] little train to go there. We had a little farm, so we grew all the vegetables, cabbage, carrots, squash, tomato, everything.

In China, we didn’t have ready-to-wear, ready-made things. Everything was custom made; you could not buy anything. We had a tailor and a shoemaker at home, because of all the kids: You had to make clothes and shoes for the 12 of us.

I think about that, about all these wonderful things we had when we were kids. It was very unusual. I mean, those days, everything you had, you just take for granted. But now, I think it’s very privileged: How many families could afford to do that?

After college, I think I probably thought I would maybe find somebody, get married. Like I told you, most of the girls, after their education, just get married, raise the kids, be a housewife. That’s the typical Chinese way: Even now, the wealthy families are still doing that. In our family, not one girl was working, only my two brothers were working.

Then there was the [Second Sino-Japanese] war. Just to make the story short, I walked during the Japanese invasion, I walked from Beijing to Chongqing. You know how many miles it was? Over 1,000 miles. I walked six months by foot. Six months.

I had just finished college, 20 years old. And I have no fear because I am young and honestly because I’m naive. I was more sheltered. The Japanese tried to capture, tried to kill all the students. So we walked at nighttime. We walked all night. In the daytime, we’d find a place to just doze off, because the Japanese airplanes used a machine gun that just killed all the students, all the innocent people. So my sister, number five, and I, we two walked from Beijing to Chongqing.

And one day, I’ve never forgotten. The Japanese airplane was flying so low, just using the machine gun. There was a leg over there, a hand... Another student said, “The enemy’s plane is here, run, run!” But then you’re so scared, you cannot run that fast.

Finally we found a little field. In northern China they grow sorghum everywhere. So we’re hiding in the sorghum field. And when the airplane left, I called for my sister. “Number five sister, where are you? Where are you?” Nothing happened. I was so scared. I thought something happened to her. Then my number five sister called me, and says, “number seven sister, are you okay? Are you okay? Where are you?” I could not talk, I was so scared.

We didn’t even get hurt, but some other students died. That’s an experience that you never forget.

In 1949, Cecilia, her husband, and her daughter took the last plane out of Shanghai before the Communists arrived (her son stayed with her sister in Taipei). They lived in Tokyo, where her husband worked at the Chinese embassy. They had a 350-seat restaurant in the heart of Tokyo called Forbidden City. Two years later, her son was able to join them, and her two children attended an American school in Japan. At that time, one of her sisters (number six, Sophie) was married to an “ABC,” an American-born Chinese person, who ran a newspaper in San Francisco’s Chinatown. He died of cancer a year after the two married, so Cecilia went to San Francisco to spend time with her sister, who found herself a young widow. She slept on the sofa in her sister’s apartment on the edge of Chinatown, near Powell and Clay streets.

My sister didn’t know how to cook, because we had two cooks at home; we never learned how to cook. Not only that, we were not allowed go to the kitchen, because the kitchen servants were all men. Every day we just walked down into Chinatown and ate. I still remember $3 for four dishes and one soup, including tea, rice, everything: Chop suey — mostly tofu and bean sprout — egg foo young, $3. One day we walked there to have lunch, then on the street, somebody called me, “Oh, Mrs. Chiang. We had a hard time finding you.” These were some friends I knew from Tokyo.

They said, “We came here, we want to open a Chinese restaurant. We saw the spot we like, but our English is so bad, we cannot negotiate with the landlord and we need your help.”

I thought my English was just as bad, but I said, “I will try my best and see what I can do for you.”

I set up a date and met the landlord. The landlord was an old Italian, with a very heavy accent. He said, “If you’re really interested this spot, you have to give me a deposit — somebody else now is interested.” I never worked. I didn’t know about business, how to negotiate.

The deposit was $10,000. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. My friend said, “We came here as visitor, we don’t have a bank account. We have only cash.”

The landlord said, “Can you give a check?” See how naive I was. I was also young. I send a check for $10,000. Later [those friends] backed out and went back to Japan, I got stuck. What am I supposed to do?

I was just so naive. Later, I just thought how stupid I was. I was totally ignorant. I didn’t know business, I didn’t know the value of the money. Then I thought, What am I going to say to my husband? How in the world am I going to tell him?

I tried to sell it, [but] nobody wanted it. I tried everything, and I felt ashamed. Finally, I said, “I better open the restaurant,” otherwise the $10,000 is just down the drain. I found a couple from Shandong, also from northern China, because I didn’t want anything Cantonese, anything chop suey. I really wanted to bring real Chinese cuisine to the USA. That’s how I opened.

Business at her restaurant, the Mandarin, was hard; the second year in particular was “really quite slow,” Cecilia says now. But she refused to ask her husband for money to fund the restaurant, instead going to the Small Business Bureau, where it was difficult to get a loan as a woman.

I invited them to the restaurant. They had to see it as [a viable] business. At that time I had a manager, who’d asked me a very silly question: “Why, every time I ask you another question, you say, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it?’ Why do you have the confidence to think you can make it?”

I said, “You really want to know why? Because all those things on the menu, nobody, not even in New York, nobody serves it. I serve real Chinese food.”

My menu had about 300 items. I had sea urchin at Mandarin, I had shark fin. I told my manager, “You know what? I think my food is really good: Not only tasty, but good quality. Really good, all the best.” I went to Japan, Taiwan, brought back shark fin and sea urchin. I carried it back by the bag.

Also, not one Chinese restaurant had such service. All my waiters were from UC Berkeley, spoke good English, were from really nice families. Those days when you went to Chinatown: “Sweet and sour pork, No. 2.” They called numbers to serve. Those days, they just put the plate down, just threw it on the table. No tablecloths, no carpets in Chinatown. No seats, just a bench.

All my waiters tasted the food I served. They knew the ingredients, and could explain the dishes. So I said, “I have something totally different. I think I am going to make it.” But I still needed luck.

So one day, a man came in. He’s Caucasian but spoke fluent Mandarin to me. He said, “Do you remember me? I’m the owner of Maxim’s.” Maxim’s was a very famous restaurant in China. He’s a Russian. He opened a restaurant called Alexis. He had dinner and said, “After I left China, this [is] the first time I’ve had such real, good Chinese food.”

He said he didn’t think I’d make it, because people were not familiar with my menu. And my location on Polk Street was bad — no parking, no walking, nothing. He said, “I’ll see what I can do, I really want to help you.”

Two days later, he came back with Herb Caen [a prominent San Francisco columnist]. I don’t know who that was. They ordered a lot of different things. He said, “Herb, I’m telling you this is real Chinese food.”

Herb said, “What’s the difference?”

He said, “Eat it and you’ll know.”

Herb Caen came back again.

And all of a sudden, my phone just kept ringing and ringing. I said, “This is crazy.” I didn’t have anybody. I was the one at the front desk. I answered the phone. I didn’t even have a janitor. I was the janitor. I did everything.

Finally it’s full. People were lining up: Because of the Herb Caen article, they wanted to come. I said, “What is Herb Caen? Who is Herb Caen?” People told me he’s the one that can make you, can break you. So Herb Caen really helped me a lot. The dinners really turned around.

At her restaurants in San Francisco and Los Angeles, Cecilia introduced Americans to real Chinese food — and fed plenty of celebrities, including John Lennon and Yoko Ono, friends of Herb Caen. Her son Philip also followed her into the restaurant industry, eventually founding the megahit P.F. Chang’s (he is no longer involved with the chain).

I wanted to know what Cecilia is most proud of. Her answers show just how impressive her career has been, but also the incredible life she has lived.

First thing, when I opened the restaurant, the hardest thing was everything was against me. First, because I’m a female ... I opened before Chez Panisse — Alice was not even open. I’m not Cantonese. The Cantonese treated me so badly, like a foreigner.

And then another thing is, I didn’t speak much English, because when you’re in a college, you learn A, B, C, D, and just how to read. But conversation is not easy. In those days, when I first came, I remember [there was] no television, only radio. So whenever you learned a few words, you put it in a notebook. Put in Chinese and English, try to make a sentence. That’s how I learned English. I’m very proud of it.

I had a good reputation, supported my family. Also we had four restaurants one time. Two Mandarins, one here, one in Beverly Hills. And also we had two little Mandarette. Actually, Mandarette is kind of P.F. Chang’s. That’s how [my son] started that.

I was the only one in my family who did all this. To me it’s pretty amazing, because now it’s nothing, actually, but you just think about ... I’m 98. When I started, not that young either. I was 30. In a foreign land. Didn’t know the background or the history of the USA. And that’s not very easy.

But also I’m very grateful to the United States, because it’s hard. This would never happen in China or Japan for a foreigner. This [is] something I’m very thankful for. But I didn’t plan anything like this.

I never planned anything. That’s why now when I meet young people from China or somewhere else who want to start a business, if they need my help, I always help. I’ve sponsored 26 people: my niece and nephew, an MIT professor, also bankers, architects, doctors, and they’re all doing really well.

I still help them. Because I know how hard it was when I started.

As she mentioned in her daily routine, she’s an avid restaurantgoer. She is plugged into the restaurant scene today — she says her favorite restaurants right now are Benu and Z & Y — and is still known for having a razor-sharp palate. (When I wanted to start my mochi business, I had Cecilia taste my early creations.)

Fortunately, I grew up with good food, because my parents both know food very well. There’s a lot of people that say, “Oh, we love to eat, we love this, we love that.” Doesn’t mean they know the food. Even restaurant owners, I know quite a few. I mean, they really don’t have the palate, a good palate to taste good food and know the difference. I love them, but I know quite a few.

First thing, I have a very good nose, and also I have a very good tongue, because I used to eat out. I lived most my life in Asia, right? So I know Chinese food, I know Korean food, I know Japanese food, but French, Italian: I’m really learning. I never had anything to do with this food. I don’t know it. The only time I learn is when I travel, so I travel a lot.

When I was a student, that time I walked from village to village to the city, I learned the ways are different, the soil’s different. The local people were totally different. And each province had its own dialect. So I learned a lot about the food. About the vegetables, the weather, about the people’s characters. I think that helped a lot for my future about the restaurant business.

And then later I traveled with Alice Waters, a very good friend. We’ve been together to Europe ... maybe five times. We covered all these three-star Michelin restaurants. And one day we went to a restaurant in Europe that was hard to get into. But somehow James Beard said if we really wanted to go, he could call somebody and make a reservation for us.

So Alice, Marion Cunningham, and I went down there. They served a salad. And so Alice tastes it. And Alice said, “Marion, you try it. See what dressing is that.” Marion said something else. Later, Alice said, “Cecilia, have you tried this? Tell me what you think this dressing is.” I tasted it.

I said, “I’m not sure, but to me, it’s walnut oil.”

“Are you kidding, walnut oil? Who uses walnut oil for dressing?”

“Something like that. I’m not sure, but to me...” We called the waiter.

The waiter came. “Tell us, we cannot figure out this oil.” The waiter said it was walnut oil.

And Alice said to me, “You did it again.” Before that, we went to Taiwan. I took her to Taiwan and also Japan, field trips.

I’m just very lucky that I have a good nose, a good palate. This is something either you have or you don’t. Just like a lot of wealthy people are very wealthy, but they don’t have good taste. That’s something money cannot buy.

Belinda Leong is a James Beard Award-winning baker in San Francisco, where she runs B. Patisserie. Michelle Min is a food and travel photographer based in San Francisco. Editor: Hillary Dixler Canavan

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2O5QdXu https://ift.tt/3mwn5Js

At 98, the iconic San Francisco restaurateur is as bold as ever. Now, she shares her life story with her friend, pastry chef Belinda Leong.

Editor’s note: Cecilia Chiang died on October 28, 2020, at the age of 100. This story, originally published in July 2018, sees Chiang discussing her life, career, and influence on Chinese food in America with close friend Belinda Leong, who notes “hers is a career any chef today would envy.” Looking back at her great successes at the time, Chiang said, “When I started, not that young. I was 30. In a foreign land. Didn’t know the background or the history of the USA. And that’s not very easy. This [is] something I’m very thankful for.”

It’s not an understatement to call Cecilia Chiang one of San Francisco’s most beloved culinary figures. Her first restaurant in town, the Mandarin, opened in 1961 — a time when the white Americans she needed to support her business were far more familiar with egg foo young and chop suey than they were with the traditional dishes she served, like beggar’s chicken and smoked tea duck. Like many restaurateurs, it took Cecilia some time to find her groove in San Francisco, but she did — and by 1968, she moved the Mandarin to a bigger space in Ghirardelli Square, where she presided for over 20 years. Then came the Mandarin Beverly Hills. And then came two more restaurants. Alice Waters and Jeremiah Tower attended her cooking classes. Her cookbook is a must-have for anyone interested in Chinese cooking.

Hers is a career any chef today would envy.

I sat down with Cecilia earlier this year to talk, to hear her tell me her story (again), and to show the world the wonderful woman I’ve come to know as a close friend and mentor.

Cecilia and I officially met at a party at restaurant critic Michael Bauer’s house. I was working at Restaurant Gary Danko at the time, and Cecilia had been in, and said hi, but it was at the party that we really connected. We started to get to know each other, and would see each other around town at events. When I wanted to leave the restaurant to open my own bakery, I turned to her for advice. I was hearing mixed things about the location I was considering. When Cecilia opened her first restaurant in San Francisco, she heard mixed things about her location too.

Cecilia: My first restaurant was on Polk Street. At that time, 1960, Polk Street had no offices, no nothing. Everybody said, “This is a really bad [location] ... This is a pensioner’s area.” I didn’t know at that time what “pensioner” meant.

Others said, “You don’t serve Cantonese food. You don’t serve chop suey; the only Chinese food people know is chop suey.” I said, “I just try to do my best.” I wanted to introduce the real Chinese food to America. That’s how I did it.

I explained that to you. I said, “Don’t listen to everybody, otherwise you’ll get very confused.” That’s how we got to know each other better. Sometimes you’d call me to ask a few questions, because after all, you weren’t experienced [running your own business]. Sometimes little things would happen, and it can hurt your feelings. I told you, “Really, not that important. You just do whatever you can.” I said, “You’ll be just fine.”

I see Cecilia a few times a week. Together we talk, cook, and go out to eat. I asked her to walk me through her typical day.

You probably know my age. I’m 98 now, but I’m still what you can call a self-disciplined person. Every morning I get up at about 9 o’clock, and I have my breakfast, and then make some important phone calls, and then I go to the park. I walk, and also I do my exercise. At my age, I cannot do a lot of very extreme things, like jogging. About three years ago, I fell. I had seven stitches on my head. I injured my shoulder and my leg. At home I use a walker. But I still manage to take myself out. I live alone, but every day I have my routine.

I don’t have a computer, so I read a newspaper, like the New York Times, every day. Not too much local news: the Chronicle, only the food section.

I go out a lot with friends. I love to eat out. When you cook Chinese, you cannot cook a little. Once you cook, you have to have somebody share with you. In Chinese food, the prep work is a lot: You have to cut it, wash it, and slice it, then you eat. That’s no fun at all, so I go out to eat. But once in a while, I get some friends, we just eat, cook together, and have a little fun, a little glass of wine or Champagne. We laugh a lot, talk silly things, have a good time.

I think it’s very important, especially when you’re getting older, to have really good friends, because your own kids marry, have children, they move to somewhere. You need good friends to keep you company.

My friends say, “Cecilia, you’re a really very disciplined person.” When I’m home alone, I don’t drink. I don’t touch any wine, anything. I just eat and get work done. If friends call me, I must return the call. If people ask me to do some work, I do it right away. I don’t drag on. I like to get things done. Every day I have a schedule I put on a piece of paper. I look at every day: “Oh, pretty good, I finished everything today,” then I can sleep better.

People ask me, “What’s the secret?” I have lived such a long life. The first thing I must say, I have to thank my ancestors. We have good genes. My father died at 98 during the Cultural Revolution. My mother died at 94. Those days in China, most people don’t know how poor they were. My father got a little bottle of this much cooking oil a week: Everything was on ration. They were so poor. My father wasn’t sick; they just starved to death, there was no food. Most people don’t know all these things. I think I’m very lucky I have good genes.

Another thing is I try to learn Chinese moderation. I really believe that: Never overeat, or never overdrink. Never overdo it.

Also, I work. I love to work. I take care of my flowers. I planted all these by myself. I fertilize them, I prune them back, I like to work with my hands. I think you do too, Belinda. Look at my hands. I like to use my hands and keep busy.

Cecilia Chiang was born in 1920 in Wuxi, a wealthy town near Shanghai, along the coast of the Chang Jiang River (also known as the Yangtze). When she was 4, her family — including her father’s extended family — moved to Beijing, at the time the capital of “old China.” As Chiang remembers it, her family moved to be a part of the new Republic of China. Even so, she still thinks of herself as a “southerner,” especially when it comes to food.

I’m from a family of 12 children by the same parents. I say that because those days, all the rich families had concubines. Legally you could have two, three wives, and they all lived under the same roof. On my husband’s side, his father had five concubines. Five. But we had no concubines, 12 kids, nine girls and three boys.

Fortunately, we all had good educations; we all went to college. But those days that was not very easy, because we didn’t have enough public schools, it was mostly all private school. Not too many families can afford to send all the kids: Usually people would say, “Oh, the girls ... after they grow up, they just get married, raise kids.” But my father said, “No, I want all my girls to go to college, have a good education.”

Another thing that was very important: Those days, in the Qing Dynasty, they bound your feet, and my mother had bound feet. When my number one sister (we call the eldest sister “number one”) was 4 years old, my mother started to bind her feet, but my father said, “No. You cannot do that.”

My mother said, “Oh, if I don’t bind her feet, who’s going to marry her? Nobody will marry her.” Because that’s the status. Only farmers, the peasants, have big feet. If you’re from a high-class, wealthy family, you have to have your feet bound. My father said, “Don’t worry about it. If nobody marries them, I’ll keep them at home.” This is very unusual. So in our family, we all have natural feet.

In the old days, the girls were not supposed to work. Once you go out to work, the family loses faith: “Oh, you must be poor [to] send your girl off.” Most girls always stayed home. With my older sisters, my father hired this opera-singer tutor.

My parents were very artistic people. They loved music. They loved opera, the grand opera, and they loved all the old paintings. My father loved all these old porcelains, and he also made all these little bonsai with a little tweezer. Doing the bonsai was very unusual. Also, my father played violin, Chinese violin, and then my older sisters started to sing the opera. My older brother also played the violin. I must say since I can remember, we really had a happy childhood.

In summertime, we had a ranch, near Marco Polo Bridge, and you had to take [a] little train to go there. We had a little farm, so we grew all the vegetables, cabbage, carrots, squash, tomato, everything.

In China, we didn’t have ready-to-wear, ready-made things. Everything was custom made; you could not buy anything. We had a tailor and a shoemaker at home, because of all the kids: You had to make clothes and shoes for the 12 of us.

I think about that, about all these wonderful things we had when we were kids. It was very unusual. I mean, those days, everything you had, you just take for granted. But now, I think it’s very privileged: How many families could afford to do that?

After college, I think I probably thought I would maybe find somebody, get married. Like I told you, most of the girls, after their education, just get married, raise the kids, be a housewife. That’s the typical Chinese way: Even now, the wealthy families are still doing that. In our family, not one girl was working, only my two brothers were working.

Then there was the [Second Sino-Japanese] war. Just to make the story short, I walked during the Japanese invasion, I walked from Beijing to Chongqing. You know how many miles it was? Over 1,000 miles. I walked six months by foot. Six months.

I had just finished college, 20 years old. And I have no fear because I am young and honestly because I’m naive. I was more sheltered. The Japanese tried to capture, tried to kill all the students. So we walked at nighttime. We walked all night. In the daytime, we’d find a place to just doze off, because the Japanese airplanes used a machine gun that just killed all the students, all the innocent people. So my sister, number five, and I, we two walked from Beijing to Chongqing.

And one day, I’ve never forgotten. The Japanese airplane was flying so low, just using the machine gun. There was a leg over there, a hand... Another student said, “The enemy’s plane is here, run, run!” But then you’re so scared, you cannot run that fast.

Finally we found a little field. In northern China they grow sorghum everywhere. So we’re hiding in the sorghum field. And when the airplane left, I called for my sister. “Number five sister, where are you? Where are you?” Nothing happened. I was so scared. I thought something happened to her. Then my number five sister called me, and says, “number seven sister, are you okay? Are you okay? Where are you?” I could not talk, I was so scared.

We didn’t even get hurt, but some other students died. That’s an experience that you never forget.

In 1949, Cecilia, her husband, and her daughter took the last plane out of Shanghai before the Communists arrived (her son stayed with her sister in Taipei). They lived in Tokyo, where her husband worked at the Chinese embassy. They had a 350-seat restaurant in the heart of Tokyo called Forbidden City. Two years later, her son was able to join them, and her two children attended an American school in Japan. At that time, one of her sisters (number six, Sophie) was married to an “ABC,” an American-born Chinese person, who ran a newspaper in San Francisco’s Chinatown. He died of cancer a year after the two married, so Cecilia went to San Francisco to spend time with her sister, who found herself a young widow. She slept on the sofa in her sister’s apartment on the edge of Chinatown, near Powell and Clay streets.

My sister didn’t know how to cook, because we had two cooks at home; we never learned how to cook. Not only that, we were not allowed go to the kitchen, because the kitchen servants were all men. Every day we just walked down into Chinatown and ate. I still remember $3 for four dishes and one soup, including tea, rice, everything: Chop suey — mostly tofu and bean sprout — egg foo young, $3. One day we walked there to have lunch, then on the street, somebody called me, “Oh, Mrs. Chiang. We had a hard time finding you.” These were some friends I knew from Tokyo.

They said, “We came here, we want to open a Chinese restaurant. We saw the spot we like, but our English is so bad, we cannot negotiate with the landlord and we need your help.”

I thought my English was just as bad, but I said, “I will try my best and see what I can do for you.”

I set up a date and met the landlord. The landlord was an old Italian, with a very heavy accent. He said, “If you’re really interested this spot, you have to give me a deposit — somebody else now is interested.” I never worked. I didn’t know about business, how to negotiate.

The deposit was $10,000. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. My friend said, “We came here as visitor, we don’t have a bank account. We have only cash.”

The landlord said, “Can you give a check?” See how naive I was. I was also young. I send a check for $10,000. Later [those friends] backed out and went back to Japan, I got stuck. What am I supposed to do?

I was just so naive. Later, I just thought how stupid I was. I was totally ignorant. I didn’t know business, I didn’t know the value of the money. Then I thought, What am I going to say to my husband? How in the world am I going to tell him?

I tried to sell it, [but] nobody wanted it. I tried everything, and I felt ashamed. Finally, I said, “I better open the restaurant,” otherwise the $10,000 is just down the drain. I found a couple from Shandong, also from northern China, because I didn’t want anything Cantonese, anything chop suey. I really wanted to bring real Chinese cuisine to the USA. That’s how I opened.

Business at her restaurant, the Mandarin, was hard; the second year in particular was “really quite slow,” Cecilia says now. But she refused to ask her husband for money to fund the restaurant, instead going to the Small Business Bureau, where it was difficult to get a loan as a woman.

I invited them to the restaurant. They had to see it as [a viable] business. At that time I had a manager, who’d asked me a very silly question: “Why, every time I ask you another question, you say, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it?’ Why do you have the confidence to think you can make it?”

I said, “You really want to know why? Because all those things on the menu, nobody, not even in New York, nobody serves it. I serve real Chinese food.”

My menu had about 300 items. I had sea urchin at Mandarin, I had shark fin. I told my manager, “You know what? I think my food is really good: Not only tasty, but good quality. Really good, all the best.” I went to Japan, Taiwan, brought back shark fin and sea urchin. I carried it back by the bag.

Also, not one Chinese restaurant had such service. All my waiters were from UC Berkeley, spoke good English, were from really nice families. Those days when you went to Chinatown: “Sweet and sour pork, No. 2.” They called numbers to serve. Those days, they just put the plate down, just threw it on the table. No tablecloths, no carpets in Chinatown. No seats, just a bench.

All my waiters tasted the food I served. They knew the ingredients, and could explain the dishes. So I said, “I have something totally different. I think I am going to make it.” But I still needed luck.

So one day, a man came in. He’s Caucasian but spoke fluent Mandarin to me. He said, “Do you remember me? I’m the owner of Maxim’s.” Maxim’s was a very famous restaurant in China. He’s a Russian. He opened a restaurant called Alexis. He had dinner and said, “After I left China, this [is] the first time I’ve had such real, good Chinese food.”

He said he didn’t think I’d make it, because people were not familiar with my menu. And my location on Polk Street was bad — no parking, no walking, nothing. He said, “I’ll see what I can do, I really want to help you.”

Two days later, he came back with Herb Caen [a prominent San Francisco columnist]. I don’t know who that was. They ordered a lot of different things. He said, “Herb, I’m telling you this is real Chinese food.”

Herb said, “What’s the difference?”

He said, “Eat it and you’ll know.”

Herb Caen came back again.

And all of a sudden, my phone just kept ringing and ringing. I said, “This is crazy.” I didn’t have anybody. I was the one at the front desk. I answered the phone. I didn’t even have a janitor. I was the janitor. I did everything.

Finally it’s full. People were lining up: Because of the Herb Caen article, they wanted to come. I said, “What is Herb Caen? Who is Herb Caen?” People told me he’s the one that can make you, can break you. So Herb Caen really helped me a lot. The dinners really turned around.

At her restaurants in San Francisco and Los Angeles, Cecilia introduced Americans to real Chinese food — and fed plenty of celebrities, including John Lennon and Yoko Ono, friends of Herb Caen. Her son Philip also followed her into the restaurant industry, eventually founding the megahit P.F. Chang’s (he is no longer involved with the chain).

I wanted to know what Cecilia is most proud of. Her answers show just how impressive her career has been, but also the incredible life she has lived.

First thing, when I opened the restaurant, the hardest thing was everything was against me. First, because I’m a female ... I opened before Chez Panisse — Alice was not even open. I’m not Cantonese. The Cantonese treated me so badly, like a foreigner.

And then another thing is, I didn’t speak much English, because when you’re in a college, you learn A, B, C, D, and just how to read. But conversation is not easy. In those days, when I first came, I remember [there was] no television, only radio. So whenever you learned a few words, you put it in a notebook. Put in Chinese and English, try to make a sentence. That’s how I learned English. I’m very proud of it.

I had a good reputation, supported my family. Also we had four restaurants one time. Two Mandarins, one here, one in Beverly Hills. And also we had two little Mandarette. Actually, Mandarette is kind of P.F. Chang’s. That’s how [my son] started that.

I was the only one in my family who did all this. To me it’s pretty amazing, because now it’s nothing, actually, but you just think about ... I’m 98. When I started, not that young either. I was 30. In a foreign land. Didn’t know the background or the history of the USA. And that’s not very easy.

But also I’m very grateful to the United States, because it’s hard. This would never happen in China or Japan for a foreigner. This [is] something I’m very thankful for. But I didn’t plan anything like this.

I never planned anything. That’s why now when I meet young people from China or somewhere else who want to start a business, if they need my help, I always help. I’ve sponsored 26 people: my niece and nephew, an MIT professor, also bankers, architects, doctors, and they’re all doing really well.

I still help them. Because I know how hard it was when I started.

As she mentioned in her daily routine, she’s an avid restaurantgoer. She is plugged into the restaurant scene today — she says her favorite restaurants right now are Benu and Z & Y — and is still known for having a razor-sharp palate. (When I wanted to start my mochi business, I had Cecilia taste my early creations.)

Fortunately, I grew up with good food, because my parents both know food very well. There’s a lot of people that say, “Oh, we love to eat, we love this, we love that.” Doesn’t mean they know the food. Even restaurant owners, I know quite a few. I mean, they really don’t have the palate, a good palate to taste good food and know the difference. I love them, but I know quite a few.

First thing, I have a very good nose, and also I have a very good tongue, because I used to eat out. I lived most my life in Asia, right? So I know Chinese food, I know Korean food, I know Japanese food, but French, Italian: I’m really learning. I never had anything to do with this food. I don’t know it. The only time I learn is when I travel, so I travel a lot.

When I was a student, that time I walked from village to village to the city, I learned the ways are different, the soil’s different. The local people were totally different. And each province had its own dialect. So I learned a lot about the food. About the vegetables, the weather, about the people’s characters. I think that helped a lot for my future about the restaurant business.

And then later I traveled with Alice Waters, a very good friend. We’ve been together to Europe ... maybe five times. We covered all these three-star Michelin restaurants. And one day we went to a restaurant in Europe that was hard to get into. But somehow James Beard said if we really wanted to go, he could call somebody and make a reservation for us.

So Alice, Marion Cunningham, and I went down there. They served a salad. And so Alice tastes it. And Alice said, “Marion, you try it. See what dressing is that.” Marion said something else. Later, Alice said, “Cecilia, have you tried this? Tell me what you think this dressing is.” I tasted it.

I said, “I’m not sure, but to me, it’s walnut oil.”

“Are you kidding, walnut oil? Who uses walnut oil for dressing?”

“Something like that. I’m not sure, but to me...” We called the waiter.

The waiter came. “Tell us, we cannot figure out this oil.” The waiter said it was walnut oil.

And Alice said to me, “You did it again.” Before that, we went to Taiwan. I took her to Taiwan and also Japan, field trips.

I’m just very lucky that I have a good nose, a good palate. This is something either you have or you don’t. Just like a lot of wealthy people are very wealthy, but they don’t have good taste. That’s something money cannot buy.

Belinda Leong is a James Beard Award-winning baker in San Francisco, where she runs B. Patisserie. Michelle Min is a food and travel photographer based in San Francisco. Editor: Hillary Dixler Canavan

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2O5QdXu via Blogger https://ift.tt/3ky4ITL

[superhusbands4ever]

Cling - Chapter 2

My teeth are rotting oh my god. More clingy baby Peter with good dad Tony featuring Papa Steve! I tagged everyone it would let me, sorry if I missed anybody! (Ps. I’ve seen this happen to parents and it’s hilarious.)

Chapter 1

Steve was standing at the sink rinsing the dishes from breakfast, Peter happily humming away in his high chair eating chopped up bananas and strawberries.

He was just putting the last of the plates onto the drying rack when he heard someone walk into the kitchen.

"Hi, Daddy!" Peter's cheery voice rang out.

Steve turned around in time to see Tony smile and wander over to Peter in his high chair.

"Hi, Petey-Pie!"

Steve and Peter hadn't gotten to see Tony yet today as he had to get up earlier for a morning meeting with the board. He had apparently gotten back awhile ago and had taken the time to change out of his usual three-piece Tom Ford and into an old pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt.

Peter smiled up at Tony from his chair, waving around a handful of mashed fruit.

"Daddy, look! Nanna!"

"You got a banana with your breakfast?" Tony sat down in the chair next to Peter's, smiling his thanks at Steve when he set a cup of coffee down next to him. "Looks like you got some strawberries too."

Peter nodded, squeezing the fruit in his hands and mashing it even more. He moved to put it in his mouth before he stopped, glanced at Tony - who was watching him with a small smile - and offered his hand to him.

"Wanna nanna?"

"No baby, you eat your banana," Tony said, leaning forward to brush Peter's hair back from his forehead. Peter leaned into the touch before going back to eating the mess in his hands.

(mobile, watch the cut)

"We're gonna need to get his hair cut soon," Tony murmured.

"Yeah, we can take him somewhere," Steve said, wiping down the kitchen table. "Actually, Tasha would probably do it if you asked."

"Probably." Tony turned to Steve. "How was your morning?"

"Good," Steve said with a smile. "Went to the gym to train with Bucky for a bit before Peter woke up. Then we came up here and made breakfast for everybody. You just missed them; Clint and Natasha had to go to SHIELD for a mission defending, Bucky went to do something with Sam, and Bruce had to go back to his lab."

"Thor still in Asgard?"

"Until Tuesday, at least." Steve sighed, looking around the kitchen. "You eat yet? I can make you something."

"No, they had some food at the meeting, I'm ok." Tony smiled up at his husband.

"Papa, I done," Peter said suddenly, messy hands raised towards Steve. Tony had to hold back a laugh.

It seemed Peter had gotten more banana on his face than actually in his mouth, along with some strawberry juice on top of it and on his hands.

"You are a mess," Steve laughed, grabbing a washcloth and wiping down Peter's hands and face. Peter made a face and tried to pull away, but Steve just grabbed his chin to keep him straight.

Steve lifted the dirty tray from the chair to go put it in the sink and wipe it down. Peter turned towards Tony with his arms raised.

"Up?"

Tony smiled, putting down his empty coffee cup to get up and pull Peter out of his chair. Once he had him in his arms, Peter put his head down on Tony's shoulder, his hand clenching the front of his shirt. Tony kissed his forehead.

"What are you going to do today?"

"I have some work I gotta do in the shop," Tony said, bouncing Peter a little.

"Ok," Steve said, grabbing a towel to dry off the high chair tray. "I don't have anything today so I guess me and Peter will keep busy until you're done."

After Steve had dried the chair's tray and reattached it, he walked over to Tony and leaned forward to finally give Tony a good morning kiss. His face was just inches from Tony's when he felt a small, slightly sticky hand push back on his face.

"No!"

Steve pulled back, grimacing as he wiped the stickiness off of his face. He looked back over at Peter, who had both arms wrapped tightly around Tony's neck, face pressed against Tony's cheek, glaring – as much as a two-year-old could glare – at Steve.

"Petey-Pie, what are you doing?" Tony's face held confusion but his voice sounded amused.

"My daddy," Peter said firmly, arms wrapping tighter around Tony's neck.

"Am I not allowed to kiss daddy?" Steve asked, an amused smile spreading across his face.

"No," Peter said again, his voice coming out in a bit of a whine now. He stuck his lower lip out in a pout, but his grip on Tony had loosened a bit. "My daddy. No kiss."

"Well, if I can't kiss Daddy," Steve said, "can I kiss you?"

Peter seemed to think about it quite seriously for a moment before nodding, sticking his cheek out in Steve's direction for a kiss.

"Oh, you are so spoiled," Tony said with a chuckle.

Steve planted a loud, wet kiss on Peter's cheek, blowing a raspberry that made the little boy squirm and giggle in Tony's arms.

While Peter was distracted, Steve moved quickly to the left, trying one more time to sneak past Peter to kiss Tony.

"NO!"

Peter tucking his arms back around Tony's neck, lightly hitting Steve on the nose and squeezing so tightly Tony made a slight choking noise.

"Ok, ok, no kisses." Peter's voice had sounded more distressed that time and Steve figured it was better to let it go and stop teasing before Peter headed to a meltdown.

"What has gotten into you, kiddo?" Tony looked at Peter concerned, rubbing a hand up and down Peters back. Peter didn't say anything, just buried his face in Tony's neck instead.

Tony threw a confused look at Steve but Steve just shrugged.

"Ok baby, you're gonna have to go with Papa now because I have to go get some work done in the lab, ok?"

"Wanna stay you," Peter's disappointed voiced murmured into Tony's neck. He didn't even pick up his head.

Steve felt his heart twinge at how sad his baby looked.

"You can stay with me," Tony said, resigned. At this point, he knew saying no could very well lead to a crying spell from the boy. "Do you want to play with Dum-E?"

Peter nodded, arms still around Tony, head still buried in Tony's neck.

Tony shot Steve a "what the hell just happened" look as he turned and walked out of the room, hand still rubbing soothing circles into Peter's back.

Steve stood bemused for a moment before shrugging and turning back to finish cleaning the kitchen.

After living with the Avengers for nearly eight years he was used to strange mood swings.

~

@mr-starkasm @em1ree @breyito @tony------stark @theonysill @shadowrayven @thealextheshipper @1messedupchildxnx @konoto @daugheter-of-hades @hedgehogs-in-hats @fried-chicken-nisha @blogmarinnakaciasuniverse @downeyjraddict @natawatashi @starlitcouds @myrikiiyo @kaci1ynn @linsyblue @thecitylightshow @ohgreatblackbunny @unbaed-you @tonystarkier @halespecterwinchester @mind-the-shadow @kyuubikuroba @hxpealice @one-piece-of-harry @katiecat13sar @iknowesurefire @avengersasssemble @ill-makethis-perfectagain @lamia-maizat @merthurlocked

[bolbianddolanhouse]

BNHA self insert AU [Book 2]

Lost and confused? Read this post to catch you up!

Chapter 9: Look At All Those Chickens!

I wake up, still laying on Hoshi’s chest and his arms around me...it’s Sunday! Sundays usually means we have people over and have family time. I jump awake, my siblings don’t know I’m home! I get ready to bolt to my room.

“Hmm? Come back to bed” yawned Hoshi as he rolled onto his side “you were warm and I’m still sleepy.”

“Sorry! I gotta do something on the quicks” I said before taking off at top speed. I manage to evade the doggy and my parents as I dash up the stairs. Finally reaching the pink door, I compose myself before barging in. “WAKE UP SLEEPYHEAD!” I scream before slamming myself on top of my little sister.

“The fuck?!-LILI?!” grumpily responded Rosa “it’s too early for this shit!”

“Oh yea? The tickle monster has something to say about that!” I threatened with my fingers wiggling in her face.

“OH PLEASE HAVE MERCY LILI!” screamed Rosa, now wide awake.

“What’s going on here?!” said Oro as he stomped into view of the open room “Some of us enjoy waking up later! Seriously Lili! I don’t care if you’re back YOU ALWAYS DO THIS SHIT!”

“Guys can you keep it down? I wanna sleep more” groggily spoke Iwa as he floated into view, pillow and blanket still on him.

“Aw get in this guys!” I said as I lasso them in for a doggy pile “I miss you guys! dorm life sucks!”

“Oof you got stronger” Oro groaned as he was squished between his twin and older brother “when the hell did you come home?”

“In the middle of the night, like at around 4am” yawned Iwa “I was still up when I heard them come home via portal, dad was crying and shit.”

“Dad cried?” Rosa scowled “that’s concerning, what happened Lili?”

“Well, um” I saw the three of them look at me with their concerned eyes “lets just say Hoshi and I got seriously hurt in a non-training situation.”

“Ugh your explanations suck” Oro groaned “I should’ve just asked Mom.”

“Yea” said the other two.

“Fuck y’all! I’m trying here!” I argue back, which triggered a full blown sibling argument. We didn’t even notice our parents standing the doorway.

“It’s been too quiet around here” Dad whispered “this is more like it.”

Mom chuckles “You miss the Sunday morning screamies?”

“They grow on you after a while, after Lili learned to scream as an infant, I can’t start my days without those screams” he said as the arguing got louder “They sure grow up fast, wish we could keep them little forever.”

“They have to leave at some point Tenya” Mom said as she put her head on his shoulder “we can’t cut their fruits and pack their lunches forever. One day, they’ll want to do that for their kids.” The moment got ruined once the first guttural screech was thrown “Okay, that’s enough! NINOS!”

We stopped and pointed at each other “THEY STARTED IT!”

“I don’t care who started it!” Mom levitated us off the bed “if you’re so rowdy before brunch, then you can rowdy your asses to do some chores before food!”

“AW WACK!” we groaned as got set down on the floor.

“None of that! Come on” Dad responded “I’m going in that bathroom in 20 minutes and it better be clean!”

That got us dashing to our shared bathroom, not only is it huge BUT it’s never completely clean. There’s always hair everywhere, melted hair product bottles, some weird residue on the ceiling and the toilets are in a constant state of broken somehow. Once we got the approval of cleanliness from dad, he let me go with Hoshi while everyone else had to other chores. I rejoined him in the guest room and he looked so confused on why my family is like this. Later we all sat down for bunch, as per Sunday tradition.

“Mom, who’s coming over today?” asked Oro as he stuck his mug out for a second cup of coffee.

“Hm, The Midoriya’s, Mr. Bakugo’s family, Beizu and his mom, aunty Mimi and uncle Jin with Nikita” Mom made her thinking face “and I think that’s everybody, not too many today.”

“Uncle Tensei isn’t coming?” I asked as he always comes over on Sundays.

“Not for a while I’m afraid” Dad said as he poured coffee for Oro “the agency has been picking up on a lot of missions and he’s needed more than usual.”

“Aw, I wanted to see him” I pouted “I’ve been homesick and missing my family since I moved into the dorms.”

“Oh it be like that” Mom empathized with me “but if you want, you can come over on your free weekends. You too Hoshi.”

“You mean it?” Hoshi spoke up as he was cutting up his waffle.

Mom nodded “Of course! You can even bring your dirty laundry to do in peace here” she nudged dad “remember all the dorm laundry room antics?!”

Dad chuckled “How could I forget?! The underwear fight of second year was a disaster!”

“Why didn’t you say anything Dad? Weren’t you the class rep?” I scowled.

“Yes but I was pelted with underwear too!” he chopped his hands “I had to call your mom to put a stop to everything, but then she joined in and I just laid on the floor to rethink my life choices.”

We laughed and ate some more before we had to do some more chores. Mom went to the store with Mimi and Jin to pick up some last minute items. Since my hands still hurt, dad just let me rest on the hammock while he picked oranges.

“Dad, can I ask you something?” I broke the silence “about you and mom?”

“Hm? What do you want to know?” he responded while picking an orange.

“When you were living in the dorms, were you attached to mom?” I shifted to lay on my side, facing him “like, did you constantly check in on her or made up excuses to visit their room?”

He stopped reaching for oranges and turned to look at me “Yes I did, even when she moved into the proper dorms” he chuckled softly “I was so nosey and up in her business that it got her mad all the time! Though, a couple times I’ve crossed the line and made her cry. But all I wanted to do was let her know I was there for her and that she was safe.” He set the nearly full basket of oranges down and sat on the step stool “I did it out of love, I didn’t know it was at first but when I’d go above and beyond for the simplest of things, that’s when I knew. When we’d spend time alone together, I’d hold her in my arms and she’d tell me they feel like home. And when she hugs me, I don’t want her to let go! Her embrace felt like a mother’s love and her laughter warms my heart.” He takes off his glasses to wipe them down “but not everything was nice and sweet, there would be days where she’d shut everyone out. She’d disappear for hours or days at a time, and I would worry myself sick. Agent training often had her body covered in injuries and of course she wouldn’t let me tend to them or help her.” the sound of my siblings dragging out chairs startled us “There was one time where I got her so mad, she yelled at me when I tried to stop her from leaving the dorms. She teleported off and hours later ran into trouble” his voice cracked “she nearly died that night if she didn’t call for help. I carried her bleeding and limp body to the hospital, begging her to wake up and for the staff to save her. That was the scariest night of my life, all of that could’ve been avoided if I didn’t step in the beginning.” he reached for an orange and started peeling it “she later apologized to me that it was her fault but I took all the blame, because it was truly my fault. Later that year I found out she was dating Mr. Hitoshi and it broke my heart, I loved her first and did so much to get her attention, it wasn’t fair. And right before graduation, I fought with her to the point that I broke our friendship off. After our graduation ceremony, she wished me well and all I did was tell her I don’t want to see or talk to her ever again. What a stupid thing to do because then I lost all contact with her for years, and the stupidest thing of all... I missed her immediately and never stopped thinking about her, worried myself sick if she was okay. Years of that Lili! And yet, when I saw her again, she forgave me and still wanted to be friends. I honestly don’t deserve your mom” he put the peeled orange in my hand “my constant nagging in the dorms escalated into spending the rest of my life with her and building the family we always wanted.”

“You wanted all that?” I said pointing at Oro laughing at Rosa getting the fire burps as Iwa aggressively sweeps the patio in the background.

Dad laughed “Yes, we wanted a big, chaotic family” he turned to face me again “you remind me so much of her.”

I sniffed the orange “How?”

“You speak your mind, extremely talented, expressive, funny, stands up for what they believe in” he stands up “super caring, a little dense and brave.”

I watch him walk away with the basket of oranges back inside the house. That got me thinking that maybe I am repeating my parent’s love story, but I’m playing the role of my dad, ew.

“Is there room for another?” asked Hoshi as they walked up to me.

“Get in here” I scooted to make room for them “this baby can support all of my siblings in one go.”

He laughed as he nestled into the hammock “I bet that’s a story to tell!”

“Not really, my siblings and I like to swing here and eat oranges every now and then” I recalled “its just our thing, since we moved in this house.”

Mom pops into the backyard “Iwata, Tensei? Can you help me bring in the groceries?” the boys run in the house to help.

“Wait, their names aren’t Iwee and Oro?” asked Hoshi confused.

I laughed “No, Iwee is just a cutesy shorten version of his name that I call him, Tensei is Oro’s first name. My dad named him after his brother, so to not confuse the two during family gatherings, we call him Oro.”

“Oh that makes sense!” He turned to me “does everyone call you Lili?”

“For the most part, my mom and grandparents on my mom’s side call me Perla” I spilt the orange in half “sometimes Maru and the other kids I grew up with call me Perla when I’m acting up.”

He takes the half orange I offered him “How was that like?”

“I never really clicked with them, there’s 2 girls out of the 7 in the group that I grew up with” I sighed “all they wanna do is either be like their hero parents or be granddaddy’s favorite for the inheritance.”

“Yikes, I see why you don’t click with them.”

“Yea, I kinda wish I had friends within my age group like my siblings” on cue, Iwa’s friend Beizu rolls in the backyard and waves at me “see? that’s Iwa’s best friend since birth, and my aunty Mimi’s daughter is best friends with the twins.” I wave back “Hi Bei! How’s school going?”

“You know...I hate it” he giggled “How’s hero school?”

“Oh you already know...I hate it!” We laughed before he dipped back into the house to find Iwa “Don’t tell anybody, but Iwa and Beizu are my favorites. Those boys are always on their schemes but are the sweetest, wholesome boys.”

Soon, everyone else rolled in and mom got the table grill ready. Mom would tell me about the Sunday backyard carne asadas her family would throw to gather everyone for family time. Now we have something similar but readjusted for asian pallets, we have backyard yakiniku now. She says it’s way easier since she doesn’t have to cook the meat and everyone helps themselves. I love an innovative queen.

“That pork belly looks divine!” drooled Hoshi as we looked over what we wanted first “and who made that mountain of fried rice?! It looks yummy too!”

“I made it!” perked up uncle Jin “cooked it 20 mins ago in my backyard wok, so it’s fresh and can feed everyone.”

I leaned into Hoshi’s ear to whisper “You can see it from my bedroom window! It’s so cool and it’s just there in his backyard!”

“Please! Eat all the fried rice you want!” Jin said as he served us “get some now before the red haired one eats half of this mountain.”

I look over to the Bakugo-Kirishimas, the blonde one and my mom have the strangest friendship. But their hot headedness and crudeness mesh so well! As for the red haired one, he loves my mom’s cooking and ‘manliness’....whatever the fuck that means. Their kids, Elise and Katashi, are just mirrors of their parents and it scares me. Next to them are the Midoriyas, I love the mother, the father and the two boys... broccoli man and his brussel sprout boys. Then there’s Beizu and his mom, Mei. Mom and Mei worked on some things together in high school for the intel program, and when Mom started her company, she hired Mei. At first it was to help Mei get some employment has she was having trouble being a permanent anywhere. After a while and coming out with innovative gadgetry, mom kept her as her floor supervisor and creative. As for Beizu, he’s a month older than my brother and a very good friend to all. Mom says he’s like his father but he tragically passed away in an accident, I don’t remember much of him since I was so young. Mom doesn’t like talking about the accident, all I know is that his dad’s name was also Beizu and he was one of the first people Mom hired. In a weird twist, Mei and my aunty Mimi are cousins! Mimi’s mom was Mei’s aunt on her father’s side, making Beizu Mimi’s nephew! So he can say ‘aunt Mimi’ and it’s true...lucky him.

“Have some pickled beets boy!” aunty Mimi said as she served us “they go well with the meats.”

“Thanks aunty!” I chirped as she piled on the beets on my plate “I love her pickled beets!”

“It’s true! When she was just a babushka, she’d eat up all the beets and ask me for more” Mimi heartily laughed “now I make plenty so there’s enough to go around.”

“Oh? Thank you!” Hoshi said politely “It’s so weird being surrounded with families like this. You’re all interconnected in one way or another, makes me wish my dad wasn’t so gross to your mom so I could’ve had this with you.”

“Have what?” I asked as I flipped my meats.

“This quality time with friends and family” he reached for his meats to grill “growing up with you, it was just my brothers and dad for so long that I forget that most families have these things.” He smiled at me “I’m happy that you’ve included me, even if the circumstances aren’t the best right now.”

“Hey! Don’t sweat it!” I nudged him before reaching for my perfectly cooked meats “if my mom includes you, you’re family. That’s the highest honor my mom can give, plus she’s picky on who she considers family.”

“Would you two like a hard lemonade?” my mom offered us “since you two had your first drink already, you can have some at the Sunday yakiniku.”

“Yes please!” Hoshi and I chirped as we held our hands out for the drink.

“What? Since when?” Maru asked.

“Didn’t they tell you? They got invited to an intel kickback” mom answered as she opened the bottles for us “oh my baby is growing up so fast!”

“No fair! Elise and I have been trying to get invited to one since we started going to UA!” Maru complained “what did you guys do? Helped with their english homework?!”

“We just got a little too close to the marked grass and said I’m Agent 19 daughter” I shrugged “after that, they were nice to us and invited us to the kickback.”

“Yea, they call us the Royal Children” Hoshi snickered “good kids, they know how to host a party!”

“But we’re cooler!” Maru huffed

“No, I’M cooler” Elise was quick to correct “you’re that dude with hero merch everything, aka a NERD!”

“GOOD ONE ELISE!” Mom hollered and laughed.

“THAT’S MY GIRL!” Mr. Bakugo yelled proudly “they grow up so fast!”

“It’s okay son” Deku patted Maru on the head “you’ll get used to it.”

“Says the guy that had an All Might body pillow!” Mom roasted.

“Says the guy that almost named his son All Might!” Mr. Bakugo roasted, leaving no time to breathe.

“Says the girl that....umm” Deku tried to roast back.

“Please, just don’t Izuku” Dad sighed as he gave a firm chop “Ita won’t hesitate to annihilate you and you know how devastating those two are.”

“Just once! I want to have the upper-hand here” Deku sighed in defeat.

“You want a hug?” asked his wife with open arms.

“Yea” he nodded before hugging his wife “you don’t think my All Might body pillow is weird right?”

“Oh Izuku...I think it’s mega weird and kinda of wish it didn’t have to be on our bed” she roasted lightly “but it makes you so happy, so I tolerate it.”

“That’s true love right there” Hoshi commented “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together if my partner had a character pillow.”

“Same” I chimed in. Everyone was in the backyard for the most part, but Hoshi and I went to my room after we ate. I wanted to show him the giant wok in uncle Jin’s backyard but we caught a sight of something else. Maru and Elise were kissing in the side area under my window. “Wow, I knew they’d end up together.”

“Really?” whispered Hoshi.

“Yea, Elise always had a crush on Maru” I giggled “she just showed it in the form of teasing and aggressive affection, just like her hot-headed dad.” They were really going at it to the point that is was kind of not cute, so I looked away “very aggressive, but Elise is one of the girls I sort of clicked with. She’s really nice to me and acted like a big sister to me when the other boys were being jerks. We never fought over anything and I guess we just bonded over being the oldest.”

“She does seem like a nice person but that boy, he really babies you” Hoshi stepped away from the window “Like, he seems ideal and focused all his attention and energy on you, why don’t you like him?”

“To be honest, I don’t like people that don’t let me do my thing” I thought hard about my next sentence “it’s hard to explain, but I want to do things without being fussed over. I guess if I am considering dating, I want someone who’ll want to do all of my favorite things with me and won’t be possessive or act like a parent to me. I don’t belong to anybody and I don’t owe anybody anything!” The sound of my mother’s laugher from the backyard interrupted me “I want what my mom found in my dad, she did her thing as my dad supported her through everything. And my mom did the same for him, they’re two drastically different people and they took time to make it work.”

“I wish I knew how my parents dynamic was like” he sat on the bed “all I remember is how affectionate my mom was to my dad. They married then had my oldest brother the same year. He’d probably tell me more about it, I miss him.”

That made me think “How were things after your mom died? If you don’t mind sharing.”

“Things were a mess at first, it was hard on my dad to work and care for 3 kids. He’d lose his temper and just be stressed out all the time.” he sighed sadly “He wouldn’t know how to care for me, being so young and the only female in the house. His attitude toward me changed completely when my quirk appeared, I didn’t have toys or spent time playing with my brothers anymore. My dad replaced all that with training equipment and strict regimes. I think my dad did it as coping with the loss and being unable to manage the house the way he wanted it” he looked at my side table “it made him so happy that I had this perfected version of his quirk, like it was the light out of all this tragedy.”

“What about your brothers? Don’t they have quirks?”

“What? Didn’t I tell you?” His eyes lit up “WAIT I DIDN’T! I told Toei-kun! My brothers don’t have quirks. My mom is a third generation quirk inheritor, and with my dad, it’s not unlikely that their children would be quirkless.”

“No way! What’s you mom’s quirk?”

“She had Enhancement, she could strengthen or improve the quality/endurance of anything by just touching it” he smiled and laughed “I thought she was magic, she’d do the most before enhancing something, just to make me smile. Life was so fun and exciting with her, everyone loves her and her infectious smile... I wonder what she’d think of me now.”

I sat next to him “Well, she’d be proud of you. Because you managed to find and live your truth. And you made it this far in hero training, you made at least one friend and you’re safe...I’d say that’s something to be proud of!”

He ruffled my hair “Oh yea? Are you one of them?”     

“I hope so!” I laughed, relishing in his touch “I don’t let just anybody touch my hair.”

He look his hand off and I put it back “Silly! You like it when I mess up your hair?”

“Only you, nobody else!” I huffed as he resumed running his hand through my hair. I closed my eyes, fully blissed out on his touch and how it soft his fingers raked through my curly hair. I wonder if this is why dogs and cats like to get pet to the point of begging? My family just pets the robo doggy because they like to be treated like a house pet but they don’t feel anything. Mom says we can’t have a real dog because we won’t be emotionally prepared when the dog eventually gets old or gets sick and dies. My siblings and I started crying at the thought, so we never asked for a real pet ever again. Wait- why am I thinking about that? I open my eyes “hehe my mind wandered for a moment there.”

“It looks like it” he chuckled “you make the cutest faces when you’re in deep thought.”

Theres those feelings again! The rest of the night I rode on that compliment high, it made me a little self conscience if it was obvious. Luckily nobody asked.

“Hey Lili can I ask you a question?” blurted Oro the moment Hoshi got in the shower.

Oh crap “Uh sure, ask away.”

“Why are you sleeping with your friend in the guest room?” he asked “You have your own room.”

“Well, I-”

“Let me ask you something Tensei” mom butted in “where do you sleep when you have a friend sleepover?”

“With them- OH!” Oro facepalmed himself “geez I’m dumb and I was caught lackin’! Heh sorry for asking Lili.”

“It’s no big chief!” I pat his head and watch him walk to his room. I turn to mom “Thanks for swooping in mom.”

“No problem! I did the same thing you know” she responded as she put dishes away “I’m over protective of my friends, Mimi and Jin have shared a bed with me when I wasn’t in my best mental state to be left alone. And I’ve crawled into Jin’s bed to keep him from freezing to death a few times when we were in high school, I’ve cuddled with Mimi to sleep when she’d get heartbroken.” She closes the cabinet “you have the same type of caring nature, if you care, you REALLY care and you’ll express it.”

“I just really don’t want him to be alone” I put the serving bowls away “didn’t think of it like that.” I close the cabinet and stand up “But I like how you put it! It makes more sense than my big sister senses were tingling.”

Mom started laughing “I like that one better! You’re so funny Lili!”

I laughed with her but then I had an intrusive thought “Wait, mom...what are they going to do with us when we go back to school? He’s the victim and I called for help, that’s not basis for us to get punishment is it?”

Mom took a deep breath to refocus “I know for sure those assailants are going to be tried like adults and revoked of their hero licenses. In terms of you two, for a few months you’ll be under watch for any further attacks now that it’s public knowledge at Hoshi is trans and you fought on school ground in relation of the attack.” She turned around to give her complete attention “you two can’t leave without a chaperone and have to share a dorm for the rest of your dorm days.”

“What? We can’t go to downtown on free days?” I was crushed by this “and we have to share a dorm! Those rooms are already so small!”

“I know but I’m afraid the school is going to play the ‘bio gender’ card for that. Since the girls side is already filled and putting him alone on the next available floor is counter-productive” she put her hands on my shoulders “I proposed that you two share a room since you have to be monitored too plus, you’re friends so it was the easier choice.”

I got a little mad “When the fuck were you going to tell us this?!”

“On the way back to the school” she shamefully admitted “because I know you’d get mad and argue back.”

“Yes I’m mad! Mom what the fuck?!” I raised my voice “I love you but damn you really licked the boot on this one!”

“Mom licked the boot?” Iwa perked up from the living room couch.

“I heard something about a boot getting licked and that mom did it” Rosa said strolling down the stairs.

“Yo who’s boot got licked?” Oro teleported in.

Mom rubbed her forehead “I didn’t lick the boot!”

“She licked the school’s boot!” I screamed, the others gasped “and mom was going to tell me at the last possible second!”

“Oof with a stunt like that, sounds like boot licking activity” Iwa sneered “you thought you earned a ‘W’ but it’s just a big fat ‘L’!”

“It’s not an L for anyone!” Mom was fighting back.

“What’s going on here?!” Dad walked in from the backyard.

“MOM LICKED THE BOOT!” my siblings and I yelled as we pointed to our mom.

“Kids, stop picking on your mom” he sighed as he walked to my mom’s side “she always has the best interest at heart and fights the good fight. Be gracious that knows how to work the system or the system would’ve played you.” He picked up mom and slung her on his shoulder “Now if you don’t mind, everyone get ready for bed! The lot of you have school tomorrow, no more panic running to school so get to bed NOW!”

The younger ones scurried to their rooms, mom laughed “GOD I love it when you take control!”

“I know you do” he smacks her ass “come on love, you have to unwind and sleep early too.”

I watch the two walk up to their room and I gag a little “Ugh wish I could unsee that.”

“It was kinda of cute” Hoshi said at the archway of the hallway “your parents are serious couple goals.”

I agreed but it’s still cringe to look at. I did my nightly routine and crawled into bed with Hoshi, head on his un-bindered chest. His hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair, so comforting. I looked up at his face to see him looking straight up at the ceiling.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Hm? You’re not asleep yet?”

“Nah”

“Well, I’m thinking about how things are going to change now.”

“Like what?”

“Like how my secret isn’t a secret anymore. I’m sure everyone in class knows by now, can’t help but to think how they’ll treat me when we come back.”

“They can either accept you or be ignorant! I’d fight off transphobic people for you in heartbeat if they try it!”

“I’m so thankful for you Lili, you make it seem like I don’t have to go through life alone anymore.”

I heard him dose off to sleep and those words reached my soul. But how to describe this feeling? It’s different but it feels right...I should just shut off my brain and go to sleep, it’s 11pm!

-Chapter 9, End-

<Previous - Next>          

[grapsandclaps]

GRAPS AND CLAPS (THE GRAPS AND NAPS WING) REVIEWS PCW 'LIVE AT PRYZM'

Hello and welcome to another edition of Graps and Naps this time taking in the first of PCW's five shows of the weekend in Pryzm nightclub in Leeds.

After picking @oggypart3 up from his and my former place of work Castle Greyskull, it was off to Rochdale for the train. I had a Shepherd Neame Ipa and I threw rkid a Carlsberg export to keep him quiet on the journey.

Once in Leeds it was off to Tapped in which I had a pint of Thornbridge Hukins pale ale at £4.10. Cue a 'This is Hukins (Haskins)! chants and yes it did taste as bland as one of his many number one contenders matches in Progress.

After picking up Andy Campbell we were off to the Assembly and it's a tough choice with fifty 50 taps on show. I plumped for a Magic Rock dancing bier lager at £5.20 which was nothing special.

Drinks done it was off to Pryzm where on arrival I had a bottle of Becks at a typical nightclub price of £4.50 - absolute dogshit so I kept to a total of 3 for the evening!

The crowd of were greeted by the dulcet (and bloody loud) tones of ring announcer Connie Von D who introduced our first match between newcomer Jaxon Stone and Philip Michael (he's got two first names etc). Phil starts the match by working over Jaxon's arm until Stone took over with some brutal chops in the corner. Owww!!!. Jaxon continues with a double stomp and a jerseysault for a two.

Phil makes a comeback with a dropkick until Stone turns the tide with a shoulderbreaker for a near fall. The end comes for Jaxon when Philip gets a jackknife pin for the three. Good overall match that got Jaxon over to a new audience - EVERYBODY!!! Plus a big win our Phil as he went into the Road to Glory tournament (see how he went on via Graps and Claps).

Next is the PCW women's championship, but the Buyout's music hits as Sheikh el Sham, Tel Banham and Big T Justice come down to the ring. (Presumably Danny Hope was still in Tassletown undertaking sheriff duties?). Sheikh cuts a promo and gives it one fan by saying "I would insult you but nature beat me to it.". Also another barb to our friend Andrew saying 'I have more hair on my arse than on your head mate'!

This brings out PCW matchmaker Greg Lambert who gets involved by saying all the championship belts that were taken off the Buyout at PCW's last show in Blackpool will be given back if they are defended tonight.

I did come out with a quick rhetorical quote as to the where the belts actually went, but I'd be a dead man if I said it on this blog.

Anyway it's on with the women's three way with champion and Buyout member Nightshade, newcomer Desi Derato and queen of chantable names Yuu. Yuu and Derato start as Nightshade chickens it outside the ring. An even matchup until Yuu hits a spinning slam for a two. Derato comes back with a war dance culminating in a near fall on Yuu. Nightshade comes back into the ring and chucks Yuu out and then tackles Desi with two massive hip attacks and a cannonball in the corner.

Yuu comes in to make the save and hits a JOHN YUUUUUUU!!!!, but to no avail as Nightshade hits a german suplex for the win to retain.

Next is a two on one match between James Finn and partner Dave Birch vs current MLW champion and mma fighter "Filthy" Tom Lawlor. Finn and Lawlor start and finish in quick succession when James makes the mistake off grinding on Tom and gets choked out for his trouble. Birch enters next and is given an overhead throw for his trouble.

The action goes to the outside were the chase is on around the ring until Birch decks Lawlor. Dave takes it back in the ring and hits a 619 and a springboard elbow for a two. The end comes for Birch when he also succumbs to a chokehold and taps.

1st half main event and it's a bruising contest between Shigehiro Irie and ROH television champ Jeff Cobb. Both lads jockey for the upper hand by shoulderblocking each other which Irie wins. After another tussle Irie gets a suplex and then a bulldog.

Cobb comes back with a gigantic dropkick, a splash and an almighty uppercut. Cobb eventually gets caught when Irie nuts him. Both men end up down with a double clothesline. Jeff comes back with a Roman Reigns esc punch and a moonsault. Irie fires back with a dvd and a rapid cannonball for a two. Cobb gets the duke with a back suplex and then a tour of the islands for a three.

Absolutely amazing match and well worth seeking out when it appears. From the guys in the ring to the crowd popping like crazy near the end this was an early match of the year contender for me it was that good. Also to note as well the duelling chants of 'Beast Mode' and 'Jeff Cobb' that had PRYZM shaking - belting stuff!

Half time drinks done our next match was Sheikh el Shambles and Big T Justice vs Magnificent Matthew Brooks and Sugar Dunkerton for the tag straps. Cue a cracking singing entrance from Brooks and of course more Sugar sugar chanting from the usual suspects. Brooks manages to get the early advantage by singing in the Sheikh's ear.

Big T gets a tag in and gives Brooks a mauling with a backbreaker and headbutt. El Sham comes back in and continues the beating until Brooks counters with a headscissors and a hot tag to Dunkerton.

Both good guys team up and double clothesline Big T and then hit legdrops on the Sheikh, but T drags Brooks out of the ring. T gets back in and dominates Sugar and eventually gets the win for his team.

Next up is another newcomer in Franco Varga versus PCW academy graduate BIG TIME Bruce Wheeler .A pretty comprehensive victory by Varga with a wicked F5/swinging neckbreaker combo for the victory to impress on his debut in the U.K.

Main event time and it's T Bone vs the PCW double champ champ Tel Banham. Banham gets the upperhand by dropkicking Bone in the back when he wasn't looking. T Bone comes back and brawls with Tel around the ring.

Bone goes for a dive and misses, but comes back and slams Tel on the hardest part of the ring! Banham goes under the ring and jumps Bone from behind on the otherside. Tel trys chopping Bone on the chest, but seemingly just tickle him.

T Bone then flings Banham with an overhead suplex. Banham kicks Bone in the gooly's and pins him for a two. The finish to the match comes via dodgy ref shenanigans giving Tel Banham the win by dq and retaining his heavyweight strap.

T Bone disputes this decision and drops the ref sending the fans home happy. This ref continued to give decisions in favour of the Buyout over the road to glory weekend in Blackpool so check out @oggypart3's review of that to find out what went down.

Wrestling done it was off for a last drink in the friends of ham for a 12% coconut stout to finally see me off onto the train home.

Thanks for reading and like retweet etc.Cheers

[ecotone99]

[MF] Knock at the Door

(Second assignment for my creative writing class)

I let the line ring itself out. That was the second call in the past few minutes, but I was busy cooking, and besides, I wasn't expecting any calls; if it was important, whoever it was would leave a message. The music resumed as the chimes died down. Brandon Flowers' album "The Desired Effect" was on shuffle "The Way It's Always Been," echoing around the small kitchen. The pop-rock kicking, a strong bassline, his prominent voice, full of longing and aching desperation, rang out.

"They shut down the golden hotel

Just because he says it won't be long till they blow it all to the hell

She's standing in the front yard cut off the skins

Me and her brother we been friends, since I can't remember when"

"The Desired Effect," Flowers's second solo album, known for his role as the frontman and lead singer for "The Killers," dives headfirst into the pomp of the 80s' for the 2015 album. Full of lost love, heartache, and underwritten with themes of nostalgia. Each song delivered emotional gut-punch after gut-punch. Which was the desired effect.

Typical music for cooking alone, Flowers made good company, and the house felt less empty.

Once the music resumed, so did I, chopping vegetables to the beat of the music and humming along. With a practiced hand, methodically dicing half an onion, making incisions first horizontally, then vertically to the root, in long chopping strokes down the onion fell into tiny uniform cubes. Scraping the onion from the cutting board into the bowl, I began on the carrots; using baby carrots, I started quartering them vertically, then interrupting the music once again, the phone rang for the third time. Annoyed, I glanced over at the phone, arching my neck to see the screen read "blocked caller." The carrot rolled, and the knife slipped, catching the side of my knuckle and slicing right through. It wasn't a substantial cut, but a cut nonetheless. One among many once it scarred, I watched it bleed for a moment, watching the slow creep of blood on its way out exploring this new world, before sticking the offending knuckle in my mouth and sucking on it till the bleeding stopped. Under the sink, I kept a small first aid kit, pulling out a small butterfly bandage, I used my teeth to remove the outer layer and peel back the adhesive covers. My knuckle now repaired, I made my way back to the cutting board, passing my phone on the way I checked it, three calls so far all from the same blocked number and no messages. All in the past few minutes, too, no one called me that much, at least not for a while.

"I took a long walk yesterday

To a field where I used to play

I saw myself in the corner of my mind

I was twelve years old and blind

To the big wheel and the grind"

Flowers continued to belt out heartfelt lyrics, still humming, even in a small voice singing along. Singing about being left behind, "The Way Its Always Been," about watching the world move on without you. Stuck ankle-deep in the murk of the past.

I cleaned the blood from my kitchen knife, whipped off the cutting board, and began again. "How long have I had this knife?" Thinking back, while starting on the next carrot. The blade's belly starting to curve back inwards from years of use and sharpening, surely it wasn't nearly as effective anymore. Its cutting edge no longer uniform, a small section of the blade not even making contact with the cutting board anymore. Almost past its usefulness, I suppose, but who was I to judge that besides it had sentimental value at this point, having been with me for so long, steadfast, aiding in so many a meal—a lot of thought for a knife. After the carrots, I minced three cloves of garlic and shredded a quarter head of cabbage. Finished up with the vegetables now, I cut one large chicken breast into bite-sized cubes, large enough to cook evenly, but not so small that they dried up.

"Ain't that the way that it's always been?

Laying low just long enough for the dust to settle down

The black and the white, the thick and the thin

And hoping that He's really got the power to save us from these sins

Everybody sitting around waiting for the sun to come again"

What had happened to him? To that place? The place the world forgot and left behind. When did it happen to me?

I was making fried rice, and as usual and quite unintentionally, I had prepared enough for two. I can't remember the last time there were two of us to cook for. Anyway, the damage was done. I tossed the ingredients into the pan, starting with the garlic, browning it, I added the onions and carrots. Tossing every so often, I left the vegetable to sweat on low and grabbed a light beer from the fridge. Twisted off the top, I had always preferred bottled beer and personally found they tasted better than canned and often insisted so. Who was it that always tried to argue that with me? An exasperated sigh, I vaguely remember the sound of it, that and someones rolling eyes. Rolling, I felt like I was rolling, tumbling down through a fog, zero visibility. I could hear something though, a voice, one so familiar and so far away, if only I could place it.

"I took a long walk yesterday

To a field where I used to play

I saw myself in the corner of my mind

I was twelve years old and blind

To the big wheel and the grind"

The fourth call rang out, interrupting the music once again. Yanking me back and tethering me to reality, to now. "Blocked Caller," the screen read again. Whoever was on the other side of that phone was persistent, I'll give them that. Fed up, setting down my beer, I picked up the phone and said nothing. Just stood, still, listening to the silence coming through the line. We stayed like that for far too long.

"Fine, I'll go first then." Curt, emotionless, she sounded like she was mid-to-late thirties. She sounded familiar, like the voice from earlier. But she spoke with no hint of familiarity, just a formal detachment. "You'll be receiving a guest shortly. Expect them to knock at your door in the next five minutes exactly." She spoke fast as if reading the words from a script. "The conditions for their arrival are specific, you may consider peculiar, but no matter the events preceding and during this guest's arrival, you must remain calm, collected, and most importantly, receptive. Or else we'll have done this all for nothing. It doesn't do anybody any good to continue putting this off. Do you understand?"

"Conditions?... Who is this? How did you get my number?"

"It's quite a simple question really, do you understand what I've just told you?"

"I don't get guests. So if you don't mind, I'm in the middle of something, don't call again."

"I'll take that as a ye-..."

I hung up, set the phone down, and stood staring at it, curious if that woman would call again. Trying to place her voice. Trying to convince myself that it was some coincidence hearing that voice, a voice I knew so well, twice today and under such strange circumstances.

"Ain't that the way that it's always been?

Standing at the water's edge waiting for the fog to clear"

As I focused more and more on the phone, I felt myself start to slip again, felt like I was sliding down my line of sight into a deep fog, with faces and voices just on the other side. But I just kept getting lost deeper and deeper into it. The smell and sizzle of garlic and onions brought me back. Cooking, that's right. I was cooking rice. Back at the stovetop, I turned up the heat on the pan and started tossing its contents again. "The Way it's Always Been" still playing. No. The song was stuck, just repeating a single lyric.

"Waiting for the fog to clear." Over

"Wating for the fog to clear." And over.

I looked down at the vegetables in the pan as I was tossing them; they didn't seem to cook anymore. Still sizzling and moving around the pan, but they didn't change. I tried turning the heat up on the stove, and the fire, instead of bursting into life, moved as if in slow motion slowing more and more gradually till the flames were perfectly still. I jumped back, releasing the pan mid toss. It moved up and away only slightly, slowly, till it came to rest, floating its contents frozen spilling out the sides. Onions, carrots, and garlic shining and half-cooked wreathed the pan. I landed back against the counter behind me, fumbling to catch myself, I knocked over the beer on the counter. I scrambled, hurrying to right it before it spilled all over my phone. But it had stopped falling just before contact with the countertop, the liquid inside unmoved, unspilled. The music now just a droning:

"Ffffooooogggg..." Stretching into infinity.

The events of the past few minutes had condensed, pilling up, collecting, and slowing into one trapped moment. Everything but me, I moved independently of this time now. All I could do, though, was gape and my surroundings, lack of movement, lack of sound, and lack of time.

"Knock, ... Knock, ... Knock." Three precise and evenly timed knocks cut through the new silence of the room. I spun around, eyes fixed on the door only partially visible from the kitchen, but I could still clearly make out the vague shape of a figure behind the door's frosted glass.

"The conditions for their arrival are specific, you may consider peculiar, but no matter the events preceding and during this guest's arrival, you must remain calm, collected, and most importantly, receptive. Or else we'll have done this all for nothing. Do you understand?" I heard her voice echo, bouncing around in my head. I still didn't really understand, but that really didn't matter anymore. Whatever, whoever that woman was. She had been right. I didn't know how and I didn't know why, but at that moment hearing her words again. I knew what I needed to do. Collecting myself, I took a few deep, steadying breaths, my feet moving on their own, I made my way to the front door.

I froze, grasping for the doorknob, fingers inches away, the tips just barely brushing the brass. I had been here, I had done this before. I remember standing before this door with the same feeling flooding my gut. This moment had happened before, and I had retreated. I don't know how I knew this then, just a feeling, deja-vu. But the temptation to flee to avoid this confrontation was all too enticing. If only I could turn around and pretend none of this was happening. Perhaps then, I would be trapped in time as well. Anything seemed favorable to facing the unknown, waiting just on the other side of that door.

"It doesn't do anybody any good to continue putting this off." I repeated to myself, echoing her words. I opened the door.

There was the fog again. It moved in currents, bulging, twisting, and folding in on itself an impenetrable wall. Impossibly deep but shallow enough for whatever was on the other side to be just barely perceivable. There he was, it was? I'm not sure. He wore nondescript clothes, simple mid-wash jeans, what looked like a white polo under a navy cotton crewneck sweater. The outfit was typical enough and not dissimilar to my own but his face. I couldn't focus on the face; it was a face I was sure of that. I could make out individual facial features, but couldn't see them as a whole. It seemed to undulate as if it were made up of the same fog spilling inside the house. Whether he brought the fog or it brought him, I wasn't sure. Hell, maybe he was the fog. None of that mattered; I was committed to this now. "Stay calm, stay collected, be receptive." A mantra now running over in my head. The ever-encroaching fog was now shin-deep.

"I believe I’m expected." He spoke in a cool and even tone, his voice came from all around me, carried in on the rolling fog. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Oh-ah, Uhm, yes, of course, won't you come in." Fumbling over the words. While doing so, he fell out of focus, dissipating and reforming from the fog. Now behind me, standing in the living room, he took a seat crossing his legs while lowering himself into a chair near the couch - my chair. That was my chair I used to sit in when we sat together, those lazy afternoons. We? Why we? Who were we? I could hear laughter and the sounds of muffled conversation. Spinning around, searching for the source for a glimpse past the veil. Searching until the fog swallowed my vision into the murk, and I was lost in it again. Falling, falling into her arms, an embrace, the warmth of home.

"Tell me about her."

"Her?" I wasn't falling, I wasn't spinning. I was sitting now. The door was still open. I hardly make it out from the couch, the fog pouring through in even greater volume, looking down, obscuring my hands resting on my knees turning them over, I considered my palms. It was growing worse, the fog. The boundaries thinning.

"Can you tell me about her? Or is it too soon?" The man sat, his head in my direction cocked to the side. The activity in what was supposed to be his face increased, the welter struggling to coalesce into something recognizable as a face.

"No. Who? I mean, uh, no I cant...cant remember." I could feel the fog creeping in my head, making it hard to think straight. "Who are you? What do you want?!" Lashing out, I just, just couldn't think. The fog was trying to show me something, and I knew what it was I just needed to remember.

"Why don't you tell me about who you were."

"Who I was? What? Answer my question!"

"You'll get your answer soon enough. Now try and tell me about who you were. That person was so much more substantial than what you are now." The man's face was a torrent of activity. I could hear a building wind, beginning to howl past me, animating the fog whipping it up, stirring it around the room.

"I don't know! I don't think I ever knew! I can't remember! I can't think. The fog, it's too much, I can't take it. The man was standing now, his face a vortex sucking the fog inwards, swallowing it. I could feel it all rush past me, the pressure building pulling on my limbs; it felt like I was floating. Now falling, falling again deep through the fog. The voices louder, I through this time, and I could see us.

I don't know when this was, but there we were. The two of us together in the living room, the fog was there, obscuring both of our faces, but I knew it was us. I was in my chair reading, and I could see her. Just from behind, she had just walked into the room. We were talking I could hear our voices, but couldn't make out what was said. Then she laughed, that laugh the one I had heard earlier, such a sweet laugh. She walked around the room if only I could see her face, but the fog was always there just in the way. Keeping her from me. I wanted to call out, reach for her, but this memory, this moment in time, was lost to the fog. The moment and she was gone. Irretrievably lost, forever stuck beyond my reach, trapped in the muck of the past.

The fog closed, and I fell, fell longer than any other time before I let the fog take me, swallowing me, just to spit me out back on the couch. I sat defeated, more unsure than before. How could I have forgotten so much about myself? How could I have forgotten her? I looked up at the man's face; the fog calmed now his face a serene reflection of my own. No, not a reflection, it was my face. I was the man. "Who was she?" I asked.

"She's not gone, you know, just lost. She's in there, in the fog. It's there for her."

"I need to find her again."

"If we can get her back, we can get us back."

Together we left. I left with the fog. Time still standing still. The moment trapped in the fog. The still beer tipping over. The fire blazing, the pan and vegetables in their motionless fall. The diner for two, made for one, left unfinished.

"Everybody sitting around waiting for the sun to come again"

submitted by /u/EdrehasivarXIII [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/32eUtgd

[networkingdefinition]

Celery Quotes

Official Website: Celery Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

• Anybody have money? Frank checked his pockets. “Three denarii from Camp Jupiter. Five dollars Canadian.” Hedge patted his gym shorts and pulled out what he found. “Three quarters, two dimes, a rubber band and – score! A piece of celery.” He started munching on the celery, eyeing the change and the rubber band like they might be next. – Rick Riordan

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Celery', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_celery').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_celery img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Canada is the essence of not being. Not English, not American, it is the mathematic of not being. And a subtle flavour – we’re more like celery as a flavour. – Mike Myers • Do you want me to call you Celery Stick instead of Cupcake or Honey-Pie? It just doesn’t inspire the same warm and fuzzy feelings. – Richelle Mead • He nodded nervously. ‘He looks like a magician. I hate magicians. They usually have rabbits.’ I stared at him. ‘You’re scared of bunnies?’ ‘Blah-hah-hah! They’re big bullies. Always stealing celery from defenceless satyrs. – Rick Riordan • I don’t eat celery. I eat raw milk, cheeses. – Carol Alt • I got an ant farm. Them fellas didn’t grow anything. Hey, how about some celery? Plus, if I tore your legs off, you would look like snowmen. – Mitch Hedberg • I love to cook. In fact, at this exact moment, I am trying something new: I am cooking a whole chicken in my crockpot, which I’ve never done before. I browned it with garlic powder, salt and pepper, and I put a bunch of celery and onions – which I’ll have to hide from the children because they claim to hate onions – and I’m going to make homemade mashed cream potatoes. I always, before I leave for work in the morning, have supper cooking. That way, when I come home and they come home from school, there’s all kinds of good smells in the house. – Nancy Grace • I slice up a ton of cucumbers, celery, carrots and red and yellow peppers. Keep them in your fridge so you always have something handy to curb your snack attack. – Summer Sanders • I tried to go anorexic for a good three hours. I ate ice and celery, but that’s not even anorexic. And I quit. I was like, ‘Ma, can you make me a sandwich? Like, immediately.’ – Meghan Trainor • If you’ve got a plot the size of a car or a tiny yard in Italy, you’re going to be growing tomatoes and basil and celery and carrots, and everybody is still connected to the land. – Frances Mayes • I’m afraid of losing my obscurity. Genuineness only thrives in the dark. Like celery. – Aldous Huxley • I’m obsessed with broccoli, carrots, celery, string beans, snap peas, black kale, brussels sprouts, cabbage – I could go on! They used to call me ‘rabbit’ when I was a kid. I hate mushrooms, though. I apologize to fungi lovers, but this way, there’s more for you! – Lisa Edelstein • I’m sautéing emcees with fried rice up in the wok without the MSG and chopped celery. – Redman • Lettuce, greens and celery, though much eaten, are worse than cabbage, being equally indigestible without the addition of condiments. Besides, the lettuce contains narcotic properties. It is said of Galen, that he used to obtain from a head of it, eaten on going to bed, all the good effects of a dose of opium. – William Alcott • Many kids can tell you about drugs but do not know what celery or courgettes taste like. – Jamie Oliver • My parents were vegetarians. I’d show up at school, this giant black kid, with none of the cool clothes and a tofu sandwich and celery sticks. – Aisha Tyler • Never miss a party…good for the nerves–like celery. – F. Scott Fitzgerald • Pizza certainly has its place in school meals, but equating it with broccoli, carrots and celery seriously undermines this nation’s efforts to support children’s health and their ability to learn because of better school nutrition. – Jared Polis • Sydney: “You can be Jet if you want, but we are not posing as a couple again” Adrian: “Are you sure? Because I’ve got a lot more terms of endearment to use. Honey pie. Sugarplum. Bread pudding.” Sydney: “Why are they all high-calorie foods? And bread pudding isn’t really that romantic.” Adrian: “Do you want me to call you celery stick instead? It just doesn’t inspire the same warm and fuzzy feelings.” – The Indigo Spell – Richelle Mead • The day my child tries a celery is the most stressful day of my life. – Ariana Grande • The Democrats seem to be basically nicer people, but they have demonstrated time and again that they have the management skills of celery. They’re the kind of people who’d stop to help you change a flat, but would somehow manage to set your car on fire. I would be reluctant to entrust them with a Cuisinart, let alone the economy. The Republicans, on the other hand, would know how to fix your tire, but they wouldn’t bother to stop because they’d want to be on time for Ugly Pants Night at the country club – Dave Barry • The Democrats seem to be basically nicer people, but they have demonstrated time and again that they have the management skills of celery. – Dave Barry • The near end of the street was rather dark and had mostly vegetable shops. Abundance of vegetables – piles of white and green fennel, like celery, and great sheaves of young, purplish, sea-dust-coloured artichokes . . . long strings of dried figs, mountains of big oranges, scarlet large peppers, a large slice of pumpkin, a great mass of colours and vegetable freshness. . . . – D. H. Lawrence • The thought of two thousand people crunching celery at the same time horrified me. – George Bernard Shaw • The tradition of Italian cooking is that of the matriarch. This is the cooking of grandma. She didn’t waste time thinking too much about the celery. She got the best celery she could and then she dealt with it. – Mario Batali • The word ‘vegetable’ has no precise botanical meaning in reference to food plants, and we find that almost all parts of plants have been employed as vegetables – roots (carrot and beet), stems (Irish potato and asparagus), leaves (spinach and lettuce), leaf stalk (celery and Swiss chard), bracts (globe artichoke), flower stalks and buds (broccoli and cauliflower), fruits (tomato and squash), seeds (beans), and even the petals (Yucca and pumpkin). – Charles Heiser • There ought t’be some way t’eat celery so it wouldn’t sound like you wuz steppin’ on a basket. – Kin Hubbard • To-day I think Only with scents, – scents dead leaves yield, And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed, And the square mustard field; Odours that rise When the spade wounds the root of tree, Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed, Rhubarb or celery; The smoke’s smell, too, Flowing from where a bonfire burns The dead, the waste, the dangerous, And all to sweetness turns. It is enough To smell, to crumble the dark earth, While the robin sings over again Sad songs of Autumn mirth.” – A poem called DIGGING. – Edward Thomas • Was the Buffalo chicken wing invented when Teressa Bellissimo thought of splitting it in half and deep frying it and serving it with celery and blue-cheese dressing? Was it invented when John Young started using mambo sauce and thought of elevating wings into a specialty? – Calvin Trillin • What are plants doing? What are plants all about? They serve human beings by being decorative, but what is it from its own point of view? It’s using up air; it’s using up energy. It’s really not doing anything except being ornamental. And yet here’s this whole vegetable world, cactus plants, trees, roses, tulips, and edible vegetables, like cabbages, celery, lettuce – they’re all doing this dance. – Alan Watts

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );