#song tea cups are way too cute i love the logo

[ddarker-dreams]

a little fluff blurb for bladie from my google docs !! reader here is fem.

Blade almost took it personally when you failed to notice him. 

His presence in your room certainly stands out. Everything about him contradicts the soft pastel colors, abundant flora, and cute finishing touches. Nothing in the universe aside from your kitchenette registers. You hum along with the song playing in your ears, waiting for your tea’s timer to go off. 

He walked in when the countdown read five minutes. Presently, it’s at two. 

You’re wearing dangerously short pajama shorts and an old t-shirt, the band’s logo faded out from years in the wash. He’d considered making himself known, but watching you frolic about proved too tempting. You have your back turned toward him, entirely oblivious, stuck in a little world of your own making. 

Creepy as it may be, Blade considers it soothing to stare at you. Therapeutic, even. A way to unwind from the blood-filled jobs that beckon his mara out to play.

A wicked idea forms in his head. Going without you for so much as a day is enough to seriously dampen his mood. Normally, it’s his enemies that reap the consequences. He’ll miss their vitals just enough that they’re left to go into shock and bleed out, rather than a swift, merciful death. What can he say? It’s their fault for existing and cutting into his time with you. That’s on them.

He stalks over, movements akin to a mountain lion that’s located its unsuspecting prey. 

You’re lifting the teabag out a few moments early. He’s close enough to double as your shadow, the corners of his lips twitching upward from anticipation. 

The second your timer goes off, he strikes, large hands settling on either side of your hips. This unexpected contact earns immediate retaliation. You actually squeak, much to his surprise (and amusement). Your response doesn’t end there. From instinct, you twist your torso around, ready to ward off the threat. 

Maybe it’s because you have an object in your hand, or maybe it’s because your subconscious knows you’re in no real danger, but you don’t materialize your weapon. 

Instead, you try thwacking him with your dripping teabag. 

He easily catches your wrist, thwarting your assault. It takes you all of a millisecond to understand the situation. You use your free hand to slowly remove your in-ears. He can’t help it — your pinched-together eyebrows and scrunched-up nose makes him chuckle. This worsens his crimes from your perspective, which you make evident by a non-threatening glare. 

“Nice weapon,” he drawls. 

“Hey, that’s— that’s unfair,” you complain. “I wasn’t expecting an ambush.” 

Blade raises an eyebrow. “Is it an ambush if you expect it?” 

“Yes? No. Maybe. Quit looking at me like that, I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“Mhm.” 

He plucks the teabag from your grasp and throws it away. Meanwhile, you remain frozen in time, only moving enough to cross your arms over your chest. The wrath you try directing his way is largely ineffective. Your miffed countenance is akin to a bunny scowling. 

“I was looking forward to your return, but I’ve since changed my mind.” 

“Mm.” 

He hoists you up onto the kitchenette’s countertop. The way the soft flesh of your thighs expands against the marble tempts him, but he knows he won’t be getting anything until your faux frustration is appeased. It won’t take much — or long. He just gazes into your pretty eyes, his bandaged hand cupping your face, the pad of his thumb massaging your cheekbone. You melt for him almost immediately. 

“Everything alright?” You ask, your arms finding their place around his neck. 

To Blade, everything’s more than ‘alright,’ because you’re here. Treating him with care he doesn’t deserve, and love he deserves even less. He used to worry he’d taint you, like clear waters turning opaque from filth. However, it’s as Kafka once said, likely pitying his lovelorn self. 

“Shouldn’t you let her decide that for herself?” 

For reasons genuinely beyond his comprehension, you decided he was worth the trouble. 

His gloved hand settles on your thigh. The irony of how he caresses you with the same hand responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths isn't lost on him. Since regaining a semblance of consciousness, that's all he thought he was good for. Bloodshed and slaughter.

He observes how you shudder through lidded eyes.

You don't look at him as if he's a monster. You should, he often thinks, because he is. There's no sugarcoating the truth. He's become everything he once swore to eradicate. Mad, vengeful, immortal. A product of the Abundance's perversion of the lines separating life and death.

And yet, all those centuries, all that suffering led him to you.

You aren't the light at the end of the tunnel — you're light in its entirety.

Blade is greedy when he slots his lips against yours. He's greedy when he pulls you closer, his bandaged hand tilting your head up, allowing him to devour you with ease. Your scent, your taste, your little laugh at how unabashedly eager he is, everything blurs together and threatens to leave him breathless.

How can he pull away when your legs wrap around his waist? When you thread your hands through his hair, reciprocating his ardor like he's worth even an ounce of your affection? He isn't, he's nothing compared to you, a ghost of a man who can't cross over into the afterlife.

Sometimes, he no longer wants to. Not if you're on this side of eternity.

"Well?" You pull back a few inches from him to ask. As pretty as your smile is, he likes your lips best when they're against his. "You gonna answer my question?"

He furrows his eyebrows together and tries kissing you again. Talking about emotions in any context isn't his forte, you both know that. He's always preferred to express himself through actions than words. However, when you deny him the pleasure of your lips a second time, impatience coils inside his chest.

He huffs.

"The best," he deadpans. You roll your eyes yet laugh anyway.

"You almost pout more than I do," you tease. For this infraction, he gives your thigh a pinch, enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh a little too much. "I just worry, y'know? You become such a sourpuss when we're apart for any length of time."

You aren't wrong, but he'll keep that to himself.

“Okay, okay, stop glaring. C’mere.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. He takes you up on your offer the second you’ve finished making it.

Blade might not know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but that doesn’t mean he can show you.

[calpicowater]

Week 4/52: January 22nd - 28th 2019 | Foodtastic Week 

I ate pretty well this week. “Well” as in oops I ate so much actually lmao!! Plus I ate fire noodles twice o__o” jdhfajkdg I always eat it as a midnight snack which is sOoooooo healthy ~note the sarcasm~ !!!!! On Tuesday night after work, I went to eat Big G Chicken and Meetfresh with Betty & Wing. I was craving Meetfresh the night before so during the morning I asked Betty if she wanted to go after work X’D ! In the end we ate too much chicken to finish all the grass jelly >< derp... On Sunday, I saw Vicky for the first time in 5 weeks and we went downtown to eat Pokerrito (poke burritos) --- tbh I prefer poke bowls!!! Splash Poke in Edmonton was more enjoyable than this T^T... After eating, we went to drink Song Tea. I got their cheese cream peach drink and it was yum (normal sugar wasn’t even that sweet~ which I like)! The slush was too icy for my liking :-0 but their cheese cream was SOOOO yum even though they were greedy with it :p Anyway I probably won’t return because their customer service sucks ass plus the drinks were so expensive (my drink alone was $8.35 after tax wtf..... also the prices on the menu are lower than their actual prices which is ???? wtf lol what a SCAM)!!!!!!! Putting them on blast. I’M IN A MOOD OK!!! -_-

Food aside, this week was annoying as fuck. Last Monday, my mom’s friend recommended me to their friend who needs a 合伙人/店长 and recommended me wtf....... I’m obviously SUPER underqualified. Also, I am so sick and tired of being a bubble tea barista that I want OUT of the food court/food service career for good. But nooOoooo!!!!!! My parent basically forced me to meet with this person. Lol. I tried to tell them that I don’t WANT to but they don’t care about me or my opinions ever T___T my dad yelled at me and my mom continued to force me :))))) (ok I’ve already gone on a Rant on twitter so I’ll control myself from further elaborating) so okay I went to meet that person on Friday aka my day off and that person basically shot me down ~_~ (and roasted me for being poor which is ???? ok lol) but I also told them that this job isn’t suitable for me. Just so annoyed that I had to waste my time going there..... frigging DOWNTOWN on a super cold day. What the shit lol. I wish my parents cared about my feelings and opinions but nope. They don’t even treat me like a human being sometimes :^) and that pisses me off a lot!!!!! 

That whole situation made me so annoyed that I submitted a job application to a job that I would actually like to do on the same frigging day lol!!!! Felt productive and was in a good mood on Saturday because I finally got to work with Mia again but on Saturday my boss made me choose between working a lot of hours for them but not leaving the store vs. being able to leave and find a job that I like but getting my hours cut. Of course I chose the latter. Sigh. RIP $$$ !! ALSO TIME TO REALLY STOP PROCRASTINATING ON JOB HUNTING. For the sake of my mental health.... and possibly my financial state ;^; !!! 

[pascalpanic]

Begin Again (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Inspo: Begin Again by Adam Melchor

Summary: Dating apps never pair you with the right people. Until you come across the profile of a handsome, pancake loving FBI agent named Marcus.

W/C: 4.8k

Warnings: lots of talk of food, language, late night deep conversations, some sadness at the end but nothing intense? reader has a pet cat, is that worth a warning? idk

A/N: HI GUYS this is my first full length Marcus Pike fic! I really hope you like it!! thank you so much to @theteddylupinexperience and @sanchosammy for being my best editors and proofreaders and idea givers!!!

note: PLS listen to the song before/after/while reading! it’s one of my favs and it really goes along with the story

Over the course of your adult years, you’ve become convinced that dating apps are complete and utter bullshit. The algorithms never work right, never pair you or any of your friends with anyone worth seeing in person. Maybe that’s just the problem; maybe it’s not the apps but the people. Whatever the answer is, whatever reason you’ve never found success in the endless swiping, you’re through with it.

That was before last week. The rainy Tuesday night left you in your apartment, alone, to succumb to the cold spring dreariness. Over a cup of hot tea, you’d downloaded the app again. Might as well try, right? You have nothing to lose. If worst comes to worst, catfishing an annoying guy is always a blast. The good news is that this app requires you as the woman to make the first move. That’s kind of a downside- you never know how to start conversations- but at least you can’t get unsolicited dick pics right off the bats. Life is full of tradeoffs, you suppose.

You begin again. The app becomes your favorite pastime. Bored at work or home? Dating app it is. Left. Left. Left. Boring man after boring man. One labeled himself super-straight: absolutely fucking not. One holding a fish: nope. A man who describes himself as a gym rat: not your type. It’s a boring way to spend your lunch break, you’re aware, but the entertainment value is fun if nothing else. There are a lot of strange men out there.

After a few days, your luck seems to turn around as the photo of a man with brown hair and warm brown eyes pops up on your screen. He has a scruffy beard and wavy hair, and the way his smile tugs at the corner of his lips makes your heart flutter. He’s really cute, you have to admit. You read the bio next.

Marcus, 35

❗️ Washington, D.C.

Got forced into making this, but optimistic. Lover of art, dogs, and time to relax. Always down for breakfast for dinner and cuddling. Looking for someone with a sense of independence, love of travel, and a sleep schedule equally fucked up as mine. Must love pancakes.

Must love pancakes. That’s absolutely adorable. You immediately think of your cat, named Pancake, and you laugh and swipe right, hoping the man already thought the same of you. Your eyes widen with excitement and you almost laugh out loud from your giddy state when you see the little logo indicating it’s a match.

The first message you send him has to be perfect. You ponder your options for a minute, frowning and furrowing your brow as you think. You don’t want to come on too strong; you’re not trying to sound like you want a hookup. A simple one-word greeting wouldn’t be enough.

You could comment on something from his bio, you realize as you read it again and again. Maybe ask him about his dog? No, that’s too awkward. You want it to be about him, something that can draw him in. Talk about traveling? No, you don’t want to sound like you’re bragging about the places you’ve gone in your life.

Pancakes. Pancakes are good. You love pancakes. You think for a second more, debating what to say, before inspiration strikes and you send off the message before you can stop yourself.

-

Marcus Pike has essentially felt the same as you. He’s a somewhat charming man. He’s had his fair share of relationships, but they never quite work out. His ex-wife, now long gone and blocked from his phone, was an absolute failure of a relationship. He’d gotten close to what felt like true love with Teresa, another FBI agent, but she flaked at the last second.

Maybe the constant here was that he met them in person. When Marcus falls, he falls hard and fast, down an endless spiral of emotions with no escape. Maybe if he met someone online, it would be different. His best friends had all encouraged it, and on a night out not long after Teresa left him, Pike set up his own profile. He liked that the app didn’t require him to make the first move. It’s refreshing.

Marcus had seen your profile hours ago, on a mindless phone break from his work. He’d swiped right too, stunned by your smile and the lovelines you radiated even through the phone. He crossed his fingers for a good part of the day, hoping you’d swipe right on him too.

His day is busy, leaving him no time to fiddle with his phone and distract himself. He eats in the cafeteria, checking up on his phone. After lunch, he’s walking back to his office when his heart flutters as he sees the dating app indicates he’s had a match. He looks at it and swallows hard before stopping, moving to the side of the hallway to allow others to pass. He’s breathing hard, and his heart speeds up when he sees that you are the one that matched with him.

He knows how this app works. He has to wait now, to let you make the first move. He can’t even write a message until you send one. So he pockets his phone again and continues on his walk.

He’s determined on his walk, rushing back to his desk so he can sit and be thoroughly enthralled in waiting for or receiving your response. His phone buzzes several times with notifications, one of which he prays is you. When he finally sits, he opens the app ceremoniously and has to hold back a genuine laugh when he sees your first message.

Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus shoots back a text nearly immediately. Sorry, what?

Your bio. “Must love pancakes”. Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus is absolutely beaming as he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. Blueberry. Always. I hope that’s the right answer :)

Unfortunately, it’s not, but you’re cute so I’ll let it slide

You called him cute. It makes Marcus’s heart flutter. Come on. There’s nothing like the warm blueberry popping in your mouth.

There is. It’s when the chocolate chips are all melty and creamy.

God, Marcus is already painfully into you. You know what… at least you love pancakes. I’ll let it slide. You got a favorite place?

Anywhere I can get ‘em. You seem like quite the connoisseur, do you have one place in mind?

Jane slams down a stack of files on Marcus’s desk. “Paperwork overflow, Pike. Can you get these done tonight?”

Marcus is the fastest in the office with paperwork, which often leads to him being the one that flies through the files in the place of the people who actually filed it. He nods. What else is there to do? “Sure.”

Jane claps him on the shoulder and wanders off. Marcus watches him in slight annoyance. The best place in D.C. is definitely Sandy’s. Hey I gotta go, text ya later?

I’d love that :)

-

It didn’t take long for your texting to move from the dating app to actual texting. It happened within the same day, in fact.

Marcus messaged you some hours after the initial conversation. Your phone buzzed while you were doing yoga in your apartment, your cat curled into a ball beneath your stomach as you held a downward dog. You nearly collapsed on top of Pancake as you fumbled to sit cross-legged on the end of your yoga mat.

The message from Marcus is bright on the top of your screen. Hi. Sorry that took so long. Work stuff.

Smiling, you take a swig from your water bottle and lean back against your couch. Not a problem. Understandable. What do you do for a living? It’s a loaded question in D.C.; they could range anywhere from politicians to their rich sons to artists and athletes.

I work for the FBI, actually.

Your eyes light up in excitement. That’s the coolest shit I’ve heard. What do you do? Are you an agent?

The man’s responses don’t take long at all. He must be waiting in the chat to respond. The idea makes your heart flutter. Yep, I’m an agent. I work in international art crimes.

You certainly didn’t expect that for an answer. Wow, okay, that’s even cooler than I thought. I was about to call you Agent Pancake but I think my girl would be disheartened...

Snapping a photo of the way Pancake is nuzzling into your side, meowing for snuggles, you have to laugh as you send the photo his way. Funny you love pancakes so much. This little muppet is named Pancake.

Marcus responds with a barrage of heart-eyes emojis, which makes you laugh aloud and scoop Pancake into your lap, stroking her strawberry-blonde fluff. She’s an absolute angel. Like her mother, I’m presuming.

Your cheeks flood with warmth and you can feel the tips of your ears turning hot too. You’ve never even met me, Agent…? You trail off the text, asking for his last name.

Pike.

Agent Marcus Pike. What a nice sounding name. It sounds official and strong and you really like it. Cute last name. Might steal it from ya someday ;)

You don’t normally flirt this shamelessly, but he’s so goddamn cute and funny. You cross your fingers behind your back that this isn’t just a facade, that this is Marcus himself texting like he would to anyone else. You got a phone number?

As you laugh, Pancake paws at your chest to grab your attention, nails nearly digging into the stretchy fabric of your yoga tank top. “Watch it,” you scold her softly and remove her paw from your chest, picking her up and giving her a kiss on the head. Sure do. You want it?

Yes please.

You send your number his way and moments later, your phone pings with a text from an unlabeled number.

Maybe: Pike: hey, it’s Pike :)

You: hey… dammit, I really want to call you Agent Pancakes, but I think my fluffy little heathen would be offended. I don’t know what to save you in my phone as...

Agent Pancakes: Save me as whatever, I suppose. Not my problem, right?

-

The texts became more frequent. Over the course of three weeks, you’d stay up late talking like teenagers, knowing you need to go to bed but unable to bring yourself to do it.

You learned that his middle name was Mauricio, that his mother wanted him to have at least something a little more Latino in his name. You told him the story of how you’d adopted Pancake as a kitten from a shelter and she woke you up one morning with her claws entwined in a snarl of your hair. He told you about his ex-wife and ex-fiancée, Teresa, and you responded that he deserved something better than that. You can already tell that he’s a good man.

At the end of three weeks, you shot Marcus a text. Things seemed to be going pretty well.

You: Hey, you want to do a video call sometime soon?

Agent Pancakes: I’d love that! I’m free tonight if you are.

You: Always free. Shouldn’t you know that?? Doesn’t the FBI spy on us through our phones and whatever?

Agent Pancakes: well, I do work in art crimes. Even if we did, it would be a totally different thing

You: Good.

An hour later, you fidget with your hands as you sit on your couch, the laptop propped up across from you and ringing for a video chat. Marcus’s profile picture bobs on the screen as you wait for him to pick up.

Marcus’s face and apartment fills your screen, and you automatically grin. “Hi,” you giggle and wave, absolutely enraptured by how cute his real smile is, not the forced one in the photos.

“Hey. Nice to kind of-finally meet you,” he tells you and waves back. The wall of his apartment is nothing exciting, but his facial expressions already have you falling. Those big brown eyes compliment natural but ridiculously pink lips, and his brown hair is neatly done. It looks like he’s wearing a tie and a dress shirt; probably his work gear, you suppose.

“You too!” You tell him, unable to stop smiling. “You shaved.”

-

Marcus’s heart jumps out of his chest when he sees you ringing him. He barely has time to flop on the couch and turn it on, propping up the camera across from him.

God, you’re so gorgeous. Your giggle is infectious, making Marcus laugh softly at god knows what. Your grin is equally as contagious, making him smile back. He rubs his jaw in response. “Yeah, yeah. I tend to keep it clean there. Stubble takes too much maintenance, and I have this little patch where it never quite grows,” he tells you as he juts his chin to the camera, touching the spot where his beard can’t grow.

“I like it either way,” you assure him, shrugging a little. “How was your day, Agent Pancakes?” Your voice is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, even with the granulated audio over this shitty app. Agent Pancakes makes his heart flutter. “No, not you!” You groan as Pancake climbs onto your lap. “Hi. Your twin wants to say hi.”

Marcus’s smile widens. “Oh my god, hello cutie pie,” he chuckles, launching into baby talk. “What a pretty girl. You make a good Pancake.”

You smile and rub her fur, grinning. “She’s my baby,” you chuckle and set her aside. “Yeah. I’m busy. Leave me alone.” Pancake meows in protest. “Shut up, I’m on a date,” you whine.

Marcus’s ears perk up. “This is a date?”

Your eyes widen as you turn back to him. “I… yeah?” You ask, wincing a little.

He grins back at you. “I like it. And I’m really in love with the idea of seeing your face when you talk.”

“I like your voice,” you flirt back, but you mean it. “It’s so pretty. Do you sing?” You ask mindlessly, studying the way his brow furrows and his eyes convey exactly what he’s thinking.

He chuckles softly. “I used to. I haven’t in a long long time.”

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime.”

When he shakes his head, his neatly gelled hair tries to break free. A strand does, falling in his face. “You don’t wanna hear it, I promise.” He removes his tie, and you can’t help but watch the movement. It’s incredibly sexy.

A mischievous smile makes you bite the inside of your cheek. “No, I really do, I really think I do.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Only if you try the pancakes at Sandy’s sometime. I promise you, they’re the best pancakes in the District. I’ve never had the chocolate chip pancakes, but if they’re anywhere near as good as the blueberry, they’re fantastic. And they’re open 24 hours. I go there a lot for late night case work.”

You smile at that, getting cozy on your couch and hugging your blanket. “That does sound nice. I love a good all day breakfast,” you say with raised eyebrows, the teasing in your voice. “Okay, human Pancakes. How was your day?” You ask him again, intent on hearing his answer. Not only is his job fascinating, but he’s adorable when he explains things.

Marcus frowns, and that makes you instinctively frown too. “Well, it’s been good. We’re tracking a huge smuggling ring right now, but since we’ve pinpointed a stock house for them, I might have to travel for a while.”

You frown. You’d been hoping you could have a real date soon, at least. “How long is a while?” You ask him curiously, sipping from your water bottle that sits next to you.

“Couple weeks. No less than a month, probably. I’d… well, I might have to go undercover, which means we couldn’t talk for a while.” His eyes are apologetic, showing that he hates this news as much as you do. “And… I’d leave maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

Your heart sinks. “So soon,” you say with a sad smile, a desperate and lonely chuckle. “Well, if you want to come home to me, I’ll be here.”

Marcus’s smile perks up just slightly. “You would be the best thing in the world to come home to. And I’ll have the scruff back by then.”

“Yes!” You exclaim and laugh, pumping a fist in the air. “I think you’re really cute anyway, but I really love the scruff,” you shrug shyly.

“Maybe I’ll grow it out just for you.”

-

The adrenaline from his first technical-date with you prevents Marcus from sleeping. The call lasted hours, the two of you covering almost everything important in your lives. You talked about your favorite television programs and politics, your parents and your favorite pizza toppings. Talking with him was like nothing you’d ever experience, a connection you’d never thought a dating app could offer.

After several hours, during a lull in the conversation, Marcus suggested the two of you log off. It was around 11 P.M. now, and, even though Marcus has a sleep schedule like a raccoon, he figured you should sleep. He blew you a kiss through the camera, which you pretended to hold to your chest and grin at him.

But now it’s an hour later, just past midnight, and Marcus is antsy. He doesn’t sleep much anyway, but your face is running through his mind like it owns the place, and at this point, maybe you do. Marcus sits up in bed and sighs. He knows the proper remedy for this: Sandy’s. Throwing on a rare pair of jeans and a leather jacket over the white v-neck he wears, he slips on his shoes and makes his way to the tiny, 24-hour diner.

-

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins too. You text any of your friends that will listen, rambling about how beautiful Marcus’s face is and how wonderful it was to finally hear his voice. You pace your apartment, petting Pancake as you pass her perch on the arm of your couch. You try to do a little yoga to calm down but you can’t stop smiling. Marcus occupies too much room in your brain to try to think about anything else.

When it’s just after midnight, hunger strikes. You realize you never ate dinner, too preoccupied with talking to the handsome man to even consider microwaving something from your fridge. Talking with Marcus has instilled you with a love for pancakes, and you think to yourself that maybe Sandy’s would be worth a shot. It’s open late.

So you toss on a jacket and pick up your purse, slinging it over your shoulder and leaving your apartment. You toss the book you’ve been reading into your bag, planning to read it while you sit and eat. Pancake gives a sleepy meow of protest but you just smile and lock the door behind you.

The diner is just as small as Marcus described it to you: just a short line of booths along the windows and a smattering of tables in the middle. There’s a colorful, warm-toned tile floor that juxtaposes the warm green of the walls and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting through the air. Quiet classic swing music filling the atmosphere. You can see why he likes it: it automatically makes you smile.

You sit in one of the booths, facing away from the door, and the kind waitress takes your order: chocolate chip pancakes and an English breakfast tea. The air conditioning is blasting, making you chilly. You tighten your jacket around yourself and sip the tea when it arrives, adding cream and sugar.

Cracking open the book, you cross your legs and lose yourself in the book. The restaurant has a calming aura, and you can feel the tea warming you from the inside. It’s fitting that Marcus loves this place, you think to yourself.

When the pancakes come not long after, you take a bite and almost groan in happiness. It’s absolutely delicious: Marcus was most definitely right. Disappointingly, you have to go to the bathroom about three bites in.

Even the bathrooms are cute, you discover. When you return, someone else sits a booth away,  another lone diner at this godforsaken hour of night, facing the door. You can see the back of what appears to be a man’s head, neatly trimmed brown hair and a brown leather jacket over their neck and shoulders. Sitting back down, your back to the other customer’s, you return to your book and continue to eat your chocolate chip pancakes.

The customer and waitress are talking, but you don’t pay much attention, too enraptured by your book. It’s quiet again after the man puts in his order, and you enjoy the soft jazz music that makes you tap your foot in time against the tile.

There’s a buzzing and the melodic sound of a phone’s ringtone; one of the defaults that a phone provides. Your heart skips a beat as you hear the man pick up. “Agent Pike.”

That can’t be your Agent Pike, can it? You turn and listen and realize it’s definitely him, from his voice and the way he holds himself and the stack of- of course, blueberry pancakes and a hot coffee set in front of him.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. Let me write that down.” Marcus types something into his phone. “See you then. At the office? Good. Alright, see you.” He hangs up.

Standing, you tuck your book back in your purse and put the bag over your shoulder. With one hand, you grab your plate of pancakes, and the other grabs your tea. You set them down across from him and slide into the booth, grinning. “Huh. Agent Pancakes, here, in the middle of the night. How unusual.”

Marcus’s tired face lights up in excitement. “What?” He laughs, his eyes scanning your face. “Why are you here?”

You shrug and take a bite of his pancakes, sighing. “Had to see if they were worth the hype. I couldn’t sleep, you got me so excited.” The blueberry pancakes are absolutely fantastic, just as good if not better than the chocolate chip ones on your plate. “Damn, you were right.”

“Hey,” he laughs and pulls his plate closer to his chest. “Don’t touch my pancakes.”

You make pleading pouty eyes, frowning a little. “Can’t we share?” You tease. It already feels like you’ve known him for years, even though this is your first time seeing him in person.

Marcus sighs. “I suppose,” he says and rolls his eyes in sarcasm, pushing his plate back out so you can access it.

-

Marcus is beyond stunned, absolutely enraptured in how beautiful you are in person. If he thought he fell on that video call earlier, he’s now reached the very bottom of that cliff, the impact of your everything stealing the air from his lungs. God, he wants nothing more than to kiss you right now, on those lips coated in blueberry juice and maple syrup.

The two of you spend quite some time so there, just talking and continuing the conversation where it left off before. The waitress refills Marcus’s coffee twice and your tea once. “So who called you when you were sitting alone?” You ask him as you bring the white porcelain mug to your lips, sipping at the creamy tea.

He sighs. “Guy I work with, his name’s Patrick. He’s a douchebag, I can’t lie,” he says with a chuckle, and his heart flutters at the way you give a soft laugh back. “Just telling me the details. I leave in about 6 hours. I’ll be in Singapore for a couple of weeks.”

“Singapore?” You exclaim, eyes wide as your fork clanks against your plate. “You better be able to contact me.”

He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m going undercover. I can’t.” He sighs, and he dares to reach out and touch you, to reassure you that he’s there and himself that you’re real, that you’re right there. “Will you wait for me?”

Your heart melts, from an already slush-covered river to a rushing rapids. “Of course, Marcus.” It makes his heart skip a beat. You’ve called him lots of nicknames, but never his real name. Something is painfully intimate about it. “I like you a lot; why wouldn’t I?” You ask, shrugging as if it’s the simplest thing. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

When you finish your meals, Marcus picks up both tabs, despite your protesting. “Can I walk you to your place?” He asks as you both stand and adjust your jackets.

You nod and take his hand. The lights of the city are seemingly extra dim tonight, leaving the street lights to illuminate your beautiful face as the two of you stroll along. You have all the time in the world, don’t you? It’s 1:30 in the morning. You’re both already evading sleep desperately. A little more time together can’t hurt.

His hand never leaves yours, his fingers lacing through your knuckles. You chat quietly, as if you could wake the sleeping city from the peaceful blue drone of a weeknight morning into its daily splendor of horns and hordes of speedy pedestrians.

Marcus bumps your shoulder with his, making you stumble a little to the side and laugh as you look up at his gorgeous face. His face reflects the love you’re both feeling, almost giving the city around you a pink glaze of warmth from the rose-colored glasses you must have placed over his eyes.

The walk draws to an end, as you stand at the entrance to your apartment building. Marcus’s body looks so soft and inviting, and you dare to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him to your chest. “I don’t want you to go, Agent Pancakes,” you murmur into the soft skin of his neck, which is starting to get a shadow of stubble.

Marcus kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t move either, prolonging this time you have together before he can’t see you. “I don’t want to go. I’ve never wanted to stay here more than I do now, but I have to.” His arms wrap around your waist, strong and safe.

Lifting your head, you look up at him, your noses practically touching from the proximity you share. The world feels like a bubble around you two, like some impenetrable one-way material that makes it so if Marcus leaves now, he can never come back. “Well, it’s gonna be a long time, a month or two,” you say with a sad smile. “We’ll have to begin again.”

Marcus shakes his head, his brown eyes almost welling with tears. “There’s no one else I’d want to begin again with.” With that, he looks in your eyes, the question hanging there. Wait for me?

Always, you respond silently by pressing your lips to his, kissing him slowly in the orange glow of your apartment building’s entrance. He kisses back, his lips tasting of coffee and maple and blueberry, yours tasting like chocolate and tea.

You squeeze your arms tighter around him, getting on your tiptoes to be as physically close as you can to him. He has one hand on either side of your rib cage, holding you there as he kisses back with all of the passion and love he has.

It can’t last too long or he’ll never leave. He won’t be able to. He breaks away after a few moments, his lips close to yours. He presses your foreheads together, arms encircling you again. “I have to go. I have to be at the office in an hour.”

You lift your head and your brow furrows in confusion. “Then why did you take so long to walk and eat with me?” You laugh quietly.

Marcus shrugs. “Didn’t want to leave you yet,” he admits, his eyes trained on yours. He gives you one last painfully gentle kiss. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more,” you say with a sad smile. “You’ve been my distraction lately. Whenever I’m bored, I text you.”

He sighs, the confession increasing his frown. “I’ll be in an entirely new place, without you.”

“But I’ll be here, in my same old life without you in it.”

The words punch a hole through Marcus’s heart. It’s true; he’ll have new distractions, new things to do. You’ll be here with a Marcus Pike-shaped hole in your heart. He kisses your forehead, the wheels turning in his head. “If you get a call in the next few weeks from an unknown number, be sure to answer it, okay?”

You nod and smile softly. “You need to go. Go.”

He nods and his hand squeezes yours. “I can’t wait to begin again with you.” With that, Marcus Pike, Agent Pancakes, whatever you want to call him, the man you’re highly suspecting might be your soulmate, walks off into the slightly chilly D.C. night.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic

[tisfan]

(I can) Brew this all Day

Title (I Can) Brew this all Day Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408346/chapters/58881478 Square Filled C5: Bucky/Wanda Ship/Main Pairing Bucky/Wanda Rating Teen Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings none Summary Wanda works at a coffee shop. Clint does not understand why she’s crushing on a patron. Word Count 1559

for @buckybarnesbingo and @livewire28

“You’re a fright,” Steve complained as she walked in through the employee entrance at Brew This All Day coffee. “Did someone throw a bucket of water at you?”

“It’s raining,” Wanda said, scowling. She knew her hair looked terrible, practically plastered to her head. She’d had an umbrella when she left for work, but it had gotten snatched up by the wind and by the time she chased it down, it didn’t seem to matter. She was already soaked through. 

Usually, she kept a spare dress in her work-locker for just such occasions, but she’d had to wear one last week when a customer did a “prank” and chucked an extra large frozen drink at her (with extra whip) so he could film it for his YouTube channel.

Steve had put him on the not-welcome-back list, but it probably didn’t matter. She was sure that the asshole had gotten fifty million hits or whatever and collected his cash from YouTube and he’d go around the rest of the city doing it to other baristas.

Whatever. She was going to have to work in a cold, wet dress and soaking shoes today and her hair was a mess.

“Your boy’s here,” Clint added. “I mean, I don’t get it. I can’t look at a customer without feeling contempt, so the idea of flirting with them really just-- they’re customers, therefore, idiots.”

“You’re an idiot,” Wanda said, trying suddenly not to throw up with nerves.

Not that it mattered. The cute guy who came to Brew This to study wasn’t going to ask her out any more than the hot guy who came in at odd hours of the night (Brew This All Day was one of the few coffee shops that was decent and open twenty-four hours a day) was going to ask out Steve, no matter how many longing looks Steve directed at that guy’s ass when he left the shop.

Customers might all be idiots, but they often didn’t even see servers unless they made a mistake. And even when that happened, servers weren’t… people. Not really.

Even the guys that flirted with her didn’t see her as a human being; someone to date and enjoy their company. They saw her as a conquest or a cheap, easy lay.

So it didn’t matter that she looked terrible, like a drowned rat, and that her clothes were going to wrinkle and be clammy and nasty all day.

He was just a decoration.

Someone with a perfect face and amazing shoulders and lovely hair.

A work of art.

And as untouchable as the same.

“Oh, my god,” Natasha said, uncoiling herself from behind the desk in the manager’s office. Technically, Nat was the shift lead, but Steve mostly had her doing the books because she was better at it than Steve was. She also set all the schedules, approved vacation time, and worked shifts when other people were sick.

Thus, not someone you wanted to be on the wrong side of.

“You look like you’re gonna puke,” Nat said. “Come here, change shirts with me.” Nat tugged off her scoop-necked black shirt with red accents, completely unphased by the way Clint stared and Steve turned around, the back of his neck going brick red. Nat had no body-shame, along with everything else.

Not that she had any reason to have it. She was quite attractive. 

Wanda took the proffered shirt, but went behind the door to change, giving Nat her damp dress in return. So, now she was in Nat’s too tight, too short top. And leggings.

Well, she might not look better, but at least she wasn’t soaked.

Nat rolled her eyes at Wanda’s shirt and grabbed one of the tees with the shop’s logo on it. Technically, employees got a 50% discount off all shop merch, but even at half off, Wanda couldn’t really afford a new shirt right now.

She wondered if Nat could, or if she was just going to count the peep show as part of her compensation.

“Get on the clock, witchy,” Clint said. “I want to get the hell out of here.”

“Remind me why I pay you again?” Steve mused, scratching his chin.

Wanda didn’t stick around to watch the rest of the argument; she’d heard that particular song-and-dance a dozen times before.

Steve was, actually, a good boss. He paid at least fifteen dollars an hour -- as soon as Seattle had instituted that as minimum wage, he was right there behind it. Also, he let them keep all their tips and didn’t cut himself in on it, even if he worked a shift behind the machines.

As advertised, the hot guy was at his usual table; she could see him almost the whole time she was working, except when she was directly pulling a shot. Probably for the best, since she needed to pay attention to the steamer and not to the daytime television god who drank caramel lattes with extra whip while he studied from a pile of books.

Wanda thought he was planning to be a social worker, or something. She had trouble talking to people outside of actual work interactions, even on the best of days, and when dazzled by the man’s eyes, she barely remembered to ask his name to put it on the cup.

Worst, he never said his name. He sometimes used initials (JB) but mostly he used a series of jokes. Manchurian Candidate, Winter Soldier, Special Snowflake. (She particularly liked that last one, which he used when there was an entire cadre of bro-ristas in the shop, the kind of guys who liked to lean on their privilege and tell Wanda that she had no idea how to make coffee. People talked about Karens in their Target, but she thought those friends of hers could use an afternoon with a coffee-house Chad and see which one was worse. Those guys had looked up to mock the person calling themselves Snowflake, taken one look at JB’s body-builder physique and shut the fuck up. It had been great.)

Fortunately, there wasn’t much of a line; just before lunch when her shift started tended to be dead, aside from the occasional harried looking mom, or the perpetual student.

She checked the house pot, found it relatively fresh. The pastry cabinet was well stocked. She counted out her drawer, signed in. Watched JB from the corner of her eye. He looked up as she came into the room, smiled, and then went back to scowling at his papers and books and computer.

She did a round of the floor, picked up a few stray napkins and straw papers, wiped down the tables. 

“Get you a refill?” she chirped, just like he was any other customer.

“Oh, would you?” JB asked, sounding like she’d offered a drowning man a lifeline.

“Sure, what are you drinking today?”

“Double-double,” JB said. “I’ve got an exam in--” he checked his watch, “three hours.”

“Sounds fun,” Wanda said. “I have a short shift today, I’m off in six hours.”

JB looked up at her, eyes going wide. “Are--”

“I mean, are-- if you-- just saying--”

“Are you asking me out on a post-exam date?” The only thing good about the entire situation is that he seemed just as flustered and embarrassed as she did. And he hadn’t immediately told her he was in a relationship. Or gay.

“I mean-- if you wanted to, then, you know. Yes?” Wanda waved her hands around, wondering if a convenient hole would ever open up in the ground and swallow her. No such luck.

“Yeah, then, sure,” JB said. “I, yeah. I’ll either want to celebrate. This is my last exam before I get my degree, fingers crossed--” Wanda dutifully crossed her fingers for him “-- or I’ll want to drown myself in beer if it goes badly. In either case, company would be nice.”

“Yeah,” Wanda said. “Okay. We’ll do that, then. You can pick me up here, the red line’s just up the road, go anywhere you want.”

“Sure thing,” JB said. He jotted something down on a paper napkin-- when he handed it to her, it was a phone number. “Text me in a bit, then I’ll have your number and you’ll have mine. Just-- just in case.”

Wanda nodded.

She took the napkin, went back and got his double-double, and then got caught up in an entire busload of tourists from Maryland, none of whom had been in a coffee shop that wasn’t Dunkin’ Donuts or Starbucks in their life, and by the time she texted him, he was already gone to his exam.

Just sitting down. Wish me luck.

Wanda debated her list of emojis for a bit, and then sent him a snowflake, a four leaf clover, thumbs up, and several coffee and tea cups. Waited a few minutes, then sent a wine glass, a plate, and an OK.

OK Wine

“Somebody’s happy,” Steve commented, looking at her beaming at her phone.

“I have a date,” Wanda said.

“With Snowflake?”

“Yeah?”

“Good for you. Guess I owe Nat twenty dollars.”

“Why?”

“I bet that I’d ask Tony out before you’d get up the nerve to ask JB.”

“So, uh. You don’t happen to know his actual name, do you?”

Steve just laughed and walked away.

Awkward.

[alliswell21]

@duckpotatodandelion’s Prompt: “I do love me a coffee shop au.”

Rated T

This was writen last night and edited this morning before I had to run errands, so my apologies for any errors.

Also, since @duckpotatodandelion had that post about hot chocolate, I may have deviated her Prompt a bit... 😳... fine! a bunch... 🙈 don’t tell anyone!!!!

☕️ ☕️ ☕️

I walk into the Starbucks and wrinkle my nose in the first breath. I’m not a coffee person, the dark concoction loosens my stomach for whatever reason, but thanks to my boss, Plutarch Heavensbee, I have around $100 in Starbucks gift cards that only keep piling up for every occasion that requires management to give the employees recognition.

I’m guessing the man thinks coffee shop gift cards are the hip thing to do, and say whatever you want about Plutarch, that man is still trying to stay relevant.

One look at the line and I quickly realize I must be the only soul in this planet that doesn’t care for coffee. I sigh to myself, stepping in line with the rest of the morning rushers, wondering how does the son of a baker could’ve develop such an aversion to coffee, when it’s perhaps the hot drink most served in my father’s shop?

Since I’m number 2002 (fine, that’s an exaggeration on my part) in this line, I decide to spend my time people watching and trying to guess what they do for a living for a bit, it’s not like I can see the menu from where I stand, though the baristas seemed to be pretty proficient at their jobs, dispatching drink after drink like caffeinated fairy godparents.

The first customer in line is a severe looking woman with straight, gray hair that falls into a perfect curtain down to her shoulders; she’s wearing a gray power suit and gray comfortable shoes; when she turns around with her distinctive paper cup in hand I realize her eyes are the same hue of gray as her hair and outfit. It’s like all color has been drain from her. I’m going to call her Madam Monochrome. Or maybe Coin, since she reminds me of silver change. I wonder if she lives down in an underground bunker and only came up to surface because coffee is banned in her secret lair, that would explain the monotone colors. If that’s the case, she must be the president of the underground community, otherwise I don’t see how she was allowed to leave.

Next, is a guy with a wiry frame, ashen skin, balding. His glasses keep sliding down the bridge of his nose, so he pushes them back up with the middle finger of his hand. He’s carrying a laptop briefcase, the padded kind you don’t have to completely open in the TSA line at the airport for the x-ray machines. I’m going to call him Beetee, because that’s what the logo in his case says. He’s probably a genius, working for the next iPod nano device that may fit 3 gigabytes of music into chip as big as a grain of rice. Then again, he could be plotting to overthrow some totalitarian government, by breaking into the TV transmission with well placed anti government propaganda… he’d call them Propos for short, because he doesn’t have time to say the whole word. He’s too busy inventing weapons to chat.

Next, is a man tall, dark and very handsome. The kind women swoon after. I’m sure when he was in high school, girls giggled about him behind their notebooks and commented on how cute he was. He turns his head my way, probably feeling my gaze on him; he only spares me a glance and turns back to stare at the baristas impassively. Good looking Jerk! I bet he’s the military type. Fancy job at some highly rated base, with a huge family that adores him and look up to him. He also looks the type to own hunting gear. He’s probably a sharp shooter too… I can already picture him bringing home a twelve point deer he shot through the neck and a handful of dead, fat rabbits hanging from his belt, he caught in his snares, because what do you know? he’s also a whiz with snares! I should move on from his rigid form. For some reason I don’t think we would ever be friends, him and I. I bet we are total opposites. I’m gonna call him Gale, because he probably has a temper that would wreak havoc, like a strong willed gust of wind.

Behind Gale, there’s a little old lady I’m gonna call Mags, because she looks like she could be a Mags. She seems kind, but there’s something about her face that looks almost like one side is sagging. It saddens me. Maybe she had a stroke at some point, in which case, the mere fact she’s standing in line to get a hot beverage in a busy shop shows her resilience and strength. Good for Mags! I hope she gets to live a hundred more years. She deserves it.

Then, my eyes find two young women. One is blonde and blue eyed, while the other is a brunette with smooth olive skin. Both have matching braids which is strange. Most women don’t wear the same hairdos unless they’re in some kind of play, or maybe they’re twins… there have been cases with twins that physically aren’t even the same race. The two ladies are standing shoulder to shoulder. The blond keeps talking and gesturing with her hands animatedly, while the brunette looks on with rapt attention, nodding and smiling at the blonde. Brunette laughs out loud and I’ve never heard anything as musical as that before.

While pondering on names and imaginary backgrounds for the women, I try to lean on a display of collectible mugs, to disastrous results.

The whole shelf uppends under my weight and sends every single mug careening to the floor with a loud crash, with me, following closely. To say I’m embarrassed would be a gross understatement.

“Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” Asks Blondie, blue eyes dripping with concern. “Your hand is bleeding, sir.” She states looking down at my hand, just as a barista comes to help me up from the floor, where I’m sitting on my ass surrounded by the broken pieces of the mugs I just murdered.

“I’m okay. Thank you.” I say trying to save face.

“Nonsense! Katniss, help me here!” Blondie calls to Brunette who’s looking at me with pity and apprehension.

“Prim…” Brunette sighs more than says, but comes closer all the same, “I don’t think I’ll be that much help. Sorry.” She says locking eyes with me, like she truly is chagrined she can’t help.

“I’m okay, really.” I say finally on my feet. I nod to the Starbucks employee. “I’m sorry about the mess. Talk about a bull in a China shop, right?!”

Brunette fights off a smirk at my self deprecating joke and I swear my heart swells in my chest.

Looking back at the young man helping me, I address him. “You wouldn’t be able to give me a veteran discount to pay for the mugs I broke, would you?”

He just stares at me for a second, “I- I’m not sure, dude. Are you cool? Do you need me to call 911? Your hand has a pretty big gash.”

“I’m a registered nurse, I can help him and take him to my hospital if he needs extra care.” Says Blondie… Prim, Brunette— Katniss— had called her.

“I really am alright—“ I stop talking when I lift my hand and see for myself the gnarly long cut in my hand. It goes from the side of the palm, to right under the thumb, like a jagged smile on the heel of my freaking hand.

I go woozy for a moment, and find myself sitting in a chair with Katniss pressing a cup of water to my good hand. “Drink this. My sister is gonna take good care of you, and then we will drive you to the ER so you can get a note from her boss telling your employer why you’re late.”

“Okay,” I say simply staring at her. She’s got the most amazing gray eyes ever, with specks of blue all over the iris. She’s gorgeous from this close.

“What’s your name?” She asks.

“Peeta Mellark.” I say automatically.

“Hi Peeta Mellark, I’m Katniss Everdeen. What else can you tell me about yourself?”

I think she’s trying to keep me distracted while her sister cleans my cut at the very back of the coffee house, where we can still hear the clinking of ceramic pieces being swept into a dustpan and then chucked into the trash. The silver lining is that they’re taking all my gift cards as payment for the broken cups!

“I’m a painter on a TV production company. I truly am a veteran. Lost my leg somewhere in Iraq. I came in here just for a cup of tea without sugar, how lame is that?”

“I’m sorry about your leg, but thank you for your service.” She says wincing a little. She recovers quickly. “I don’t like coffee either, this is more of Primrose’s addiction. The stuff makes me jittery and jumpy. I’m more of a hot chocolate kind of person.”

“Ditto!” I exclaim. “Dip some chunks of bread into the chocolate for a homier experience, and you’re in hot cocoa heaven!”

“Gotta try that, so much better than coffee!”

“Sure, hate on the drink all you want, but imagine the stories I’m going to tell my grand nephews and nieces about how their grandparents met!” Sing-songs Prim still wiping my hand with some rubbing alcohol infused gauze she apparently carries in her purse. “How romantic will that be?! They met at a coffee shop I dragged grandma Katniss to!”

“Prim…” Katniss mutters half hearted under her breath; both sisters glare at each other for a bit.

I have the distinct feeling this is a conversation they’ve had before and disagree upon.

In and effort to break the siblings staring contest, I dig around my brain for something to say, but instead of wit and charm, I come up with, “What’s your favorite color, Katniss?” Like a fifth grader or something.

She smiles and I feel all warm and tingly inside. “Green. How about yours?”

“Orange. Soft, like a sunset…”

“Mmm! Pretty.” She cocks her head, “What’s your biggest pet peeve?”

“Easy!” I say, “Starbucks microwaves all their pastries! That’s sacrilegious for guy who grew up in a bakery!”

Katniss laughs at that and I hope I can keep her laughing. We keep talking quietly until Primrose declares me ready to go. The cut is mainly superficial, and I won’t need stitches if I keep my injury from re-aggravating.

“So… how can I repay you ladies for the first aid care?” I ask them both smiling.

Primrose opens her mouth with a sly smile, “Take my sister out for a coff—“

“A burger!” Katniss cuts in. “I’ve had enough coffee for the day, but a burger with a chocolate milkshake would be awesome.”

I feel the smile unfurling slowly on my face. “I can do burgers and milkshakes.” I hope Primrose is a good storyteller, my grand babies deserve this story to be told epically.

[anothertccblog-blog]

May TC Challenge

As usual, sorry for inactivity! This time, though, I have a legitimate excuse! I have AP exams coming up this week (first is tomorrow) and next and I’ve been working hard! I have a moment now, though, and I decided that since this month will likely be very busy for me, I’m going to do the entire May challenge now just to make sure I finish everything. SO without further ado, the May TC Challenge!

1. Have you ever said something embarrassing to/in front of your TC?

I mean yeah, lots of times. Nothing comes to mind in particular, but I definitely remember having moments where I was super embarrassed that they overheard something. I think I blocked a lot of these out lmao.

2. When did you TC start teaching you? Does he/she still teach you?

B started teaching me in the fall of 2016, my sophomore year of high school. He no longer teaches me. P started teaching me in the fall of 2017, and will be my teacher until the end of this month.

3. Do you know anything about your TC’s childhood/youth?

Surprisingly, I know more about P than I do about B. I know he’s the youngest of 5 or 6, and I know he was a Boy Scout. The other day he told us about the time he took a shit behind his sister’s bed when he was two. I don’t remember how or why it came up in class, but that’s what sticks out the most when I think of his youth.

4. Describe your TC’s eyes.

The most beautiful hazel you’ll ever see. They change with the weather and the color he’s wearing; on sunny days, with lighter/brighter colors, they’re very pale and more green than brown; on cloudy days, with darker colors, they’re darker and much more of a brown shade. I think they give him character.

5. What’s your favorite outfit on him/her?

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but P is the long distance coach for our track and field team. So, he has this really nice black pullover that says the name of our school with the logo and “Track and Field” embroidered on the left breast. Usually on Fridays, he’ll wear that pullover with a pair of dark wash jeans and these grey and blue tennis shoes he has. He looks really nice in dark colors and I love the cut of the jeans, so that’s my favorite outfit.

6. How do you try to impress your TC?

A lot of times, I don’t really try. I don’t like to force it or feel like I’m trying too hard. Most of the time, I’ll just answer questions in class or joke around/banter with him because I know that’s what earns his respect.

7. Describe what you think your wedding would look like. What are you both wearing? Who’s invited? What’s for dinner?

It would be outside, first of all. Probably in a park. I’d want a more understated dress, natural makeup, my hair down and in loose curls. I think my bouquet would have roses, lilies, and hydrangea. Maybe I would braid some flowers into my hair, just to spruce it up a bit. He would wear a black tux with a red tie, to match the roses in the bouquet. My bridesmaids would be some of my best friends (the maid of honor would probably be my closest friend, I’ll call her C). His best man would be his best friend, who I’ve called K in the past, and his groomsmen would probably be his brothers. We both have large families and we both value them highly, so I think it would definitely be a very long list of guests. I would want steak and salad, and I’d want the cake to be marbled with chocolate frosting. The reception would be more casual and understated; I’d probably change into a different dress and he’d likely take off the suit jacket. My family is very... fun-loving when it comes to weddings, so I think we’d probably be out all night. I’d want our honeymoon to be in Italy or Ireland.

8. Have you ever caught him/her staring at you? How did you react?

I caught B staring at me once during class last year. We were doing a group assignment and he was sitting on one of the desks in front of my group, facing our direction. At one point I looked up and we made eye contact, and he seemed to be a little zoned out. I just kinda waved until he snapped out of it. As for P, I was in his room last Friday studying for psychology, and he was sitting at his desk. When I looked up from my notes we made direct eye contact, like he had already been looking, and I just blushed and looked away. I think that was just timed well, though, because there were a few of us there and he had been looking around the group.

9. If you would buy your TC socks, what would your chosen ones look like?

I actually have bought B socks before, for his birthday. They were blue with little amoebas on them, since he’s a science teacher. If I bought socks for P, they’d probably have some kind of sports logo on them, like the logo for his college or for the White Sox (his favorite baseball team).

10. If he/she visited your family for any reason and you’d have to cook, what would you cook?

Lasagna! My family is Italian so we have tons of pasta recipes passed down from past generations, and our family lasagna sauce is hella good.

11. If you lived together, would you rather have kids or pets with him/her?

Pets. I’m not big on kids. But I would definitely have kids with him if the time was right; he would be an amazing dad and I do like kids, don’t get me wrong, they’re just not my number one aspiration in life. Plus, we’d both be living on teachers’ salaries and I feel like I’d be concerned with supporting anything more than a dog.

12. What is your opinion on age gap relationships? Do you think a certain age gap isn’t good anymore?

I think as long as the parties are both consenting adults, it doesn’t really matter. Let people do what they want to do; they know what’s best for themselves.

13. What would you do if a friend told you she had a crush on your TC?

Outwardly, I’d probably express comfort/understanding. Inwardly, I’d probably be a little peeved. Luckily, P isn’t really ~super hot~ by any conventional means so I don’t think this would become a problem.

14. Do you know when your TC’s birthday is? How hold is he/she?

B’s is March 6 and he’s 45. P’s is sometime in September (I can’t remember the exact date off the top of my head) and he’s 28.

15. What would you do if he/she found your blog, knew it was about him/her but he/she was still trying to figure out whose blog it is?

Nothing. He’d figure it out in due time. I’m the only person taking both APUSH and psych. I’d let him come to me if he felt the need, and then I’d justify myself if need be, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to do anything suspicious.

16. If you were on a class trip with your TC and a friend of yours wasn’t feeling well in the middle of the night, would you be the one to knock on your TC’s door loudly and wake him/her? Would the sight of his/er sleeping face and pajamas be worth standing there in your own pajamas and with your sleepy face?

I’d probably try to resolve the friend’s problem myself, but if I really needed to get him I definitely would. And hell yeah, seeing him like that, hearing his voice all gravelly from sleep, would 300% be worth it.

17. Can you remember what happened in the last dream you had about your TC?

I remember something about aliens, but that’s about it.

18. Has your TC ever had a conversation about you with your parents? If yes, what did he/she say?

Yep! For parent/teacher conferences I sat in on his conference because I wanted to hear his praise comments. He said the usual joy to have in class/hard worker/etc. stuff.

19. Think of a song that reminds you of your TC and tell us your favorite line from it?

Whatever You Do by Brandi Carlile makes me think of B. My favorite line is  “There are days when I could walk into the ocean / With no one else but you to leave behind.”

As for P, In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel is a big one. My favorite line is “When I want to run away / I drive off in my car / But whichever way I go / I come back to the place you are.”

20. What has been the best mark you had in one of your TC’s tests? Did he/she say something to you about it/write something on it?

There have been tons of little things here and there. In APUSH, we wrote and in-class DBQ and like a dork he wrote “Boom! Nailed the intro!” For psych, one time he gave me a fist bump after I did really well on a multiple choice test and every time I score perfectly on a short answer he writes “Fridge” on the top (a direct quote as to why: “put it on your fridge ‘cause you did so well!”

21. Have you ever stalked your TC online?

I mean, I’ve done a Google search. I found his twitter and his engagement photos (and I’ll admit, I cried when I looked at those. Not my proudest moment.) His twitter is really adorable and cute though. He reblogs teacher memes.

22. Does your TC come to school by car/tram/bus? Do you know what car he/she has?

He does come by car, but I don’t know what kind it is. I think it’s black. He’s called it “reliable” in the past.

23. Did your TC ever change something on his/her appearance or wear something different that didn’t suit him/her?

Sometimes he’ll grow out some stubble and it looks hella good, but that’s generally the only real change aside from hair cuts.

24. Where do you think you’d live with him/her and what would the interior look like?

A little house, somewhere quaint, probably near his work/my college (luckily, I’m going to college close, so this wouldn’t be too hard to accomplish). I would want it to be very cozy and lived-in, but not overly cluttered.

25. Does your TC do any sports that you know of?

He does track and field, cross country, and basketball.

26. Does your TC bring coffee or tea to class? If yes, what does his/her cup look like?

He constantly has coffee in his hands. He has a ton of different mugs and stuff. He usually uses one with his college’s logo on it or one with our school’s logo on it.

27. 5 things that make him/her your ideal partner.

His passion, his kindness, his sense of humor, his genuineness, his stories.

28. A song, film, and book that you would recommend to your TC.

I would recommend Netflix Trip by AJR, A Quiet Place (dir. John Krasinski), and In Cold Blood by Truman Capote.

29. What do you think about the TCC and how has it helped you?

I think it’s pretty solid for the most part. It’s definitely given me an outlet and a place I can express myself. Of course, people have views that I don’t necessarily agree with, but that’s to be expected.

30. A new language you would love to learn together with your TC.

I’ve kinda been dying to learn Italian and I think it would be fun to swear at each other in it.

31. What does your TC smell like?

Not that I go around actively smelling him, but he smells a little fruity and very fresh/clean.

[lalka-laski]

Another Day, Another Dollar (and a survey to pass the time)

Coffee mugs, teacups, or water bottles? I collect kitschy mugs, most of which were souvenirs or gifts (for example, my sister’s boyfriend got me a mug with the ENTIRE script of Shrek printed on it. Amazing lol!). But I also love pretty teacups and I have several scattered around my apartment as decor. I even have this BEAUTIFUL tea set, hand-made and painted in Poland, that I’ve been meaning to display.  Bubblegum or cotton candy? If we’re talking flavoring, then NEITHER! The idea alone of bubblegum or cotton-candy flavored shit makes me gag.  How did your elementary school teachers describe you? I was quiet and not very social, but an exceptional student. I spent most of my free time reading books or writing my own stories. Pretty much an elementary teacher’s dream student!

Do you prefer to drink soda from cans, bottles or cups? My top choice across the board would be a cup with a straw. But I LOVE regular Coca-Cola from a can. It tastes so much better than Coke from a bottle or fountain machine for some reason. It’s sweeter and smoother with less of that painful carbonated burn.  Earbuds or headphones? Earbuds, just because headphones make me look like a dork. 

Movies or TV? TV shows are easier to fade in and out of, which is my preferred means of watching something.  Favorite smell in the summer? SUNSCREEN! It’s such a distinct and familiar smell that’s contained to only a teeny sliver of the year. I love smells like that.  Game you were best at in P.E./gym? It’s not a game but I was weirdly good at rock-climbing when we did that unit in high school?  What do you have for breakfast on an average day? Nothing. I love breakfast food, just not at breakfast time.  Name of your favorite playlist? I have this one playlist whose title is simply the sparkle/star emoji (creative, I know). It’s a lot of vibey, atmospheric jams that are the perfect soundtrack when I have people over just chilling and drinking.  Lanyard or key ring? Keyring, but a lanyard might make my life easier.  Favorite non-chocolate candy? Sourpatch Kids or any other type of sour gummy.  Favorite book you had to read for school? Dude. I was an English nerd who later became an English major and at one point in the semester was averaging 2 novels a week. I could never pick a sole favorite from all my years in school and I’d struggle to even pick a favorite from each class. But for the sake of this question I’m gonna rattle off a few that come to mind. From middle school through high school I loved The Outsiders, The Westing Game, TKAM, anything by Steinbeck, Jane Eyre, The Poisonwood Bible, The Virgin Suicides. 

AAAAAND I just started mentally listing my favorite books from college but got too overwhelmed. So I’m moving on to the next question now, thx!

Most comfortable position to sit in? Uh, I’ve never put much thought into that. 

Most frequently worn pair of shoes? It depends on the season. And to be honest, I’d rather go barefoot whenever possible.  Ideal weather? A little cool but sunny. I do love the rain but it hinders plans (and hair & makeup!) so I lean more towards sunny, dry days.  Pencils or pens? PENS ONLY. Pencils gross me out.  Obsession from childhood? Most of my childhood obsessions have carried over into adulthood: whimsical fairy tales and princesses (specifically Sleeping Beauty), the color pink, collecting diaries & journals...  Favorite crystal? Rose quartz, if that counts?  Favorite activity to do in warm weather? Swimming or laying by the pool/under a tree with a good book. And of course, I love me some day drinking on a summer day! Favorite activity to do in cold weather? Staying cozy inside, also with a good book and a good drink. See a theme here?  Five songs to describe you? Thursday’s Child- David Bowie She Talks to Angels- The Black Crowes Paradise- Coldplay Never Get You Right- Brandon Flowers Silver Lining- David Gray

Best way for someone to bond with you? Music and literature are my favorite ways to connect with a person. There’s nothing more intimate (and I mean that both in a romantic and platonic sense) than listening to a song or reading a poem/passage with someone and then discussing what it means to you.  Top 5 favorite Vines? I have many! “Road work ahead” is of course a fave. And there are so many more that I can’t think of right now.  Ads you have stuck in your head? None atm

Average time you fall asleep? Depends entirely on the night  What is the first meme you remember seeing? Yikes, I can’t remember. I’m sure it involved a cat?  Suitcase, duffel bag, or backpack? Suitcase with wheels  Lemonade or tea? Lemonade is my favorite non-alcoholic drink ever. I even named my childhood teddy bear “Lemonade.”  Last person you texted? Glenn  Jacket pockets or pants pockets? Jacket pockets, I never carry things in pants pockets. Favorite type of jacket? Jackets are my favorite item of clothing, so I’m a hoarder of cute jackets, blazers & coats!  Favorite scent for soap? Lavender & cedarwood from Bath & Body Works.  Sci-fi, fantasy, or superheroes? I don’t care much for either.  What clothes do you sleep in? Usually just a comfy tee shirt  Favorite type of cheese? Extra extra sharp cheddar (preferably white). So sharp it makes your jaw tingle!  What saying or quote do you live by? I’m trying to ask myself lately “What can I learn from this?” or “What can this offer me?”  What are you currently stressed about? For the most part, I’m in a good place. I feel aligned and centered and a HELL of a lot better than I’ve ever felt. My biggest struggles currently are related to body image, envy & self-worth, which is a lifelong battle for most, no?  Favorite font? Cabria or something like that?  What did you learn from your first job? Speaking up for yourself is difficult but it’s one of life’s necessary evils  Favorite fairy tale? Sleeping Beauty, of course! It’s an obsession.  Favorite tradition? That’s a difficult question because I’m SUPER sentimental and I have tons of personal & family traditions.  Talent you’re proud of having? Empathy

If you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? "Stop it!” exclaimed in disbelief or surprise.  If you were an anime character, what genre of anime would it be? I have no clue Character you relate to? Elle Woods (on my best days).  Favorite website from your childhood? I loved gurl.com and Alloy. I just checked to see if either still exist.... gurl now links to Seventeen (another favorite in my teen years) and Alloy links to Youtube? Odd.  Any scars? A very faint one. Actually it may not even be there anymore.  Favorite flower? Chrysanthemum  Any good luck charms? Like I said, I’m a very sentimental person. So I have several!  Least favorite flavor of food or drink? Well a question from earlier in the survey reminded me how much I ABHOR bubblegum or cotton candy flavored things. I’m also very picky about lemon. I love lemonade or lemon candies, but can’t stand the flavor in desserts or savory  dishes. So maybe I just like artificial lemon flavor?  Left or right handed? I’m right handed but always wished I was left-handed just because I thought it was cool.  Least favorite pattern? None come to mind immediately  Worst subject in school? Math of any sort. Chemistry was also wicked hard for me.  Favorite weird flavor combo? I don’t think anything I eat is that weird or abnormal  When did you lose your first tooth? No clue Favorite potato food? Hashbrown patties or curly fries. Not a huge fan of regular french fries, although that doesn’t stop me from eating them whenever the opportunity presents itself...  Gas station coffee or grocery store sushi? Weird options. But I don’t eat sushi and I actually love gas station coffee so there’s a clear winner here. 

Earth tones or jewel tones? Jewel tones Do you call them fireflies or lightning bugs? Fireflies

PC or console gaming? I don’t game

Writing or drawing? Writing Podcasts or talk radio? Podcast, I suppose. But I rarely find podcasts I enjoy. Most of the time it just seems like a person who likes the sound of their own voice rambling, or two or more people having a conversation that doesn’t need an audience.  Barbie or Polly Pocket? Barbie but Polly Pocket was still that bitch

Fairy tales or mythology? I’m partial to fairy tales but that doesn’t mean I find mythology any less fascinating. 

Cookies or cupcakes? Cookies all day Your greatest fear? Death or losing a loved one Your greatest wish? To find inner peace and happiness, to live a long life with my loved ones Who would you put before everyone else? My loved ones^ Wow I’ve used that phrases a lot in these past few questions.  Lamps, overhead lights, fairy lights, or sunlight? Fairy lights!!  Nicknames? Lil Bit/Libit, Lala, Enebis, Lala, Liz, Lizzie, Ela.  The name “Elizabeth” lends itself to a hell of a lot of nicknames haha!  Favorite season? Fall, probably. But I’ve grown to love Spring too as I’ve gotten older. Which is weird because it was always my least favorite growing up. I used to find it depressing but now I think it’s inspiring.  Favorite app on your phone? Snapchat probably  What is your desktop background? I’m on a work computer right now so it’s just our company logo How many phone numbers do you have memorized? Uhh.... very few.