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[goldsbitch]

That one Bologna drive

part 2 to That one Christmas flight (strongly recommend reading that one first! made me so happy you guys liked this one, so let's continue!)

summary: They were suppose to not look for each other. So of course they didn't.

warnings: crushing hard, swear words I guess, typos probably

PS: y'all gonna hate me

Lando really wanted to keep his promise not to search for her online. He enjoyed the mystery and the option to keep this little encounter as a nice "why if". Until he didn't.

With the only information he had being her first name and the fact she was a student at Bologna university his private burner account was truly burning up. He must have seen every account of the current Bologna alumni. It was strange being on the other side of these pseudo stalker fan games. There were moments where he deactivated his account, to stop him from doomscrolling. And then there were nights when he did nothing but that.

He was fed up with the emptiness and shallow lifestyle that followed him. His friends were surprised, when he started to carry classical literature books with him. Since he hated those looks, decision to really keep all of this to himself had been made. It felt like a pose sometimes - he did not have to prove anything to anyone, he was fine as he was. But a strange feeling of wanting something more is hard to navigate when the life around you seems dead set in the current ways.

Weeks passed by with his eyes fixed on one moment in particular. The Imola Grand Prix. It felt like a cruel joke when he realized this circuit was a mere hour away from Bologna.

Lando was not sure if he was supposed to be proud or scared when finally found her account. At this point, it was hard to find a better expert on the social life of that university town. But it would be a massive lie, if he said he did not sprint up from his chair when he saw her in one of her friends insta story. Tagged.

He nearly DM'd her about 20 times. But, this was not the way it was supposed to feel. No. It seemed like a way better plan to ride up to Bologna and hang out at what seemed to be her favorite cafe / bar in the centre. If it was meant to be, he would run into her and it could all be called a second lucky accident.

He had an average start of the season. Maybe Imola would bring him luck one way or the other.

//

His plan was to ride up there the evening after his first practice - then the team debrief dragged until late hours. He hit the wall on the second day - his team made sure he went through all and every medical check up, no matter how much he protested. Then there was this and than that and suddenly he realized the only possible evening would be the Sunday one. He requested the latest flight him team would allow.

Finishing fourth felt like a joke, even though it was his best finish this season. Missing the podium by a mere second was a cruel of a metaphor.

Once he managed to run through all his duties, exhausted as truly was, he hit the road.

Within a half an hour, he was in what seemed her most favorite cafe, sitting on a bar stool, ordering a glass of white wine.

She was nowhere to be found. His heart jumped when her friends came in and sat outside, lighting their cigarettes. Lando waited. He had to laugh at himself, pathetic as he was right now. By his luck lately, she was probably in her bedroom sleeping, or worse - on a date with some Italian fuck boy. Going up to her friends and asking was absolutely not an option - he wanted to surprise her, not scare her and creep her out.

He left the bar after one hour for a stroll around. He walked around the lively square filled with young people sitting on the ground and having the time of their life, the one he saw hundreds of times on his screen. Who knew, maybe she'd be around somewhere. Jealousy swept over him, envying those who were fortunate enough to keep her company right now at this very moment. After one hour he was back for a second glass. But this time he heard his name being called loudly immediately as he stepped inside. All of his tired muscles tensed up in disbelief. And to continue with the theme of pure luck - it was an ordinary fan. The surprised guy with a Mercedes t-shirt insisted on a photo and signature. Lando smiled, signed and went back to his car.

He probably needed this closure.

//

Y/N was a person who prided herself on her principles. So when she and the mystery boy from that Christmas flight agreed upon not looking each other up, she kept herself away from doing so. Exam season and university life got in the way, providing a great distraction.

Only when she went on a date with what seemed to be a lovely French physics student, she allowed herself to think back to her encounter with Lando. That's when her internal facade fell apart. She spent the whole date imagining Lando would appear. He'd sit at a different table, right in her view, and then once her date would go on the toilet, they'd run away like little kids would do. They'd sit in a local park and laugh while sharing a bottle of wine. She knew he was somehow famous. He heart crushed at the thought that she was probably overshadowed by girls way prettier than her.

And then, on a random afternoon during a first study session the weather allowed her and her friends to spend outside, in one of the university gardens, one simple conversation she accidentaly overheard from the people sitting nearby, caused her to loose the last chance of keeping the meeting with Lando intact.

"Yeah, Lando Norris. Way hotter than Leclerc, I must say."

"I still don't understand why you love formula 1."

"They just know how to sell the story."

Surely, they were not talking about Lando. "Sure, there must be thousands of well known people called Lando," Y/N replied to her own question.

She took this as a sign, gave up on her principles and went full ballistic on her research. Downforce, penalties, the teams history, qualifying, chequered flag.

Since she was so deep in, keeping her obsession to herself as she had no idea with whom she could possibly share this, she might as well ask her mom for tickets money. The idea that she knew that he was just an hour away and she would miss that was simply not on the table.

Formula 1 race in an event meant for groups of friends to share their passion. So sitting there on the stand alone felt a little bittersweet. She made sure to push down any thoughts about seeing him up close again, let alone talking to him. It was something that half of the people present would try to do. And risking having him look through her, or worse - not remembering her - was not something she wished to live through.

But she cheered for him, she really did. Anytime he passed around her stand she got up, she watched him on the screen during interviews and when it became clear, he would have his best result of the season so far here at Imola, she celebrated with all those around her. Feeling proud that he was doing good. There was an electrifying energy in the air which could not compare to the times she watched races in her room on her laptop. If he had been standing near to her, she knew he would say something to beat himself up for missing a podium. And if she was standing next to him, she would tell him that he is an idiot and should also celebrate.

He looked a bit off during the interviews. Probably the crash few days ago. Y/N stayed sitting there just a bit longer than an average fan would.

Probably to avoid traffic...

part 3

______________________________________________________

Tagged all those who like to suffer: @prudyhoo @anuksunamon @sagestack @esquerkaren @ushygushybaby @superlegend216

[urobourosnull]

Global DEFCON 1

[Chapter Two]

RESIDENT EVIL

DEVASTATION

In the busy urban sprawl of a grand cityscape, skyscrapers stand and dance throughout the concrete jungle land. As vehicles dash to and fro in all directions, the morning sun casts its brilliant light throughout the skyline. One particular car is being driven by a man with long, straight, brown hair, wearing a dark blue buttoned shirt with a black elastic-denim coat, black slacks and black dress boots.

His phone rings. He picks it up without looking and brings it close to his steering wheel so he can view the caller ID: “Claire Redfield”, he answers the phone.

“Hey Claire,” the man says with pleasant surprise, “What’s up?”

“So Leon,” Claire coyly responds, “I hear you’re on babysitting duty?”

Leon chuckles at the remark, “Yeah, a team of babysitters for VIP Michael Enslin, even if they have me on standby.”

“Wait, you’re not on frontline detail?”

“No,” Leon says with a sigh, “They said they wanted to have enough backup just in case anything happens, but they don’t need everyone on deck. So for now, I’m just on the back burner.”

“Oh, but you’re still in the area?”

“Yeah, I’m headed there now. Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well, I do have some important information that I need to discuss with you. How would you like to meet up at the cafe around the corner?”

“How close is it to the administration center?”

“You’ll be close enough to keep an eye on your VIP, don’t worry, Leon,” Claire mocks before switching back to a more casual tone again, “Besides, we always meet up under some pretty hectic circumstances. It would be nice to catch up with you. Remember what you said? Next time we bump into each other, let’s hope it’s someplace a little more normal. Well, I’m reaching out now while things are still pretty normal. So let’s hang out!”

Leon laughs, “Alright, when did you want to meet up there?”

“Right now, I’m already waiting.”

“Wait, what?”

“See you soon!” Claire says cheerfully before hanging up. Leon glances at his phone and chuckles to himself, “What a gal.”

As Leon pulls up to the cafe, he sees the administration center within visual range, and shakes his head with a smirk, “It’s almost like she planned this,” and continues inside.

Walking in, Leon sees the cafe is full of random people, one of which is a young woman with red hair only slightly younger than him, wearing a red buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans, and motorcycle boots, all while she’s holding a binder of files. She looks up and notices Leon with a smile and asks, “How’s everything going?”

“Been better,” Leon sits down in front of her, “But at the same time, been worse. You already know, we can’t complain too much.”

“I get it. Surviving Raccoon City makes everything else a walk in the park!”

“Is that how *you* feel about it, Claire?”

“Yeah. I mean, for the most part…” Claire starts to trail off a little before slightly shaking her head, “But we’re not here for that.”

“Hmm?” Leon questions silently.

Claire opens her binder of files, “There’s been some activity and I want to see what you think about it.”

“Okay…?” Leon responds with his voice full of obvious confusion. This is one of the few times that he ever sees Claire outside of a life-or-death scenario, usually it’s after another apocalypse-type situation and never long enough to truly experience the “real” her.

“TerraSave has been conducting some of its own investigations into a few different matters,” Claire slowly begins while flipping through pages in her binder. After a while, she slips out what is clearly an aerial surveillance photograph of a larger man, taken at an angle, and shows it to Leon, “Does this guy look familiar to you at all?”

Leon examines the laminated image that Claire has slid over the table to his side. The man in the photo appears to be of Slavic descent of some sort. Nothing in particular stands out to him.

“Sorry,” Leon responds honestly, “Never seen him.”

Claire sighs in response but quickly spits out, “That’s okay, this is Igor Barkov. He’s supposed to be some big financier, but we don’t know much else. He was last seen a week ago having talks with known terrorist cells.”

“Sounds pretty deep, what connection lead you to him?”

Before Claire could answer, everyone hears two muffled pops that seemingly came from across the street. Everyone’s heads dash in different directions, wondering what the sound was and where it came from. Leon is focused on one particular window of the building across the street.

“Hold that thought,” Leon says before getting up to leave the cafe. Claire, still somewhat shocked and very confused, puts all of her files back in her binder and quietly mutters to herself, “What the hell is going on?”

Approaching the building, Leon noticed the entry door begins to spew out a group of what appear to be Russian soldiers wearing balaclavas and helmets with a dark grey pattern camo of uniform. They’re rushing out of the building and into a van that is parked as close to the building as possible. The scene causes Leon to mouth the words, “What the hell” to himself before ducking behind a car with his hand on his gun, keeping it holstered but ready for a fight. He peeks up again and takes a mental note of the license plate: 2O4-86E.

As the van speeds off, Leon moves over to stay out of its sight until he watches it turn away, but notices that it turned toward the administration center. Standing up and walking towards the building’s entrance, Leon speaks into a radio on his chest that is attached to his torso holster, “Condor One to Roost.”

“Go Condor One,” a friendly voice returns, “This is Roost.”

“Hunnigan, I’ve witnessed some suspicious activity. A van full of soldiers wearing dark grey just came piling out of a building. I’m going in to investigate, but they sped off and are headed towards the admin building, plate is Two-Oscar-Four-Eight-Six-Echo, how copy?”

“Full copy, I’ll notify patrols. Leon, please be careful.”

“Understood, Hunnigan, thanks. Try not to miss me. Leon out.”

Entering the doorway, Leon visually scans the area and even checks behind him back towards the street multiple times, trying to avoid getting any unwanted surprises, before pulling out his gun.

The gun itself is an all black handgun of compact size with a small engraving of a deer and the word “Blacktail” next to it on the front part of the slide, near the end of the barrel. Checking the chamber, Leon says to himself, “Let’s do this,” and goes further into the building.

Going through the hallways and checking the rooms, Leon keeps his handgun at the ready, confirming and trying to avoid potential sight lines. One room has its door already open, and when Leon begins to enter it, the smell of spent gunpowder invades his nostrils as he sees a group of bodies on the floor.

5 men in suits lay dead with one dead soldier in grey. As Leon enters the room, empty shell casings roll around from his dress boots. Leon can piece together what happened. The 5 men are all joint operatives from different agencies to protect VIP Michael Enslin.

“Hunnigan, come in,” Leon speaks into his radio, calmly defeated into sorrow, the mourning clear in his voice, “We’ve got casualties.”

“What happened?!”

“Looks like our boys were ambushed in this small room, the enemy lost one of their own in the fight, but our team bit the dust. Good men here. Lieutenant Townsend, Sergeant Kaufman, Staff Sergeant Mason, Commander Gillespie, Colonel Sullivan. These men had extensive careers in their respective branches…” Leon pauses before concern washes over him, “Actually, these are some pretty big names here. Hunnigan, what do they want with Mr. Enslin?”

“No idea, but I’ll try to look into it and I’ll let you know if I find anything. Keep me updated, Leon.”

“Will do.” As Leon examines the aftermath, he slowly looks up and notices that he can easily see the admin building from the window, and the van he’d seen earlier is barreling towards it still. Just below the window that he’s looking through, he sees a bomb attached to the wall. Panic overrides him as he dashes out of the room and back towards the entrance, grasping at his radio.

“HUNNIGAN, GET—“

An explosion rips apart the wall and sends clouds of debris all over the inside and outside of the building. Outside, Claire is shocked at the eruption and beckons for her friend. “Leon! Oh my God, Leon!” Running inside the partially destroyed building, she pulls out her handgun, a small CZ 83 chambered in .380 ACP, and readies it while calling out Leon’s name.

Following the destruction, Claire finds Leon, breathing and moving and thankfully alive and mostly uninjured, starting to get up from laying down into a sitting position, wiping some of the dust off of himself. “Leon! Are you okay?!”

Leon starts to cough a little bit before responding, “Guess I didn’t get the demo memo.”

“That was stupid,” Claire responds with a chuckle, “but I’m glad you’re alive. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Leon grunts while getting up, speaking into his comms, and rolling up the sleeves of his jacket, “Hunnigan…”

“Leon!” Hunnigan excitedly shouts back, “What happened?!”

“Our guests left a bad review and blew up at me, but I’m fine. Listen, I need you to notify Birdhouse Alpha.”

“I’ve been trying since that explosion just now,” Hunnigan answers with a worried tone, “But I haven’t been able to connect to them. There’s no telling how long the connection’s been cut, I can’t even contact the CO!”

“The commanding officer’s been…?”

“I don’t know if anyone has been compromised or terminated, but since you’re still alive, I need you to go check it out while I try to contact reinforcements! Sorry to push all of this onto you, but you’re my eyes and ears right now!”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll handle it. I’m getting used to things going wrong.”

Claire springs up with determination, “I’ll help!”

Leon looks at her, their mutual escape from Raccoon City immediately blaring into his mind. He tends to give her credit for being the survivor because even though he survived the same incident with her, he has no idea what she went through during their time apart during that nightmare, and assumes she must have had it worse than him. It may have been their shared nightmare, but since she still counts as a civilian, the rookie cop part of Leon still wants to give her the praise for standing up to the plate when she shouldn’t have had to. He signed up for this, she didn’t. At least, that’s how Leon thought of it. She was just trying to find her brother, and even though she eventually did, he wasn’t in Raccoon City, which made Leon feel a bit sorry for her that she went to Raccoon City for her brother when he wasn’t even there, even if she did find out there and still eventually found him. The horrible atrocities that they witnessed, experienced, and escaped from were nothing short of hell itself.

Leon’s only response to Claire as she stood there steadfast in her decision, driven by her desire to help others, was a simple yet deeply meaningful, “I believe in you.”

With a smirk, she smacks his arm, “You’re not too bad yourself,” and they both head towards their vehicles to get to the admin center.

As they run, Claire asks, “So what exactly happened in there?”

“Clown car of soldiers in grey, killed some of our guys, now we have to stop them from killing Enslin.”

“Why do they want to kill him?”

“Don’t know yet, but I’m not sure I want to find out.”

With this, they slightly part ways so that Leon can get in his car while Claire gets on her motorcycle as they both speed off towards the admin center. While driving there, Leon acknowledges that he has no visual on the van and the concern in him grows even deeper. He pulls up to the admin center as Claire does, and both disembark and begin searching for VIP Enslin. As they search, Leon reaches for his mic, “Hunnigan, come in.”

Leon hears only static in response. Leon figures it out, “There must be something jamming the area…”

Looking around, Leon sees the VIP and his men up ahead and runs up the steps to speak with them. “Mr. Enslin,” Leon addresses the VIP as he walks up, but a nearby officer stops him Leon before he can say anything.

“What’s your business with Mr. Enslin?”

“It’s alright, Sebastian,” Mr. Enslin reassures the officer, “Mr. Leon Kennedy, this is Detective Sebastian Castellanos, both of you are officers so there’s no need for suspicion between you two.”

“Sir, there appears to be a major security problem going on.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Mr. Enslin responds, laying heavy on the sarcasm, “Our comms are down and you turn up looking like a hot mess, no wonder shit is fucked up.”

“Your comms aren’t down, sir,” Leon explains, “They’re being jammed. We need you to evacuate.”

Just as Leon says this, everyone hears a massive explosion down the street, near where Leon came from. Everyone’s heads turn towards the explosion. A small building begins to fall as a thick, slow, green mist fills the damaged area. Leon sees people trying to escape, and the ones that don’t make it are immediately slumped to the ground. His eyes stay focused on these bodies, praying that what he’s grown used to happening isn’t about to happen again. VIP Mike Enslin is being escorted inside the admin building by his security personnel, but none of them exist to Leon in this moment. As they scatter and hustle around him, fumbling to maintain themselves and keep their heads cool in this situation, Leon’s worst nightmares come true once again.

The first body begins to move on its own. First minor twitching, then it gathers itself in a deadly calm, and stands up like nothing had happened. The reanimated corpse looks over at the admin building, seeing the living flesh cowering in fear, and begins to shamble towards them. The thing’s body didn’t even look mangled or injured, the body itself seemingly died of asphyxiation as the skin has turned that deathly purple hue of a husk with no essence to fill its flesh any longer. This body is fresh, so fresh that it almost still looks like a living human. Mankind turned man-eater, while maintaining that visage.

Horrified as Leon was to see something like this again, he regains himself and snaps back into action, helping to escort VIP Mike Enslin inside. Whatever is happening, Mr. Enslin is still Leon’s top priority. He’s got a job to do, and his sense of duty will not allow him to falter, no matter the risks. This was the beginning of yet another nightmare.

Rushing up behind him, Claire grabs Leon’s back and says, “I’m here!” and as they get to the door being held open by Detective Castellanos, Leon confirms that Enslin is inside as well, lets Claire in past him, and takes one last look at the horrors outside, the army of the dead slowly approaching, before Sebastian slams the door with everyone inside.

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[artificialqueens]

Not Nineteen Forever (21) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex) - Ortega

a/n: omg i’m emotional. guys, welcome to the last chapter of n19f. this fic has been the absolute best fun to write and i truly love these girls and the journey they’ve been on so much. big big huge thanks and love to every single person that’s ever left a note, hit reblog or left me lovely anons, DMs, comments or tags, they’ve all meant the absolute world to me and i love u so much. obviously i can’t let things go, so keep an eye out for some form of sequel coming in the next few months or so (patience is a virtue xo). for one last time…….let’s go, lesbians!!!!!!!

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

tw: bit of weed in this one. no zoos, dw xo

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: the girls all went to the beach, Scarlet and Yvie made plans for after uni, and Scarlet got the degree classification she so desperately wanted.

this chapter: it’s Brooke’s graduation day.

***

Brooke looked around at the chaos that was their kitchen. The kitchen utensils (which were all Nina’s that she and Yvie had shamelessly used as if they were their own over the 2 years they’d lived together) were wrapped up in bubble wrap and packed neatly into cardboard boxes which sat on top of the dining table. Yvie’s kitchenware- a blue bowl with a chip out of it, a huge white plate, a Tigger mug, and a mismatched fork, knife and spoon- had been inelegantly packed into an orange Sainsbury’s bag and left on the counter. Brooke had already packed up her own belongings and had moved them into a corner of her room so they wouldn’t take up space in the already-tiny kitchen. All their store cupboard food was in the process of being packed up for the foodbank, which was inevitably going to be flooded with the discarded super noodles, tinned soups and flavoured teas of the migrating tenants of student flats.

Yvie let out a snort from her position in front of their food cupboards, and Brooke’s heart gave a twinge at seeing them so empty. Top shelf had been hers: pasta, rice, stock cubes, and emergency maple syrup tin. The middle shelf was Nina’s: loaf of white bread, tins of tuna, ryvita, breadsticks, crisps. And Yvie’s food had occupied the bottom shelf: chocolate digestives, Ainsely Harriott cous cous, peanut butter, and sour patch kids. All gone. Except, Brooke noticed, for a jar of Marmite which had sat on the middle shelf and that Yvie was holding in her hand.

“Whose was the Marmite?” she asked, an amused tone to her voice. Nina shrugged from her position on the sofa.

“I’ve never once eaten Marmite.”

“It’s on your shelf, girl,” Yvie shrugged, her eyebrows questioning. Nina gave another shrug.

“I know. It’s always lived there. I swear to God it just turned up one day and I left it there. Thought it was one of yours because Christ knows you’re both too lazy to put it on your own damn shelves,” Nina reprimanded them both. Brooke laughed.

“You know you’re going to regret being so mean to us when you don’t live with us any more and we’re adults and it takes 9 months to clear our schedules for one singular coffee,” she raised her eyebrows at her flatmate as Nina pouted and let out a groan, held out her arms for a hug which Brooke fell into.

“Don’t! This is already too heartbreaking, I can’t believe we only have two days left here.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually organised with this moving out process.”

“I can’t believe we have a phantom jar of Marmite that nobody’s claiming,” Yvie piped up, peering at the jar with interest. “Brooke, you like this shit, right?”

“Marmite is Satan’s black fecal matter and I’m offended you think I eat it,” she deadpanned, shifting to get comfy in Nina’s lap whilst attempting to be as inconvenient as possible to her friend.

“Get the hell off me. Only my girlfriend is allowed to sit on me for so long that I lose feeling in my legs,” Nina huffed, shoving at Brooke until she relented and sat beside her. It didn’t stop her from putting her cold feet on her bare thigh though, and Nina hissed and jumped away. “I take it all back. I’m not going to miss either of you idiots at all.”

“You’re a crap liar,” Yvie smiled smugly, binning the Marmite and joining the two girls on the sofa, squeezing in between them both. “Awh, guys…it’s the end of an era.”

Brooke suddenly felt tears prick at her eyes out of nowhere. “Shut up. We’ve still got tomorrow and the next day.”

“Yeah, but tomorrow you’re gonna be doing graduation-y shit and then it’s moving day!” Nina protested. Her voice grew small, dropping to a murmur. “It’s kind of like it’s our last day.”

The girls fell silent. Yvie let out a huge puff of air from her lungs. “Don’t tell anyone I said this but I’m gonna miss you girls so fucking much.”

“Awh, Yves. I’ll miss you too,” Nina sighed, burying her face into Yvie’s shoulder and curling her arms around one of Yvie’s. “But this is good! Change is good, even if it’s scary and different. And you’re gonna be living with Scarlet! That’s exciting!”

“How’s the flat hunting going?” Brooke asked Yvie, who had a little smile on her face. Brooke didn’t know if Yvie knew that she always began to smile a little whenever Scarlet was mentioned. She wasn’t going to mention it to her. She would maybe mention it to Scarlet.

“Like I’d rather shit in my hands and clap,” Yvie groaned, running her hands down her face. “It’ll be fine, though. We’ve got a while. Her lease isn’t up until August so we’ve got a few weeks to keep looking and in the meantime I’ll just stay with her in that Dickensian death trap she calls a flat.”

The girls let out a laugh, Brooke resting her head on Yvie’s shoulder too. There was a small silence.

“At least you and Monet are sorted,” Yvie spoke again, Nina nodding in agreement. Buoyed by how well Yvie’s suggestion to Scarlet had been received, Nina had been determined not to fuck up another relationship milestone with Monet and had asked her to move in with her as well. The answer had been an emphatic yes, and the pair of them had used their terrifying teacher-levels of organisation skills to find a cute two-bed flat in a nicer, only slightly more expensive part of the city. They both knew their relationship was still new and fragile, so they’d agreed a room each was a good idea to give them their space when they each needed to work or wanted a bit of time on their own to simply do nothing. Brooke knew the two girls were joined at the hip though so they probably didn’t need that sort of contingency plan, but it was a sensible decision nonetheless.

“I can’t wait to get the keys and just vomit up a bunch of fairy lights and candles in every possible room,” she beamed, excitement radiating out of every pore. “It’s going to be so fun- we’re going to take turns cooking, and build pillow forts, and blast our songs on a Sunday morning and clean the whole place-”

“Fuck. Adulthood’s fully got you. Brooke, quick, if we run we can still save ourselves,” Yvie deadpanned, Nina giving her a whack as Brooke laughed.

“I personally can’t wait to go round and visit at every available opportunity. I’m going to move in,” Brooke smiled, and Nina gave another sad kicked-puppy pout.

“I wish. Canada is so far away,” she sighed, a little knife going through Brooke’s heart at the thought of moving back. She didn’t want to think about it, but it was just inevitable. It was happening, and it was fact. She was going back to Canada. She didn’t really know what she was doing, she hadn’t found herself a flat, and she didn’t have a job to earn money and pay the rent with even if she had, so she was flying home.

She really didn’t want to think about leaving. She didn’t want to think about leaving the city, constantly busy with tourists and families and drunk students and Very Important Working Adults. She didn’t want to think about leaving the park, with the cherry blossom trees that lined every path and fond memories of barbecues and picnics and drinking in the sun with the girls. She didn’t want to think about leaving uni- because as stressful as all hell her degree had been, she’d loved studying fashion design, loved making prototypes, loved learning about something she loved, even though her degree was fuck all use to her trying to get an actual job. She didn’t want to think about leaving the flat: the shower with its drippy head, the hob with the one gas burner that didn’t work, the carpet in her room with the incongruous red faded stain, the fucking Sports Direct mug. The girls that she loved so much her heart felt sore if she thought too much about it: Nina singing obnoxiously early as she got ready for placement, Yvie making the kitchen into a war zone trying new recipes, the ridiculous squabbles they got into about the washing up, pre-pre-drinks where they shared a bottle of pink Gordon’s and splashed mixers into their mismatched glasses and sang along to Ariana Grande at the top of their lungs.

Tears stung at her eyes again, and she swallowed the big lump in her throat to shoo them away. It was too late though, as Nina had seen her glassy eyes and reached over to hug her. Her own voice was thick with tears as she spoke.

“Oh, girls,” she let out a shaky breath, Brooke giving up the fight as she felt her own tears drop down onto her hoodie. “Change is good…but it’s shit.”

“Fuck you both, I’m not crying,” Yvie said, her breathing all shuddery and letting them both know that was a lie. The girls all sat and held each other as they wept quietly, mourning the death of their student careers and this life they’d lived for three years that they’d all too often taken for granted.

Brooke was the first to dry her tears, giving one decisive sniff and sweeping under both her eyes with determination. “Right. I’m putting a stop to this, we’re not spending our kind-of last night in the flat sitting crying like a bunch of babies. We’re going to order food, get high as St Peter’s balls and watch shitty game shows that make us yell at the TV. Okay?”

She was happy that Yvie and Nina both snorted a weepy laugh and nodded at her. “Okay.”

And the three girls did just what Brooke had suggested. There was, however, bickering about where they should order from. Yvie wanted sushi from the tiny little place tucked away in a back street that did bento boxes with prawn katsu and salmon maki which were like little rice parcels of heaven. Nina wanted Chinese from their favourite takeaway that delivered from out in the suburbs and where, for about fifteen points all in, you could get a banquet of sweet and sour chicken in sticky red sauce, crispy golden salt and chilli chips with huge red jewels of chilli and slices of garlic, chicken fried rice in a rich Cantonese gravy which bound everything together and chow mein with soft spring onion slices and huge chunks of onions all tossed in soy sauce. Brooke’s selection won in the end though as her argument was the strongest- “I might not taste any of this again, Canada is a long fucking journey, okay?!”- so they ordered burritos and chips and salsa from the incredibly-overpriced-but-worth-it burrito bar on campus. They finished the last of the weed that had been wrapped in tin foil and cling film and shoved to the back of the broom cupboard along with the bong, and they made horrifying cocktails from the dregs of their leftover spirits and mixers. The burritos arrived and they stuck Challenge TV on and shouted at the Catchphrase contestants who couldn’t get the most obvious fucking catchphrases Brooke had ever seen in her life.

The evening was perfect.

They talked about Brooke’s graduation tomorrow, Nina and Yvie both saying how proud they were of her. Brooke was glad she had the girls, since her Mum’s flight over to see her graduate had been cancelled because of freak winds back in Canada. Brooke had already cried to her over facetime about it, but Yvie had managed to find the link to the livestream that was only meant to be shown on campus, and she’d sent Brooke’s Mum the link so Brooke knew she would be watching even if she couldn’t properly be there. As soon as they’d heard the news, the girls had all agreed on the group chat to set up camp in the union and watch the livestream (as Brooke and Plastique would be graduating at the same ceremony) and then take photos with them both afterwards outside the great hall as if they were a gaggle of proud Mums. Even though it wouldn’t be what she’d planned, Brooke was still looking forward to it.

It was around midnight before Brooke took herself off to bed, and just as she got cosy underneath the duvet her phone lit up with a notification. She couldn’t help the smile that involuntarily shot to her face when she realised it was Vanessa.

V: hey what’s ya fav Kanye West album mine is GRADUATION!!!!!!! How you feelin about tomorrow boo? xxxxxx

Brooke let out a laugh, muffling it too late with her hand when it came out louder than expected. Christ, she loved the girl so much.

B: Kanye West is a misogynist pig and i won’t stand for him xxxxxx

B: Stronger is a bop though xxxxxx

V: You got that one right xxxxxx

B: And I’m good! Big jumble of feelings. Big happy/sad vibes xxxxxx

V: I know it’s bittersweet af xxxxxx

V: Me n Scar just held each other and cried once the ceremony was over xxxxxx

Vanessa and Scarlet had graduated last week, as had their other friends. Brooke and Plastique’s graduation date was the latest and so they were graduating last. She didn’t mind that, though. The longer she could stay being a student the better.

B: Lol we just had a big cry as a full flat xxxxxx

V: Don’t lmao idk what we gonna be like when our lease is up xxxxxx

Brooke scrolled up and looked at all the texts they’d exchanged from the past two months, the same signature of six kisses at the end of them all. They hadn’t really spoken about where they were relationship-wise since the night in the library. Maybe Vanessa didn’t want to. Maybe it was for the best. Brooke’s heart hurt as she realised she was going to be on the other side of the world in a matter of days, and maybe Vanessa didn’t want to see her ever again. She frowned at her own thoughts before tears had a chance to start welling in her eyes again. It had been good to truly get back to where she’d been before with Vanessa- just texting random garbage, having deep chats about the future, being ever-so-slightly flirty with each other. She thought about confronting the issue head on over text, but it wasn’t the medium through which to have that kind of conversation.

As if Vanessa could read her mind, however, another text came through.

V: When do you fly back again? 20th? xxxxxx

Brooke’s heart felt sore.

B: 12th xxxxxx

V: oh right

Brooke’s pulse froze at the lack of kisses. Her fingers ghosted over her screen, trying to figure out what to type. Vanessa sorted the problem for her.

V: fuck I wish you weren’t leaving xxxxxx

Brooke’s heart swelled up then popped. Was this the time? No. But their time was running out, she knew that much. Maybe she could see her before she left. She’d see her after her graduation anyway.

B: I wish I wasn’t either xxxxxx

B: But you’re coming tomorrow yeah? Xxxxxx

V: Wouldn’t miss it for the world baby xxxxxx

Fuck, she would miss her so much. She’d already told Vanessa how much she meant to her, just how fucking incredible she was in every way, and yet Brooke felt like doing it again.

She didn’t, because it would be too weird. But she wanted to more than anything.

V: You gonna look so beautiful and clever tomorrow I just know it xxxxxx

Brooke smiled to herself, blushing on her own at the compliment. Vanessa seemed to be firing risky texts to her left right and centre, so Brooke took a risk of her own.

B: Not as beautiful as you xxxxxx

She almost threw her phone away once she’d sent it. A reply came back almost instantly.

V: Stop with the lies xxxxxx

She was leaving in two days so she sent another risky one, caution truly pissed into the wind.

B: You’re honestly the most beautiful girl in the world xxxxxx

At that point Brooke put her phone face down on her bedside table and decided to sleep, her heart full of butterflies and her thoughts filled with the ridiculously massive crush she had on the girl she’d been idiotic enough to let go the first time.

When Brooke woke up, her phone was blowing up with messages. The one she checked first was from Vanessa in reply to the one she’d sent last night, and was simply a series of heart eye emojis. The next one she opened was a text from her Mum, paragraphs of pride and love for her daughter that made Brooke want to cry already. The others were all from the chat- Silky, Akeria, Vanessa, Scarlet, Yvie and Nina all spamming it with messages of luck and love for her and Plastique, and promising they’d be watching the screen and waiting outside for them when the ceremony was done.

Brooke got ready in a dream-like haze. She took her smart black tailored dress out of the cupboard where it had been hanging for the past month, the garment more ready for graduating than she was. She showered then dried her hair, curling it and brushing out so it made waves down her back. She put on her makeup- browns and nudes with only the tiniest bit of highlight. When she stepped into her dress and heels and looked at herself in front of the mirror, she hardly recognised herself.

She looked like an adult. A woman with her life stretching out in front of her, ready to be whatever she made of it.

Brooke phoned a taxi- it was raining just a little, even though it was already July- and pulled on a smart black coat when she saw it pull up outside, dashing carefully down the steps of the stairwell and out into the new day.

Graduation wasn’t til 11, but Brooke had arranged to meet up with Plastique beforehand anyway, just so they could be excited together. When Brooke pulled up at the taxi rank outside the square and the huge ceremony hall, she could see Plastique and her Mum there already, standing bickering amongst the growing gaggle of students and families. The sight only hurt Brooke a bit, until she remembered the girls would all be watching, and her Mum would be watching too no matter how far away. It would, after all, be about one and a half hours of waiting for Brooke to walk across the stage, take a scroll and shake a hand, and then it would all be over.

It was scary to think that that was all that was separating her and the adult world.

Trying not to get too deep and to instead just enjoy the day, Brooke excitedly paid the driver and dashed out of the taxi, Plastique spotting her running towards her and giving an excited squeal. She opened her arms out for a hug which Brooke crashed into.

“Bitch! How are you!” Plastique cried, Brooke only squeezing her tightly in response. “I’m so excited! And sad. And excited! And emotional.”

“Yeah, I can tell!” Brooke teased, Plastique laughing as she stepped out of the hug and gestured to her Mum, dressed very glamorously in a blue dress, blue heels and a pink fascinator. The occasion didn’t really call for it but Plastique’s Mum was always one to embrace the potential glamour in every situation, and so she had gone all out.

“You’ve met my Mum, right?” Plastique smiled. Brooke nodded and waved her a hello. She’d met her once at their second year showcase, the woman keeping her in stitches with her hilarious stories.

“I have! Nice to see you again, Alyssa.”

Alyssa, throwing formalities out of the window, instead pulled Brooke into a crushing hug. “And you too, my angel! Awh, Lord, ‘Tique told me all about your Mama’s flight. My heart is absolutely breakin’ for you, honey. I would’ve sent a plane over for her but nobody’s flying out of there come hell or high water.”

Brooke suppressed a laugh, finding it unbelievable that “I’ll just get her a plane” was on Alyssa’s list of options. “It’s okay Alyssa. Thank you, though. She’s going to watch the live stream, Yvie hooked her up with a link.”

“Well I’ll be your Mama just for today, girl. I am so proud of you both!” Alyssa cried, putting both her hands on Plastique’s shoulders and sighing. “Look at my intelligent daughter, out here gettin’ degrees and lookin’ so beautiful at the same time.”

Plastique smiled at her Mum lovingly, the two of them sharing one last hug before she and Brooke took themselves off to pick up their robes. It was surreal actually wearing the gown, all billowing and black, and helping each other fix their hoods, light blue with fringes of pink. They went to get their graduation photos taken, Brooke surprised that they were given a prop degree to hold as she’d always thought it was her actual degree she’d be holding. She laughed as Plastique moaned to her about not being able to see the photo until it got mailed to her, and the fact that her Mum ordered about twenty four copies so even if it was horrible she wouldn’t ever be able to escape it. Alyssa texted Plastique to tell her she’d gone into the hall to get a good seat, so her and Brooke decided to just go and sit ready anyway. They had to say goodbye to each other briefly until the end of the ceremony, as everyone had to sit in alphabetical order. As she waited for the ceremony to begin, Brooke scanned the huge crowds all seated in the hall’s three tiered levels. Her eyes fell on each empty seat and her heart broke a little more each time she saw one.

Nobody she truly loved would see her graduate in person. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t absolutely gutted. But at least she had Plastique, and of course, Alyssa.

Before she knew it, the ceremony had begun. She tried to pay attention to the Dean’s address and the chamber choir singing in Latin but she couldn’t help feeling like a 16-year-old in her school assembly, bored and just full of anticipation. Eventually, the awards began. Brooke clapped for all the other students crossing the stage, her eyes trained on the way they walked. She swallowed down the panic she felt, banished the thought of tripping over to the back of her mind. It reached Plastique’s turn, and she gave a huge cheer as her friend walked across the stage with all the grace and poise of a supermodel. She could hear Alyssa’s voice shouting from the balcony- “That’s my baby! That’s my girl!”- and, for a moment, she thought she heard the yell of a voice she knew all too well.

No. That was crazy. She must have imagined it.

E in the alphabet turned to F, then G, and eventually, H. Brooke didn’t have many others to sit through, and eventually there was only one girl separating her and her degree. The moment these three years had led up to, finally being lived out.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.”

She heard her name and smiled as she walked carefully across the stage, shaking the Dean’s hand tightly and collecting her scroll all wrapped up in its little embossed tube. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she walked to the other side, heard the claps, heard the cheers, and heard…

“Love you, Brooke Lynn!”

Stop.

“Go Brooke! Love you, girl!”

It was her. It was actually her. Vanessa’s voice, soaring above the crowd and reaching Brooke like an arrow.

What the fuck was she doing here, at her actual graduation ceremony? As Brooke dismounted the stage she scanned the room like a meerkat, the place far too packed to distinguish Vanessa from any other of the little blobs of people sitting in each row. But she knew it was her. Vanessa had seen her graduate, had seen her collect her degree and had cheered for her.

Brooke didn’t know how she’d managed to get a ticket - they were all reserved for families- but she suddenly couldn’t wait for the ceremony to end.

She didn’t have long to wait, as time flew by and everything was over before it could all sink in. Brooke and Plastique emerged from the hall to the crowds outside and, just as they had promised, the girls all rushed forward to crush them in ridiculously tight hugs, Silky yelling at the top of her lungs how proud she was of them both and Akeria shaking a bottle of five pound cava until the cork opened easily and sprayed the fizz all over the two girls. Brooke clung to Plastique and laughed, unable to stop the smile that was plastered on her face.

“I can’t believe it! You both did it, congratulations!” Scarlet cried cheerfully, Brooke pulling her into another hug.

“Did you see me shaking when I walked across the stage? I thought I was going to trip and fall off the damn thing!” Brooke laughed, the other girls all laughing too.

“You looked like a confident, graceful, successful queen,” Nina told her, Brooke wanting to cry at her friend’s compliment. “And you are all of those things! Fuck, I can’t believe we’ve all graduated now. What the hell are we going to do?!”

“Aw, let’s not think about that,” Akeria shushed her, a proud smile on her face. “Well done, ladies. We’re all proud of you. You did that shit.”

Plastique hugged and thanked them all again before making her excuses, saying she’d be right back, and dashing off to Alyssa. As she left, Yvie took Brooke’s hand and squeezed it.

“So, have you not got some big, teen-movie speech to make, or something?” she quipped. Brooke frowned, looking at her with confusion. The rest of the girls all waited for the penny to drop excitedly, and Brooke saw Akeria’s eyes land on someone just over her shoulder. Brooke turned around and, through the crowd, saw Vanessa waiting beside the hall. Their eyes met, and Brooke could see her try and then fail to suppress the smile on her face. Brooke turned back to the girls, pointing over her shoulder at the girl waiting for her.

“How did…you were all-”

Akeria rolled her eyes, gave her a gentle shove. “Go get your fuckin’ girl, idiot.”

Brooke hardly had to be told twice. She turned around, took two steps, then three, then four, until she realised she was almost jogging over to where Vanessa stood. And suddenly she was in front of her- her hair wavy and falling over her shoulders, her outfit exactly what any graduation guest would be wearing- a smart red dress that accentuated Vanessa’s collarbones and dark eyes and the bright white of the smile she was flashing Brooke’s way.

“Hey,” Brooke began, faltering slightly. She didn’t know where to start, so she chose the obvious. “You were there.”

“Yep!” Vanessa smiled at her proudly.

“How did…how?” Brooke stuttered out, still completely at a loss. Vanessa let out a laugh, charming beyond anything Brooke had heard before.

“I messaged your Mama. Got her number off Yvie after she sent her the link for the livestream. Basically said “hey Ms Hytes…can I grab your ticket and see your daughter graduate so I can surprise her”?” Vanessa grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Brooke couldn’t believe it. Her own Mum had been in on the whole thing and hadn’t let on. She was going to kill the woman the moment she touched down in Toronto.

“Oh my God. You’re amazing,” Brooke gasped, taking a little step forward so they were closer. She felt like crying. Vanessa was here, in front of her for what was maybe the last time. She had to do something. She couldn’t lose her. Not again.

“Amazing, huh?” Vanessa asked shyly, looking to the ground. They both knew the question meant so much more than simply what it was, and Brooke, without knowing where her confidence had emerged from, took both of Vanessa’s hands in hers. Vanessa’s gaze shot up, and their eyes met.

“Can I kiss you?”

“God, please.”

Without waiting a second longer, Brooke tipped her head down and met Vanessa’s lips. It was somehow just like the first time, even though in many ways it wasn’t at all. This time, Brooke knew every single inch of Vanessa’s body, she knew her ambitions, her fears, she knew what it was like to have almost lost her and be lucky enough to have her come back again. But most of all, Brooke knew that she was in love with her, so fucking in love with her, this one of a kind girl who she was desperate to keep in her life no matter if Vanessa chose her to be hers or not. Their kiss was gentle and urgent and passionate all at once, and Brooke wanted to hold onto the moment forever. When Vanessa’s lips were gone and Brooke was all at once looking at her again, she had tears in her eyes.

“Hey, hey, ‘Ness. Come on, this isn’t…don’t be upset.”

“I am, though! I’m an idiot. These past two months we could’ve been kissing like that and going on cute dates and planning the future and having fuckin’ insane levels of sex but I left you hanging like boo boo the fuckin’ fool when I knew what my decision was the moment we had that conversation in the library, because it’s you, Brooke, fuck, it’s always been you. I love you so much,” Vanessa sniffed, frantically wiping her tears away as Brooke pulled her against her chest. Vanessa’s voice murmured against her, the most hopeful, plaintive question. “Do you still love me?”

“Fuck, Vanessa, of course I love you. You’re just…the person I was meant to meet, you’re the person I’m meant to have in my life. I love you so much.”

Brooke felt like an idiot as tears began to well up in her own eyes. She looked down at Vanessa and she looked back up at her.

“You’re leaving,” Vanessa let out a tiny sob, her forehead hitting Brooke’s chest again.

“I’ll come back,” Brooke said immediately, meaning it. “Honestly, I will. I’ll book my flights as soon as I’m home. I’ll look for flats and jobs and we can start again. We’ll make it work. I want to be with you.”

Vanessa looked up at her, her happy, grateful smile at Brooke’s words all she needed. She let out a tearful laugh. “Brooke Lynn, will you be my girlfriend?”

Brooke laughed too, taking her both her hands and squeezing them. “Hey, fuck you, I wanted to ask first!”

They both laughed then leaned in for another kiss. Brooke didn’t need to answer. Vanessa hadn’t needed to ask.

As they broke away and wrapped their arms around each other, Brooke felt the tears spring up in her eyes as she looked over at the girls. There was Akeria, making some quip about something, and Silky howling at whatever it was she’d said. Monet had joined them all and was swigging the cava out of the bottle, an arm around Nina who was looking at her with adoration. Scarlet and Yvie were telling them both a story, their hands intertwined and their bodies close. Plastique had dragged her Mum over to meet them all and her face was animated as she spoke to her, so full of happiness and excitement.

“Fuck, Vanessa, I can’t believe it’s all over,” Brooke let out a small sob. Vanessa reached up, swept her tears away with a gentle finger.

“Hey. Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

Brooke smiled down at her girlfriend. Her girlfriend. There was nobody she’d rather have spent the past three years with.

“You wanna go steal that cava back from Monet?”

Brooke giggled and nodded. Joining their hands together and giving them a little squeeze, they walked back over to be with their family.

[urrguide]

FOODIE'S GUIDE TO MARRAKESH

These movement guides are intended for tentative arrangements and current wandering off in fantasy land as it were. Up to that point, remain safe!

M'smen

Sightseers have since a long time ago rushed to Morocco's Red City for a sample of the extraordinary. The very name invokes flavors, snake-charmers, 

and arousing delights. Its food soaks are in Berber and Arabic impacts and eating here can be an incredible experience. Marrakech must one of the most reminiscent, scrumptious, and exceptional goals for foodies in the Mediterranean locale. In any case, Marrakech can be dumbfounding just because of the guest (or any guest). Spare yourself from unremarkable couscous with this manual for finding the best food in Marrakech.

MOROCCAN CUISINE – CAFES – RESTAURANTS – LOCAL DISHES – MARKETS – COOKERY CLASSES – FOOD TOUR – SOUVENIRS – RECIPE BOOKS

MOROCCAN CUISINE 

Marrakech truly was one of the primary general stores and markets in North Africa. Products and flavors were conveyed up the Saharan shipping lanes by camel. The Arab impact brought mezze and organic products from the east. French standard left its imprint as well, as did control of Andalucia. Marrakech has desert, mountains, and ocean inside short proximity. Stews are scented with nectar and saffron, cumin, protected lemon, olives, and dates. Slows down in the medina are heaped high with flavors and mint and figs. Morocco doesn't have a culture of eating out so most of the cafés are focused at guests as opposed to local people; it's very simple to leave away having eaten normal tagines at swelled costs. The best customary Moroccan food is normally found in the home, so in case you're remaining in a riad do benefit as much as possible from any chances to eat or cook with your host. Local people for the most part like to eat universal food when out for the night. The primary dishes related to Morocco are tagine and couscous. You'll never observe these served together, they are discrete dishes—and couscous from a bundle is heresy! Couscous is customarily eaten on a Friday (the blessed day) and is what could be compared to Sunday lunch. It's meticulously hand moved from semolina and steamed with the meat and vegetables. In Marrakech, you'll likewise discover Tangia, a stew cooked in a dirt pot in the ashes underneath the hammam (instead of on a burner in a stoneware tagine).

Moroccan breakfast at Cafe des Epices THE CAFES

Sooner or later during your outing, you'll need a break from the singing warmth and power of the Medina. Here's a determination of probably the best bistros in Marrakech to shield from the sun and get your caffeine fix: Atay Cafe. Close to the Ben Youssef Madrasa, this is the one with the most Instagrammable rooftop patio. Energetic juices and boho-stylish vibes. Bistros des Epices. Perhaps the coolest bistro, head to this staggered Spice Market bistro in case you're longing for a latte or searching for a light lunch, chill beats and housetop sees. Bistro Clock. Initially began in Fes, Cafe Clock presently has a station in Marrakech. It broadly serves a camel burger and offers social workshops and customary jam meetings. Bistro du Livre. One for the bibliophiles (and those lenient toward tobacco smoke), this agreeable hideaway and English-language book shop has a liquor permit and is well known with ex-pats. Grande Cafe de la Poste. For climate, this reestablished pioneer period brasserie is difficult to beat for beverages or eating. It's a debauched neighborhood establishment with nearby fixings and live jazz in the nighttimes.

THE LOCAL DISHES TO TRY 

Just as the numerous minor departure from tagine and couscous, here are a couple of neighborhood specialties and tidbits to watch out for while meandering the Medina:

Amlou. A delightful blend of argan oil, nectar, and almond glue. This is your new most loved plunge.

Babouche. Snails served in a daintily spiced gritty stock, these snails taste more like mushrooms than you may anticipate.

Insane Bread. One of the numerous names for cushy pitta-Esque sandwiches stuffed hard bubbled eggs, pounded potato, and zesty sauce. Likewise, pay special mind to sandwiches highlighting aubergine (eggplant) or sardine.

Becerra. Garlicky fava bean soup.

B'stilla. The exemplary Moroccan dish is generally made with pigeon or chicken meat encased in slender flaky baked good and sweet flavors, yet different fillings, for example, fish are accessible as well.

Briouats. Minimal triangular samosa-like filled baked goods, loaded down with meat or sweet almond glue.

Brochettes. Flame-broiled sticks of meat, one of the most famous road nourishments on Djemma el Fna.

Harira. Generally eaten during Ramadan to break the quick, little dishes of this generous lentil and chickpea soup are probably the least expensive road nourishments you can discover in Marrakech.

Hodangal. There's a bunch of slows down in the Djemma el Fna serving sweet zesty teas with stomach related properties.

Juices and smoothies. These are all over; attempt mixes of banana, date, avocado, almond, orange, and sugar stick juice, orange bloom water, nectar, figs, and rose water.

Kaab Ghazal. The great Moroccan patisserie sweet made of almond glue enclosed by baked good and molded into gazelle horns

Khobz. The staple Moroccan bread; round, level, regularly made with semolina flour and extraordinary for plunging and scooping.

Labia. Moroccan prepared beans! Generally a morning dish. Plunge your khobz.

Ma'qooda. Potato wastes plunged in egg and pan-fried.

Mechoui. Spit-cooked sheep, with the offal, were likewise accessible for the more daring.

Mint tea. It's practically difficult to leave Morocco without having attempted 'Berber Whisky'. Mint leaves fermented with green tea, poured from stature to initiate bubbles, and typically presented with a pile of sugar solid shapes.

M'smen. flatbread-like hotcakes with nectar and smen (aged margarine), flavors, or dunked in amount.

Seven. Moroccan doughnuts.

Tangia. A Marrakech uncommon of sheep and safeguarded lemon moderate cooked for the time being in the heaters that heat the hammams.

THE MARKETS

Zest Market

The business sectors of Marrakech Medina need little presentation and are apparently the city's primary draw.

The acclaimed (and UNESCO-secured) Djemaa el Fna square in its middle is the social heart of the city. The square wakes up around evening time with narrators, artists, snake-charmers, and

food

sellers. My preferred corner is the mint market, administering colossal packs of the stuff for use in mint tea and perfuming the air with its cool scent.

The

food

slows down in the Djemma el Fna don't have gained notoriety for cleanliness, although hand washing stations have as of late been introduced. The auditorium is unrivaled, yet numerous slows down are scams. Better, less expensive

food

is accessible in the littler back streets of the Medina. In any case, it's a rush and a transitional experience for individuals visiting Marrakech, so here are a few hints for eating there:

Search for a horde of local people

If somebody is bothering you to eat there, continue strolling

The better the menu in English, the less to anticipate from the food

Even though slows down showcase costs, concur what you will pay forthright and don't acknowledge any 'complimentary gifts' that will definitely be labeled onto your bill at an extortionate rate

Stick to food that is newly barbecued or seared before you

Watch that the singing oil looks light and clean

Maintain a strategic distance from plates of mixed greens and minced meats

Fish is unsafe except if you know the birthplace/stockpiling

Albeit intangible upon the appearance, the medina is isolated into littler network regions, each with a mosque, hammam, and a nearby market for products of the soil. Pro venders are additionally bunched into souks (markets) all through the medina—the zest showcase is one model (and one of the least demanding to discover).

THE COOKERY CLASSES

Marrakech is truly an outstanding and least expensive goal to take a cookery class. For all intents and purposes, each riad or inn will offer this, either in-house or at a bigger school. Classes do shift as far as what they incorporate; less expensive classes may include helping your culinary specialist with a tagine, while progressively costly classes may incorporate learning various dishes and shopping at the market for fixings.

Some all-around respected classes include:

Amal Women's Training Center

Bistro Clock

Dar Les Cigognes

Faim d'Epices

La Maison Arabe

Souk Cuisine

For

foodies

with a sweet tooth, Amal can likewise sort out a heating class.

Mint tea

THE SOUVENIRS TO BRING HOME Marrakech is shopping nirvana, you won't battle to fill your bag with treats. However, here are a couple of focuses to hold up under as a primary concern while looking for palatable trinkets: Argan oil. Morocco is the principle maker of argan oil, which is utilized in cooking and beauty care products. It's produced using the bits of argan nuts which develop on trees close Essaouira toward the south of Marrakech. Costs are high as the shelling of the nut is finished by hand, frequently by Berber ladies, and it's an undeniably mainstream fixing in beauty care products. On the off chance that the cost appears to be modest, it's likely weakened. Restorative evaluation oil is light and mellow, culinary oil will in general be darker as the nuts have been toasted before separating the oil. Search for oil put away in dim glass bundling. It has a medium smoke point however is predominantly utilized for dressings and plunging. There are various co-agents in Morocco that you can visit to purchase from the source. Flavors. The most mainstream flavor blend in Marrakech is ras el hanout. Signifying 'head of the shop', each store has its own adaptation of the blend which can contain over 20 distinct flavors. You can likewise get blends to use for reproducing your most loved tagine at home, just as shop for singular flavors, for example, cumin and cinnamon. In any case, while those engaging hills of flavors make for extraordinary photographs, flavors debase in contact with air so search for shops that store flavors in containers. Watch out for counterfeit saffron as well; this costly zest is frequently traded out for texture strands colored orange. Tagine. You'll see a lot of embellished earthenware production available to be purchased in the souks, however, these painted and coated marvels are frequently unsatisfactory for cooking because of the nearness

[livesbeneath]

like happiness.

pairing: noah x female mc (harley blanco)

summary: she assumes that’s what he’s practicing now; recipes he’s perfected a hundred times over. in this respect, good enough will never be good enough for him. he has more drive than most give him credit for, and without that drive, baby jane’s would be nothing more than a thought scribbled down on a notepad.

word count: 1.5k.

author’s note: sometimes you decide that since you’ve written TWO angsty things, you should probably try and write something a tad bit fluffier. i wrote this fic on the bus this morning after being stuck at a red light by a diner, not gonna sugarcoat that at all, but i hope you all enjoy! i apologize for any grammar / sentence structure issues, as i tried to proofread the best i could, and thank anyone who takes the time to read! feedback in any form is deeply appreciated! 

disclaimer: i do not own these characters (except harley). creative liberty has been taken to make this story unique, and i do not intend to use it for profit in any way.

She’s seated at a small two-top table by the window, her hair done up in a messy bun that practically screamed “hey, pal, take a number”. Her uniform consists of a pair of jeans, an old Pink Floyd t-shirt, and a black waist apron that will no doubt one day contain a whole gaggle of quirky pins to accompany her name tag.

“Harley Blanco, Assistant Manager”, soon to read “Harley Marshall, Assistant Manager”. That is, of course, if you ask about the ring on her finger. That’s what she assumes many of her customers will be doing mid-order. Despite the established grandeur of her title - she’s much more excited to wait tables than she is to do actual managerial duties.

Normally, she would be more than happy to talk about her engagement, but with the diner slated to open in only a week, all last minute paperwork was her first priority. The same went for her fiancé, who was no doubt elbow deep in some greasy vat in the back of the restaurant. Harley had half a mind to call on Dan for help, but Noah had insisted that this was a job for them, so she let him be. What they have to do is overwhelming, but both agree that the business-culinary school tag team system they’d developed was their smartest idea ever.

That, and the soon-to-be-implemented $5.00 burger night.

Harley chews absentmindedly at the cap on her pen, flipping through document after document, scribbling down a reminder to order an extra shipment of kids menus. Every time she sets aside a paper for Noah to sign, the impending grand opening seems realer. After everything she’s been through, it makes her head spin. She arches her back and flops back down on the table, using the mound of folders as a headrest. The lazy sunlight coaxes her into a nap.

“Shoot!” exclaims a voice amidst a clatter from the kitchen. Harley turns her head, opening a heavy eye to the direction of the noise.

“Noah?!” she calls. “What did you do?”

She waits and listens for a response. As silence hangs in the air, she shrugs and stares back down at yet another order form.

It’s the second she turns away that Noah then pokes his head out of the kitchen door, his long hair suspended by a hairnet. As usual, he speaks with the kind of suspense that only a young man of few words can. “American or cheddar?”

“What?” Harley squints in his direction.

“American or cheddar? Y’know, like the cheeses?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Which one you like more, yeah.”

Harley clicks the pen in thought. “Provolone.”

“You’re impossible.” Noah huffs, shaking his head and disappearing back behind the door. The sound of the slightly stunted open and close of a refrigerator door follows.

She can’t help but laugh at the way they are now. It’s as if they’ve been painting a picture for years and have finally discovered a revolutionary new color that has made their lives significantly more vibrant. Either that, or they’ve finally mastered the art of communication. The steady hand of telling the person you’ve loved since you were children that maybe, just maybe, they make your heart beat a little faster than it should. It makes her feel full inside.

Baby Jane’s is slated to become some sort of semi-touristy spot. Nestled in the heartseed of spooky Oregon is the workplace of the “once dead girl”, a place that just happens to be owned by the once-supposed accessory to her murder, now more affectionately known as her lover. She has cue cards ready for possible questions curious customers will ask her.

Harley can tell that Noah hates it. The situation is behind them, the world finally spinning on its axis again, and yet people still find a way to remind them.

“I don’t want this place to be famous for who we are!” he once told her. It was a particularly hard day, and Harley can remember him nearly ripping a recipe card in half at the diner counter. “I want it to be known for the stuff we serve. The things we do now!”

Her response was simple. An affectionate kiss to the cheek, a calm “Then you cook so good that they’ll have no choice but to talk about anything but what they ate.”

She assumes that’s what he’s practicing now; recipes he’s perfected a hundred times over. In this respect, good enough will never be good enough for him. He has more drive than most give him credit for, and without that drive, Baby Jane’s would be nothing more than a thought scribbled down on a notepad.

Her mind wanders to the beginning of this chapter of their adventure. It hadn’t started when she had finally convinced herself to go to business school (she had never been sure of what she wanted to do after high school), but rather back at Britney’s party when he unexpectedly pitched the idea of the diner to her. He’s the same boy, but with higher hopes and a nicer, state-of-the-art grill to mull over.

It’s all for Jane, she reminds herself as she reopens a folder for evaluation. A smile worms its way onto her face when she remembers the story Noah had told her about Jane’s first grilled cheese - the thing that made him want to cook. Despite not being there, Harley can picture the scene perfectly, right down to the kitchen she had spent so much time in as a child. She can see Noah using a chair as a stool to reach the lower left burner. She can see the heel of a loaf of bread discarded, resting off to the side with an overturned pepper shaker. She can see Jane’s cheesy smile, both literally and figuratively, as she exclaims what the gourmet sandwich tastes like. She can hear her voice as she says it.

Like happiness.

A warmth spreads through her as the sunset peeks through the large windows of the near-vacant diner, and Harley sighs as it hugs her tight. Since beginning again, she has a new appreciation for her own happiness. Being alive makes her feel as if she’s swallowed a ray of sunlight. Being in these moments make her feel like the light itself.

So lost in her own mind, Harley doesn’t even notice the hairnet-clad figure approaching her from across the room until he sets down a plate before her. The clink! of the dish against the counter garners her attention, and she turns to see Noah sitting tiredly in the chair beside her, eyeing her instead of Main Street Westchester at sundown. He gracelessly pulls the hairnet from his head, scratching behind his ear as he does so. There’s a grilled cheese and nothing else before her.

“Is this for me?” she asks sleepily, giving him a small smile as she goes to grab the sandwich.

“Maybe.” he teases.

Her eyebrows quirk up. “Provolone?”

“American and cheddar.”

“Ahhh, innovative.” she giggles as she goes to take a bite.

For a moment, the two sit in silence, Noah taking a moment to glance out the window as she eats. Mid-bite, she admires the shine of the sun on his engagement ring. After finishing one half, she looks to him brightly, licking her fingers of excess cheese. His eyes flick over in her direction for a moment.

“How is it?”

“Do you even have to ask? It took me forty-five seconds to eat one half!”

He rolls his eyes at her, a smile on his face as he leans forward, one elbow resting on the table. “You gotta go slower than that, Harley. How else are you gonna really-”

“-take the time to appreciate it.” they finish in unison.

“Yeah, that.” Noah finishes.

To appease him, Harley smiles cheekily, taking an exaggeratedly slow bite of the remaining half. He rolls his eyes again, looking back out at those lingering on the street. She takes note of the way he studies them, his face near unreadable. Even after so long, there are still moments where she can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. It’s rare that he ever gets deep first.

“Maybe some of them will be in here soon.” he muses, eyes following a woman and her two children as they walk into a cafe across the road.

“Maybe!” she chirps. “God knows we’ve done enough advertising. Maybe Andy can get us some airtime on SportsCenter.”

He snorts slightly, giving a small shrug. “I just can’t believe it’s actually happening, y’know? After… everything.”

She knows he that by “everything”, he doesn’t just mean schooling and advertisements. Harley bites the inside of her cheek and reaches over, putting a hand over his as her half-finished grilled cheese slice sits firmly in her other fist. They don’t have to speak to know that the other hopes the worst of their trials are over. She thinks that by now, they deserve some peace. They deserve some…

“How does it feel?” she asks.

He turns to her, offering her a smile. She feels him grip her hand a little tighter with his response.

“Like happiness.”

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[kc-s-e]

Aesthetics for the Ladies of the MCU

Natasha Romanoff - Black Widow

Russian ballet. Guns hidden beneath pillows. Haunting piano music. Red lipstick. Smoke. Learning new languages. Leather. Self defence. Quotes. Snow on mountains. Classic literature. Starry nights. Wildfires. Perfume.

Wanda Maximoff - Scarlet Witch

Expert cook. Long overcoats. Exploring a new city. Summer breeze. Spices. 80s music. Retro. Coffee. Interest in technology. Striking a match. White cotton. Scented hand lotions. Tropical rainforests. Dogs. Paprika.

Hope Van Dyne - Wasp

Insects. Burn of alcohol. Experimentation. High speed cars. Thrill seekers. Dewdrops on grass. High definition. Sneaking out. Chemical reactions. Scaling mountains. Burnt out candles. Video games.

Shuri

Vine is not dead. Scientific methods. Smart and you know it. Technologically advanced. Grand speeches. YouTube. Lavender scents. Large jackets. Holographic. Powdered blue. Aesthetically pleasing.

Okoye

Pride in yourself. Decorated armour. Traditional beliefs. Starbucks. River beds. Accessories. Boxing. Dimmed lighting. Eating whatever you want. Waking with the sun. Caring passionately.

Maria Hill

Badass and you know it. Feeling important holding a clipboard. Tidying a room. Headsets. Running a business. Pistols. Bare face. Latest model phones. Apple pies. Excellent time management.

Jane Foster

Science nerd. Obsessed with space. Coffee. Pop tarts. Hidden away cafes. Spending time with friends. Candles. Spending the night with a good book. Interested in everything. Acoustic music. Autumn nights.

Gamora

Sword fighting. Old movies. Songs from years ago. Rocky relationships. Gold. Treat like a queen. Forgotten memories remembered. Saturday nights. Sleeping in. Incense burners. Getting away with murder. Sneaking about.

Peggy Carter

Old photographs. Treasured memories. 40s dance music. Scratch of a phonograph. History. Starting from scratch. Being the first. Demanding equality. No bullshit. Red lips, lined eyes. Dressing smart.

Lady Sif

Sarcastic comments. Respecting others. Knowing your worth. Sea salt. Fluid movements. Skilled fighter. Justice. Indulging in sweet snacks. Sunshine on your back. Caring little for material items. Wanting more.

- KC

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

♤Hi! May I please get a ship for Queen & Bo Rhap? I’m 26 but I have already decided that I don’t want kids in the future, I prefer to focus on my career and my dream is to become an editor in a major media. I love reading, writing and watching movies. I’m usually the quiet person at the corner of the room who dresses in all black and tries to avoid all attention. I don’t consider myself a romantic person so I don’t like grand gestures. I also don't like rom coms. Have lots of insecurities.

hellooooooo

i’m taking a break from writing to do this HI i love that you want to be an editor.  respect that so much

anyWAYS on to the part that u actually care about

below the cut ;)

For Queen, I ship you with Brian May!

Roger for sure would scare you away with grand gestures, he sometimes has issues differing between romance and spending needlessly on gooey crap.

And even though Brian is such a lowkey dad, I think he would 100% respect your decision to not have kids, unlike Deacon.

In fact, when you hardly knew Brian, he came to your defense when Deacon was giving you a hard time for wanting to focus on your future and not have to worry about providing for children. You were all seated around a table playing board games (Freddie was having a game night), but Roger and Freddie were wanting to finish their Scrabble game before you started anything else, so they were at the other end swearing at each other.

“I just think that you would be a good mom,” Deacon replied simply, setting his hands on the table and spreading out his fingers as he pressed the palms to the cool, grainy wood. He seemed perplexed by your aversion to kids, seeing as he’d always been such a family-oriented person.

“Oh, lay off of her, would you Deacon? You’re being a bit harsh,” Brian interjected from Deacon’s left. You sighed a bit in relief, thanking God that you didn’t have to endure any more of Deacon’s haranguing. 

“Thank you, Brian,” you mumbled, and he nodded politely, sending you a particularly soft smile before continuing.

“Besides, I think it’s nice she wants to focus on her career. You're one to talk, you were deadset on electrical engineering before oh-so-graciously deciding you would join Queen after all.” John rolled his eyes, partially ignoring Brian as he tapped his fingers on the table, shaking his head. “Y/N’s got a good head on her shoulders. We should all be a little more like her sometimes.” 

Brian’s kind, unwarranted words made a blush come to your cheeks, and you ducked your head as John scoffed, still looking down at his hands. “You think I don’t have a good head on my shoulders?

Brian’s response was simple, but sharp, and came accompanied with a pat to Deacon’s head. “Nope, you’ve got this mess flopping around.” 

When Brian’s hand came to rest on top of his head, you saw Deacon’s expression sour before he smacked his hand away, scooting away from him. “Touch me again and I’ll really give you a good smack. Also, who are you kidding? You can’t even get to your stupid head through that mess,” he sneered, tugging on a curl of Brian’s rather hard and making him yelp, which got all of you to laughing.

Brian 100% started using any excuse he could after that to come hang out with you. He’d ask if he could borrow a book, or ask your opinion on a movie, and then finagle his way into a library date or movie night with you as a result. 

You let him ‘finagle’ it out of you. Brian was cute, and his kind, soft demeanor was a great complement to your need for a subdued, temperate lifestyle.

He was absolutely infatuated with you, so when he decided he was ready to ask you to be his girlfriend, he had to ask the boys how they thought he should do it.

Roger and Freddie came up with some ideas that would have genuinely humiliated you, while Deacon offered an approach that would have you swooning for days, and Brian was incredibly nervous to make it happen - he was pretty whipped by you, so he wanted to get everything right.

And from the beginning, everything went wrong. 

The garlic toast was burnt, the sauce was flavorless, and the pasta was overcooked when you showed up to Brian’s. He’d called you and asked you to come over to help him with a song he’d been working on, so you hadn’t expected for him to be cooking a fancy meal gone wrong when you walked in.

“Shit, I’ve ruined it all,” he cursed as you peeked around the corner of the kitchen. He was standing over the charred garlic toast with his hands on his hips, looking frustrated and pretty much defeated as he tried to reckon with the situation. When you cleared your throat, he jumped in surprise, not knowing that you’d come in.

“Hello, Bri,” you murmured gently, giving him a polite kiss on the check when he gave you a mildly frustrated smile and came over to greet you. “Having some problems? Thought you were working on a song?”

“Well, d’you want to know the truth?” he asked, sounding a bit exasperated as he threw the dish towel over his shoulder, walking back over to shut the burners off on the stove top. When you nodded, he sighed and leaned back against the counter, giving you a pitiful look as he gestured to the food. “I asked the boys what I should do for you tonight. I wanted to do something nice for you to show you that I appreciate you. Want to know what Roger and Freddie said?”

You were a bit red in the face at his particularly sentimental words that were laced with a bit of frustration, but you nodded for him to continue.

“They suggested I take you to wine and dine, then go for a private boat ride down the river that ended in a fireworks show. The whole 9 yards.” You wrinkled your nose a bit at the grandiose idea - perfect for those two, but not quite your style. “But then Deacon had the perfect idea - cook a homemade dinner, stay in, and watch a movie. And I’ve fucked it all up from the get-go, made myself look like an absolute moron who can’t even cook pasta. It’s a wonder you even hang around with me.”

“Brian, I think it’s sweet,” you laughed softly, coming over to poke the garlic bread with your pinky and meeting a remarkably hard surface. “And you haven’t ruined it. How about we just get delivery and stay in? We can watch The French Connection?”

And so you did. You ordered in some Chinese, settled in on the couch, and you were watching the car chase scene when Brian shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he looked over at you with a sort of wistful expression. He was pale, his eyes searching your face with an unreadable stare.

“What is it?” you asked, glancing at him for a moment before looking back at the screen. “Food didn’t make you sick, did it?”

“No, no,” he chuckled airily, scratching his head before turning a bit more to you. “I was just going to ask you something, but I don’t know if I can handle your answer.”

“Well, now you’ve got to ask it,” you replied, raising an eyebrow as you looked at him curiously.

“Well, I said I brought you over here just to make sure you know I appreciated you, but I actually brought you over so I could ask.... would you be my girlfriend?”

Laughing, you cocked your head before nodding and trying not to blush as hard as your body was about to. “Even though you timed this to be during one of the best scenes of the movie, I suppose I’ll still say yes,” you teased gently, reaching over to take his hand and squeeze it.

A brilliant smile took over his face as he squeezed your hand in return before kissing your knuckles affectionately and letting your intertwined hands drop to his lap. “Well, isn’t that good timing? Now you’ll remember this as your favorite scene because of me.”

“Mmm, pretty sure I’ll still mainly remember it for the beautiful, tasteful cut sequences, but you’re a close second.”

And for BoRhap, I ship you with Rami Malek!

Your aversion to grand gestures and intense public scrutiny is very similar to Rami’s avoidance of social media and broadcasting his day to day to everyone. You’re both content with being out of the spotlight if at all possible, and Rami’s low profile public appearances are perfect for your relationship. 

You were a friend of Gwilym’s before you met Rami, and Gwil noticed that both of you were a bit lonely while Rami was over in London for principal photography for BoRhap, so he set you up on a blind date together.

The location? A lowbrow cafe in a less populated part of London. That way, you were out of the public eye as much as possible without having to stay in, and you could get to know each other over some comfort food.

Within a half an hour, you had already warmed up to Rami’s easy-going way of conversing, and his gentle charm was enough to bring you out of your shell. It felt like you’d known him for years by the time your food arrived on the table.

After the cafe, it was dark enough that Rami asked if you’d like to take a walk, no longer fearing that the paparazzi would hound him if he just kept a low profile. 

“So what do you do? I never got a chance to ask you that back there,” Rami asked, his arm held out so you could link yours into it as you started to head down the street.

“I’m an editor at Daily Mail. Not my preferred place of work, but not bad,” you replied, resting your other hand on his arm as you stuck close to his side, trying not to run into anyone.

“Not bad at all,” he chuckled, looking down at you with a small twinkle in his eye before he looked ahead, crossing the street with you. “Gwilym told me you’re into movies, is that right?”

“Gwilym told you something about me? I thought this was supposed to be a blind date, that dickhead!” you laughed, shaking your head as you looked forward. “Didn’t even tell me anything about you, how unfair!”

“I sort of got him drunk enough that he’d tell me the other night, so....” Rami shrugged, smiling sheepishly as you giggled at the thought of Drunk Gwilym trying to describe you. “I was nervous. Wanted to impress you, I haven’t been on a date in... gosh, forever. I’ve been so busy with filming, I basically dropped off the face of the dating world.”

“Still doesn’t make it fair, but props to you for thinking of the drunk thing. That’s a lot farther than I got when I tried to pry information out of him.” After a small pause, you looked down at your feet and smiled, then looked up at him. “And yes, I do like film. I’m a big movie girl.”

“Well... if you weren’t aware, I’m in a few films,” Rami said nonchalantly, an impish grin playing at his lips as he met your gaze for a moment. “I’m an actor, so that’s pretty much my thing.”

“You’re an actor? Gosh, that’s crazy! Never knew that,” you replied in faux excitement, sarcasm lacing your voice, and Rami laughed as you started giggling, the two of you an adorable sight to all the passerby. 

And an adorable sight you continued to be as you went out for a second, and third, and even fourth date at hole in the wall places around London. When principal photography was wrapping up, Rami asked you to be his girlfriend, and even though the distance thing made you nervous, you knew that there was no reason to worry about trust or anything. So, you said yes.

A couple weeks after he’d departed London, he was preparing for the press tours and you were in the midst of a big project when he called you out of the blue, dragging you from a meeting you’d been bored to tears by anyways.

“Hello?” you answered, pressing your phone to your ear as you stepped back into your office, shutting the door behind you. 

“Hi, beautiful. How’s your day?”

Rami’s voice made you grin ear to ear, filling your whole body with an inexplicable warmth. “It’s going. You almost packed?”

“Of course not,” he laughed over the phone, making you giggle softly. “I’m trying, but I really had to get something off my chest before I got to work here.”

“Okay, shoot,” you said casually, though you were confused by ‘get something off my chest,’ so you raised an eyebrow, very interested in what he had to say.

“So, what would you say if I flew into London tomorrow, and you came with me to help me choose my place?”

“Choose your place?” you asked, baffled by the question. You weren’t really sure what he was proposing, but he sounded somewhat excited.

“Well, I really miss you, and Ben, and Gwilym - especially you - so I figured why not get myself a house in London so I can be there as often as I want without imposing on all of you?”

You almost choked as you realized Rami was literally considering buying a home in London to be close to you. It seemed an awful lot like an expensive attempt at a romantic gesture, and you didn’t want that at all. “Babe, please don’t feel like you have to do this just to be a good boyfriend-”

“No, no, I want to!” he interrupted, sounding genuine as he chuckled a little, then cleared his throat. “Also, it’s not just for you, if that worries you. I miss London in general. And Ben and Gwilym. Those two... are something. Can’t believe I miss them as much as I do.”

“More than me?” you teased, Rami’s laugh filling your ear and making you grin as you let the temporary nerves wear off. Rami in London. Now that was something you could get used to.

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[ruknowhere]

Coyotes On The Beach

1.

there are always risks, some small like losing this document, others of more significance like losing a life.  I’ve done lost lives and find myself alone in a cabin in a dying forest of grand old sequoia trees.  Thought about taking a bath this morning but there is a spider living in the tub and it seemed wrong to kill her with a flood.

The road flooded on my way here so I ended up spending a night in overpriced inn with a noisy clock that i took the battery out of.  Never have been able to figure out why anyone would want to hear each second of their life click away.

There are icicles hanging from the cabin gutters

been a long time since I have seen icicles, the last were actually made of glass by Dale Chihuly.  I took my daughter and fiancee to a spot I know in Leavenworth Washington.  A faux bavarian town set in real lovely mountains.  It was a pre wedding trip.  Time for them to relax and for me to try to pal up with my son in law to be.  Well three years later I am still trying to pal up with that guy but he is that guy for my daughter.  They love each other and what more could anyone want for their child then happiness

I sure want happiness.

2.

Leigh owns this cabin which is in one of the prettiest dang places I have ever been and I have been to many.  This is a forest from another time.  Huge trees fit for huge creatures.  Now it is empty.  I saw a marmot or at least that is what I am calling it and a few squirrels.  

Not many birds and zero people.  empty Odd, here in this national forest, set aside as a monument by Obama, nobody wants to venture out anymore.  

The campground is nameless now, all the signs removed, perhaps for winter or perhaps forever.  It used to be call Belknap Campground and it is in the middle of a sequoia grove.

Anyway Leight I bet is a piece of work.  From her pictures and various little bits gathered online I suspect back in the day she was quite a piece of ass too.  I know you can’t talk that way anymore but after all we are nothing but mammals wanting to do it like they do on the discovery channel.

Leigh’s cabin is reasonably well built but it is devoid of any human touches.  To say it is furnished sparsely would be an exaggeration.  Not even a spatula for cooking an omelet.  There is a small radiant heater built into the wall with a warning note attached that says not to move it because it goes off.  As far as I can tell it is always off but I am nothing if not resourceful and have found that the oven and stove burners do a fine job heating the place and the fireplace makes for some ambience deluxe.  The wood bundles I bought at the Springville store crackle and have a nice smell.  It is warm enough now to be naked.  I have a picture of a naked gal laying on an oriental rug.  She has a perfect body, long blonde hair and the rear view of her cunt makes my cock tingle.  I know I shouldn’t say cunt but for guys of my time the thought of a moist cunt with a cock thrusting in and out until you can hardly tell whose cream is oozing out unless you lick it up is well simply divine.

3.

Fire,

Fire on the mountain

4.

the thing about being alone is you are not really alone

you’re left with all your memories

people

places

come and go

that can be good

or bad

but there is always the loneliness

the new memories are missing something

someone

5.

the other day facebook said it was your birthday

funny for some reason I thought that your were born in july

oh well doesn’t really matter

anyway I bought some beer in your honor

a limited release from Lagunitas

Undercover Investigation Shut-Down Ale, 9.7% Alc and 66.6 IBU, especially bitter as they say

they also say Beer Speaks, People Mumble

I mumble and ramble thinking of the ESB ale at Rogue we drank on occasion

and remembering some of the great places we went together and especially the music

funny how people’s lives touch and nudge one another in new directions

I was remembering a picture you showed me once of you and some blonde hippie girl, maybe girls, back in the days of your youth standing in some sunny place

don’t know if you have been to death valley, if not you gotta get here, one of the most spectacular places I have ever seen and it has those high vistas you like

this whole trip has been pretty fucking beautiful.  

California highway 190 from the deepest darkest forests near the coast with huge old sequoias

remnants of another time

falling snow, mudslides and flooded roads made it interesting

to the painted molded rocks and mountains here in the desert

thinking of you

saxophones guitars

blonde girls I never knew

Yazmeen Sophie (is it Sophia now?) and Will

happy birthday dude wherever you be

6.

see that’s how it is with being alone

friends come and go

but still I wish I had

someone

on this trip with me

what a long strange trip it’s been

7.

I started this life as a tumbleweed

blowing across a Texas highway

carried to a cabin in the woods

and a house in the jungle

babies were born and grown

before the wind carried me elsewhere

8.

when nobody knows you you can be anybody

the danger is you are nobody or you can’t remember who you are now

9.

a coyote ran across the road

2 cars stopped and people got out to take pictures

coyote stopped and looked back at them with a real wtf kind of look

he smiled at me when I drove by

one of those smiles you are not sure what to make of

especially from coyote

10.

early into my hike this kind of shady looking guy sez to me

you got go up there to the right, just a little way it is worth it

you really got go up there it is worth it

I was in a good mood so I thought why not

I got kind of a suspicious feeling though when I saw a wrapper that said 10 times more

absorbent and more so when I saw a woman putting a pad in her panties

her red bush caught my attention

I asked her if she was alright and she said oh sure and told me

a nice guy with a welcoming smile had seen her in a bit of a panic because she knew she was bleeding and didn’t know where to go

he told her to go to the right, just a little way

not sure what his intentions were when he sent me up the same path and come to think of it his smile reminded me of that coyote

11.

I walked away but she said stay as she buttoned up her pants hiding the red bush which was still in my mind.  She asked if I would walk a bit with her.  I really didn’t have anything to do for the rest of my life so I said why not.  We got to talking and her story unfolded.  She was forty seven, worked most of her life as a waitress or such in nameless towns but really just wanted to back pies and fuck.   Well I like pie and like to fuck so I decided to walk with her a bit more.

12.

Darwin Falls, Edward Abbey and De-evolution

bet you are wondering what that has to do with fucking and wondering more if this story is a story.

Nothing and maybe or depends on your idea of a story

I do promise there will be some fucking complete with juicy cream pies

but not just yet gee we hardly know each other

13.

The road to Camp Nelson was the victim of a flooded bridge and mudslides

I was a victim of the closure of the road to camp nelson where my cabin in the woods was waiting for me.  This meant spending the night and a lot of money at the local inn but the bartender Lois made it interesting and at the cafe there was a big moose head mounted on the wall.  Bad days for mooses.  Sitting at the table under the moose was a lady maybe 70 years old and definitely attending to internal stimuli, or fucking crazy as they say in the biz.  She was eating a bowl of gruel, drinking coffee and talking up a storm.  We ended up talking about storms and mooses much to the dismay and annoyance of the dad and his two young kids who looked sternly at the two of us and the moose and walked out.  Earlier the waitress a curvy hispanic gal bursting out of her clothing had spoke with this dad in a soft voice I wasn’t supposed to hear all about my unusual behavior.  I must say she was pretty unfriendly especially since when I came in there were no other customers talking to her and I was being all friendly.  But me and crazy Lois talked a bit more.  I paid $10 for 2 eggs, toast, potatoes and coffee and left, Lois still carrying on many conversations and men across the street were getting ready to cut off limbs from an old tree which was thinking about taking out a roof and garage.

14.

So before we go much further into this story I have to tell you some of what happens is true and the names have been changed because mainly I can’t remember them or didn’t know them to start with.

So now we can go much further with the understanding that there will be shameless self promotion, lots of fucking some things that you might not have known before

advice of all kinds and questionable scientific explanations,  if that kind of shit bothers you it will be one of many reasons not to read anymore of this vulgarity.

15.

I once had a dog named Blossom.  We were living on a commune called Folly Farm, way more folly than farm.  It was me and blossom, Flannagan my forever best dog, shaggy terrier poodle mix.  Blossom was a husky shepherd mix and poorly named due to her tendency to cut the smelliest dog farts with no shame.  There were other hippie type people who maybe will show up here and include a long lost cousin with great tits, long red hair and criminal ways.

Blossom liked living on the commune.  She found a way to escape the fenced in abandoned garden she and flanigan ran in among the mullein and foxglove. The first thing she did when she got out at night was kill and mame our ducks.  Not really a good way to be on a commune.  One of the women there was a bit of witch and great at most all commune type things including chopping the heads off the wounded ducks.  Later I discovered she gave great head.  We lived together for awhile until her husband came to get her and the kids.  I learned a lot from her about mind connections over long distances which I am using right now as I think about a mermaid I know.  Blossom developed some kind of weird relationship with a group of the local coyotes and ran around with them made lots of noise (she could howl with best of them)  and killed lots of things like pets and farm animals which made the neighbors not too happy but they didn’t know if was blossom because for some reason she didn’t fart with the coyotes.

16.

At the Daze Inn in Vegas I learned that if you plan on drinking a lot of tequila and smoking lots of legal weed it is important to know how to navigate to one and only one light switch.  Safety First.

17,

Once you have found that light you can go on drinking and inhaling

Viva las vegas

Where anything is possible but not likely to happen

18.

I was married once, hmm grammar check once when I was married cause I was married twice legally.

I was married once, married a long time until I thought it would be a great idea to be swingers and she found out there was someone she liked to fuck better and in fact who loved her more and better than I ever did and she knew she loved him as opposed to me who she knew  she never loved.

19.

But enough about me.

to be continued?

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30 Day Shepard Challenge - Day 19

19. Cabin/Apartment

How do they decorate their cabin/apartment? Is it fancy or plain? Bright and friendly or slick and modern? Any distinct details?

Do they have a space hamster? Fish? Do they take good care of them?

Do they have any model ships?

What do they keep stocked in their fridge?

When you turn on their TV, what channel is it usually on?

Can they play the piano in the corner?

The Loft was the crew nickname for the Captain’s quarters on the SR-2 and the name has stuck. Elentari keeps it fairly utilitarian, since it is a stealth frigate in the military after all.  She has some concessions to personalization however: the glass display case dividing her work desk from her living quarters is full of model ships she purchased and assembled. Her hamster, Boo, has a cage big enough to cover the whole shelf, and secured in place to withstand turbulence. She bought enough things to set his cage up properly as well as a hamball, so he could have free run around the cabin without getting lost. She tried keeping fish, but kept coming back from strings of missions to find that she had to clean the tank of dead fish. After awhile, she just gave up. Garrus kept saying that if she could kill the Reapers like she killed fish, the Reapers would just stay out in dark space. The shrunken Prothean relic sits on her desk and Petrovsky’s chess. Her charred, cracked N7 helmet sits beside it, the only other memento mori she has ever kept. 

The Citadel apartment given to her by Anderson is also fairly untouched. Elentari hasn’t had the time or the energy to devote to remaking the apartment as she’d like. It also has become the unofficial crashpad base of the Normandy crew when they’re docked. Elentari ensured they all had access and she makes sure the fridge is well stocked. Being on a first name basis with the infamous owner of Zakera Cafe does have its upsides: when the alert is sent that the Normandy has docked, a delivery will show up at the apartment within precisely 5 hours. The delivery has enough basic supplies to feed “the ravening horde” as Elentari cheerfully puts it, as well as some mystery levo and dextro ingredients for her to give a try. Garrus and Tali really appreciate eating “actual, honest food” and though they tease her, will happily eat any dextro thing she cooks, since they get home cooking so rarely any more. After a few late night mixups, she used glass paints to divide up the shelves: blue side = dextro, red = levo. Fruit and veg, eggs, breads, cereals, grains and meats are all there, as well as dairy, though turians don’t have any sort of dairy equivalent, she makes sure that ucarum  is always on hand for him and Tali. The bar in the living room is also well stocked with levo and dextro supplies, all clearly marked with bright stickers to avoid any drunk surprises.

The TV in the main living room rotates through a wide variety of channels, depending on who is there and watching what. But the coffee table is usually scattered with various books from people too. Though generally, it’s some non-fiction books of Elentari or some manuals of Garrus’, other people have taken to using it as a sort of current reading repository. The grand piano in the corner of the living room feels like an ostentatious show piece since only Liara has the vaguest idea of how to play it. Elentari toys with the idea of learning to play it every now and then but with a lack of proper time to learn, the idea remains on the back burner.

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