#I am sure there are other countries in similar predicaments around the world

[laisai]

Honestly go Ukraine

I hope this also shows other Western govts that a sufficiently prepared and armed force in a threatened country can pull off miracles, and thus we should not write them off. We should support them.

💙💛💙💛

[fullmetalscullyy]

uncertainty

summary: Riza sustains her Promised Day injuries at the same time Roy is pinned by Pride in the transmutation circle

an: tldr i was consumed by this idea all evening. the narrator, probably: this is the darkest timeline

this was originally supposed to be “riza gets her promised day injuries AFTER roy goes blind” but it evolved, grew arms and legs, then ran away from me. but. i am still v invested in that original idea so. why not play about w and write the same thing/something similar twice right? yolo

also. its been like. 4 and a half hours of work so if u see any mistakes no u didn’t <3

shoutout to those who left encouragement/interest in this idea and to meg for spurring the bradley being Bad idea along <333

rating: t | words: 3262 | tags: graphic depictions of violence, angst, angst with a happy ending, promised day, canon divergence, royai

read on ao3 

“Let him go.”

Riza orders the Fuhrer to step down, to remove his swords from the Colonel’s hands, to stop piercing his flesh. Her gun is trained on him easily and Riza discovers she has no qualms about shooting the man in charge of the country. She will not hesitate to do so if he so much as breathes in the wrong way.

After his appearance, and his assault on the Colonel, Riza had watched the tips of Bradley’s swords pierce through the Colonel’s palms, had seen them bury themselves in the gaps in the stone beneath her commanding officer. With her heart in her throat, Riza had inhaled sharply and drawn her weapon without pause, training it on Bradley’s head.

Riza’s voice didn’t betray her raging emotions within. For years – over a decade – she’d kept them under wraps for a variety of reasons. And even now, faced with this horrifying scenario, she did not let them surface. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t do it again. Not after her confrontation with Lust. She’d made a promise to the Colonel, and separately, in private, to Roy, not to.

“You were always an exemplary soldier, Lieutenant Hawkeye, following every order without question or complaint,” Bradley remarks. His spine straightens but does not remove his swords from the ground beneath the Colonel’s palms. He does not stop from looming over Mustang but turns his head to look at her. It’s reminiscent of a shark swimming right towards its prey, going for the kill, but Riza does not let that analogy get to her. She strengthens her grip on her pistol instead. “What has changed now?”

He’s toying with her. If she argued against any of his orders while his hostage, he’d have her killed.

A memory suddenly pops into her mind.

“You could always court martial me, sir.”

Riza’s eyes flick to quickly look down at the Colonel, lying pinned, helpless, and watching her anxiously on the floor. Mustang never would, but she misses the days where she could argue lightly against his orders and do what she felt was right and just by him and others she cared about and supported.

The doctor with the gold tooth writhes in agony above the Colonel, Bradley, and Pride, trying to call out for help and salvation, but the homunculi ignore him. Unfortunately, Riza has to as well, for she has seen how quick Bradley is and has felt the terror and harshness of Selim’s shadows, so cannot let herself slip for a second. If she does, it may cost her life. Or the Colonel’s.

“Simply doing my duty to this country and it’s citizens, sir,” she replies evenly. She holds no remorse for her actions. Not after the Fuhrer took her hostage for so long and the team discovered he was part of a scheme to try and kill everybody.

“Your duties involve following my orders, Lieutenant.”

Bradley is reminding her of her position as he trains his single eye upon her, but Riza tries her best to ignore it. It’s unnerving how piercing his gaze is, but she holds steady. She will not give into him and his intimidation.

“I am the highest authority to you. At ease, soldier.” He bites out the words, forcing them out as he tries to keep a lid on his fury.

“Not this time, sir.” She will not blindly follow his orders. Images of the desert flash inside Riza’s mind. Not again.

It angers him, but before he can react properly, Pride quite possibly saves her hide.

“We don’t have time for this, Wrath,” Pride sneers suddenly. He glares at Riza and she stares back, unflinching. She’s an expert at this by now after so many months under their scrutiny. She will not fall now at the final hurdle.

In response to Pride, Bradley angles his head towards him, looking away from her, and Riza feels herself relax momentarily. She does not turn complacent. Far for it. She’s too wired and on edge with the Colonel pinned in a transmutation circle underneath a homunculus’ feet to be close to any semblance of calm. But with Bradley’s gaze no longer pinning her, it’s a welcome reprieve. Her shoulders relax and lower a fraction.

“Enough of this conversation,” Pride continues. “We’ve got more important things to do.”

“Of course.” Bradley sounds so calm that it causes the knot inside Riza’s stomach to tighten. It’s the same knot that’s filled with unease and uncertainty regarding their current situation. It trembles and contracts as she stabilises herself and recentres her weapon so it’s ready to make a kill shot if need be.

“We have more important things to do,” Bradley repeats quietly to himself. His voice is without emotion, completely different from the rage-tinged tone he’d used just moments ago. Under his moustache, Riza sees a small smirk. One corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

In a flash, he rips the swords out of the Colonel’s palms, causing him to cry out in pain. They must have snagged on his skin because his loud gasp was laced with anguish.

Riza fires unflinchingly as Bradley charges at her.

“Lieutenant!” The Colonel’s cry is a gasp. She knows he fears for her, but she cannot focus on that right now.

Her finger does not let up on the trigger and it is relentless. She doesn’t have time to pay attention to it, but behind Bradley, Pride’s shadows dance around the room and she cannot fathom why. If she could spare enough of her concentration and tear it away from the charging homunculus, she’d realise the shadows were protecting Pride’s main body from her bullets flying behind the Fuhrer.

Bradley is too fast. He ducks underneath her weapon and outstretched arms, swinging around to her back.

Before she can blink, Riza can feel the kiss of cold metal on her throat.

Shit.

Her eyes widen, and so does the Colonel’s. His teeth are gritted together as he’s trapped in the transmutation circle, but his eyes meet hers immediately. It’s interesting to note how her own gaze zoned in on his during her sudden moment of helplessness, but Riza knows exactly why. She does not deny it to her heart.

“You’re a pest,” Bradley hisses in her ear.

The metal moves easily against her skin, like a knife moving through butter, and she hears the Colonel yell. As her body crumples to the floor he calls to her. He barks her rank, pleading with her to stay with him and focus on him. Her head hits the ground hard, and she’s dazed for a second. Her vision turns grey, and she cannot focus on anything, but still hears the Colonel calling out to her.

“Hawkeye!”

The others try to surge forward to intervene, but Pride’s shadows lash out and keep them at bay, pushing them backwards towards the outer wall. The homunculus forces them away from the two on the ground, preventing them from helping.

This is it.

She’s lying on the floor, bleeding out, with no one to assist her, and the Colonel is going to be forced to open the portal against his will.

She was supposed to watch his back and protect him. She was supposed to make sure no harm came to the Colonel so he could forge ahead and set in motion the plans he’d voiced to her over a decade ago. This was not how this was supposed to happen. Things changed in nanosecond and Riza’s brain has whiplash from trying to keep up.

“Do it, Pride.” Bradley’s anger is back under control. The bout of rage he’d experienced while advancing on her is gone. Or, it is back underneath his mask, hidden out of sight but simmering just below the surface.

Riza’s eyes meet the Colonel’s – no, Roy’s. His eyes are wide and panicked. She watches him strain against the dark tendrils holding him in place, but his struggle is futile and probably harming him. Through blurring vision she can see the colour red around his hands and up his forearm. The restraints must be cutting into his skin. Her mouth opens, asking him to remain still and not hurt himself. To not harm himself trying to escape to try and help her.

Impossible, she thinks to herself. Roy Mustang would tear the world apart for you. And you, him.

“Colonel –!” She wants to cry out to him, but with her injury it’s just a croak. A strangled, garbled call that doesn’t sound much like anything.

“Lieutenant!”

The homunculi ignore Roy’s cry, filled with such helplessness and anxiety. His expression is one of horror as their predicament hits him full force. His fight abates slightly, it stutters as his chest heaves with panicked breaths while realisation settles upon both their bones simultaneously.

They’re stuck and completely at the mercy of their enemies, with no hope of escape. No hope at all.

“It’s a shame to waste a soul,” Pride remarks quietly, sounding as though he’s talking to himself as he stares at the struggling doctor. His eyes lower lazily and focus on Riza. “When we have a perfectly good one right there.”

“Do it, Pride,” Bradley repeats, snapping this time. His mask is slipping.

Pride’s gaze lingers on her for a fraction of a second longer before turning back to look at the Colonel. His expression is unbothered by what he’s about to do. The complete opposite to the terror Riza can feel building within her.

You’re going to die, and he’s going to be forced through the gate.

“What will be taken from you Colonel, I wonder?”

Roy’s pained scream fills the air and infiltrates the gaps between her ribs. The sound cuts through her painfully, rattling her bones and constricting around her heart. She was supposed to prevent something like this from happening, but she didn’t.

Her vision fades and blurs even more intensely than before as the blue light from the human transmutation turns almost white. She cannot breathe. She cannot think.

The light winks out, leaving nothingness. The doctor falls to the ground, rolling slightly from the impact but Riza can no longer focus enough to determine what has happened to him.

You’re dying and he’s gone.

There was still a chance… A toll must be paid to pass through the gate so he may return alive, able to press on forward and achieve their goals and beat the bastards who did this to them today…

But it will be without her.

As Riza lies there, in a pool of her own blood, hearing her comrades call desperately out to her, a tear escapes from her lids and runs down her temple. She’s breaking her promise to the Colonel, to Roy. She’s leaving him, but it’s against her will, just like he had been forced through the gate against his.

She doesn’t want to leave him.

Images are flashing through his mind as he travels to the gate. It’s too much to bear inside his head. It feels like information is being stuffed into his brain far too quickly, and there’s too much. It’s overflowing. He sees snippets of his life, his past, and perhaps, what is yet to come?

Then there’s Riza, lying on the ground, clutching at her neck and lying in a pool of her own blood, but Roy blinks and she’s gone.

“Riza,” he gasps, the memory of what was done to her penetrating the fog inside his brain. It consumes him and his eyes squeeze closed. It does nothing though, it’s all he can see. It’s seared into his brain. He cannot escape the image of her dying, and him unable to help her.

The white room he suddenly finds himself in is featureless and unforgiving in its brightness. It hurts his eyes. Roy is reeling from arriving in the sudden and jarring expanse of white nothingness he finds himself in after passing through the gate, but he still squints and looks around frantically, looking for Riza, for some familiarity, momentarily forgetting himself as he’s overcome with his grief.

“What happened to her?” He demands an answer from the white being with the chilling smile. “Where is she?”

His questions go unanswered. When Roy starts to advance on it, the being simply smiles at him. After he takes about five steps, something secures around his aching wrist and jerks him backwards. Looking frantically down, wondering what is halting his approach, he realises with horror that these… things look similar to what Pride had used to restrained him before within the circle.

Not again.

“Is she okay?” His frantic cries are ignored.

Roy fights the tiny hands but there is no use. He cannot best them and it's worthless to try, but he continues to shout, beg, and pressure the smiling being to tell him what happened to Riza. To ask if she’s all right and going to live.

He has to. He needs to know.

Roy is drawn backwards, through a towering doorway, and into an inky black existence. Just like before, the last image he sees before everything goes black is chills him to his core. That white thing is still smiling at him in the distance, and for the first time since arriving there, Roy’s hoarse voice falters.

He will not receive any answers. He can yell until he is blue in the face, but no one will tell him if she’s okay, if she’s alive, or what happened to her. Terror was a constant companion after seeing Bradley’s sword slice through Riza’s flesh, but now panic was threating to overcome him once again.

Roy cannot lose her. He can’t.

The doors slam with a finality, leaving him in complete darkness that Roy gets the feeling he will never be able to escape from.

He’s blind.

The last thing he saw was Truth’s unnerving smile, and before that it was Riza on the floor, bleeding out and dying in front of him. That image was the last thing he saw in this world and it’s burned into his mind forever. It will not leave him be in his sudden pitch-black world.

He hates it. Abhors it. He wants to escape it but can’t. It’s with him always. A companion that lays out all of his failings before him. Roy chokes when he thinks about how she was left lying there, alone, critically injured, and he did nothing, could do nothing, to help or ease her pain.

Father tosses him around like a ragdoll, but Roy is still trying to adjust to being blind. He’s blinking furiously, hoping it will all turn out to be a horrible nightmare, but it’s futile. No matter how many times he blinks he cannot shift that image of her.

Is she even still alive?

He will not accept anything less.

“Sir?”

His head whips up and swings around frantically in its search. Roy thinks he may have been mistaken but… It is entirely possible his mind is playing a cruel trick on him, but he would also recognise her voice anywhere.

There’s a pressure on his forearm that commandeers his attention.

“Roy?”

The voice sounds scratchy. It catches as it pronounces the ‘y’ in his name, but Roy is filled instantly with recognition. The muscles of his face go slack as he stares wide eyed, yet unseeing, at the person he knows is in front of him.

Relief explodes within him. Muscles all over his body quiver and shake with it, and Roy cannot help himself. Every consequence, and everyone else, be damned. He surges forwards and upwards to his knees to wrap his arms – albeit clumsily – around Riza Hawkeye’s shoulders tightly.

He doesn’t even need her to confirm it. He knows it’s her by the smell of her shampoo and the faint smell of her perfume. It’s barely there underneath the smell of blood and the day’s grime, but it’s there, with him. It anchors Roy completely and tears surge into his eyelids.

“You’re alive,” he whispers.

Hands clutch desperately at his back. “I’m alive,” she confirms quietly.

Roy doesn’t care. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, and as an afterthought he realises he was lucky. It was not her injured side his face happened upon. Underneath his lips her skin is smooth and unmarked by the homunculi’s cruelty.

Roy inhales deeply and his eyes squeeze tightly closed as he savours the feeling of holding her, of knowing she is alive.

The last time he saw her, she was bleeding out. Dying. Chance, fate, or whoever, were smiling upon him today though, and Roy is grateful. He will take it. Roy doesn’t question her survival, just takes it at face value because that’s all he’s ever wanted in this last traumatic hour.

She’s alive.

Riza is alive.

His worst fear, his nightmare, had not come to pass after all, when it had seemed so likely before and he’d been left floundering, not knowing what the outcome would be.

The ‘how’ can come later. A tear escapes from beneath his closed lids and Roy simply rejoices in that fact while they have a quiet moment together. Another one follows suit when one of her hands lifts to rest upon the back of his head and pats it twice. It seems like a simple, friendly gesture, but he can feel the way the fingers of her other hand tighten their pressure upon his back. She’s still clinging to him and does not let up.

She’s alive. He can’t see her, but he can feel her touch and hear her breath.

“Are you okay?”

He wants to laugh. The joy bubbles up inside his chest when he hears the concern laced within her voice, simply because he is so happy to hear it.

Even if he cannot see her, this is enough for now.

“Are you?” He has no time to focus on himself. Not when the last time he saw her, she was so near death.

“Mei patched me up,” Riza explains, sounding hoarse.

Roy vows that owes that young alchemist a life debt. He will work until his dying breath to ensure it is paid for saving Riza’s life.

He pulls her in hurriedly for another embrace. It affirms that she is really there and breathing, and alive.

What he’s about to say is risky, but he’s in the mood for it. After what they’d just been through, Roy feeds the impulse because he needs her to know what he’s truly thinking.

Just in case.

When it came to Riza Hawkeye, his decisions always did have the tendency to be ruled by his heart, and while Riza still involved her heart completely, she was always the more level-headed and reasonable one, given their circumstances as subordinate and commanding officer.

Still, the situation called for it.

“I love you.” It’s whispered against the skin of her neck. Roy knows Riza hears him because her body stiffens with surprise.

Riza doesn’t respond until after a beat or two. It’s a simple nod, but it’s enough to know she acknowledges what he’s said. Roy doesn’t expect her to reply. They both know where they stand with one another and have done for years. The first time the sentiment had been expressed was after he returned from the academy, so this is not a shock revelation. It’s a means of comfort. A reassurance. And Roy feels it needs to be said. It’s also been a while since he’d last said those words to her, but right now it feels like it’s been too long. Another wrong in his book, but one he could correct immediately.

“I love you too, Roy.”

He blinks, surprised that she has said it back to him among the company of so many people, but they must not be paying attention to them.

Roy tightens his arms around her.

She’s alive, and she knows how he feels about her.

She knows.

They both do.

She’s okay.

That one thought eases all of his fears and leaves him feeling light, like he’s floating on air, so he buries his face into the crook of her neck once more to find an anchor.

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Ancient Soul

Time Travel, Quirkless, Feudal Japan AU

“Your soul does not belong here.” Those were words you never thought that you would hear. Now, thrown into the past in feudal Japan, you must find a way to survive, all while struggling to avoid the growing feelings for one hot-headed war general. War, romance, death and love drive you forward, to find the place where your soul truly belongs.

Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

Want to start from be beginning? Check the Ancient Soul tag. New chapters released every Wednesday as long as schedule permits.

Genre: Romance / Angst Story Rating: Explicit | Adult Themes, Sex, Death, Depictions of Violence, Alcohol

Chapter 10: Soft on You

Chapter Rating: Teen | Cursing Words:  2756

The feeling of Bakugou’s eyes on you was something that you had difficulty ignoring. You knew that he was watching you closely for any signs that you were about to totally bullshit your way through your next prediction, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, you had no idea what happened at this particular skirmish, yet you were having difficulty admitting such a thing to him. The past couple of months that you had been his “strategy assistant”, or whatever you were called, had gone by swimmingly. Nothing you said had been wrong and everything had gone just as you predicted, so the fact that you were drawing a blank on this one battle was eating at you viciously. More than worrying that he may no longer believe you, you didn’t want to disappoint him. 

You had grown to love the feeling of being praised by him and by anyone else who found your predictions to be helpful. Seeing Bakugou or whoever was sent out to battle return victorious filled your heart with joy, and you dreaded how he may react if you had no suggestions or information for him. What if that was a battle they ended up losing? Surely it would look bad on you, as if you were trying to sabotage them or something similar. What you could do was alluding you completely, and you were feeling very much helpless at this point. Making something up was out of the question, as your conscience couldn’t handle such a thing. So, the truth was the only option. Or, as close to the truth as you could get in your current predicament. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m just not seeing anything for this…” Shaking your head, you sat up from leaning over a map, having difficulty looking at the ever-vigilant man beside you. “It’s… Blurry.” 

“Blurry. Hm.” Bakugou tapped his finger on the map his other hand on his chin as he thought. “Must not be very impactful, then. Isn’t that what you said?” 

Nodding, you glanced up at him, though your felt a heat rise in your cheeks as you caught his gaze. “Yes, though I can’t say for sure. I know I’ve done really well up until now, I’m sorry--” 

“Don’t apologize.” Bakugou began to fold up the map, seemingly not upset at all with your inability to assist him this time around. “As you know, we take your suggestions seriously, but we don’t base our entire strategy around them. That would be foolish.” 

At this point, you learned not to take things that he said to heart. He was a rough man, with very little sense of sympathy or gentleness. You didn’t mind that. In fact, you quite liked it, as it made the moments when he was kind to you all the more special. You liked that he was brutally honest, that he shared the majority of his thoughts and opinions with you without restraint. There were hints of his more tender side shown to you every so often, with a hand to assist you up off the floor or even bringing you a lunch that he prepared himself. Often, you could have sworn that he was even flirting with you, but due to your nature, you had built up this wall around yourself that prevented anyone from coming inside. That included Bakugou, though he had similar defenses built around his own mind. 

You thought that, perhaps, it was just like yours. Getting close to people wasn’t easy for you, as you had a deep fear of rejection and abandonment. It wasn’t something you could really describe with words, but the thought of letting someone in only to have them hurt you deeply was a horrifying thought. Not just a thought, but an experience that you never wanted to relive. Still, this man had an… energy to him. Just being beside him made you feel comfortable, safe and content in this world that you hardly knew. Over the half a year that you had been here, he had taught you so much, even if he called you stupid every time you did something wrong. You were a quick learner, however, and impressed him more than you annoyed him, which was a plus in your mind. 

It would be easier, you thought, for him to accept your mistakes if you could just… tell him the full truth. If you could just tell him that you were from the future, where people drove cars and talked to each other from all the way across the world. He would surely think you’re crazy if you even attempted it, though he seemed to find your oddities more interesting and amusing rather than scary in some way. He enjoyed your phrases and words that were commonplace in your time, but had yet to be created in this era. In particular, he loved the word ‘fuck’ and all its variations, though you had yet to really teach him what it meant. The thought embarrassed you greatly, so instead of the definition, you just told him how to use it properly and… sparingly. He didn’t really listen to you on the sparingly part, since no one else really knew what it meant, he used it as he pleased. 

Besides the fact that it was hilarious, it was also cute, to see his smug grin any time he told Kaminari to ‘fuck off’. His yellow haired subordinate begged both you and Bakugou to know what the word meant, but it seemed that you shared a very similar sense of humor with Bakugou. The confusion was funny to you, and though you felt bad at first, there wasn’t any harm in it that you could recognize. If Bakugou didn’t know those words, he would just tell Kaminari in his own just as crude way. That, and you didn’t really want to change the course of time and linguistics all that much by spreading your phrases across the country. One man was enough, and since it was your favorite man of this time period, you didn’t mind it all that much. 

“I’m kind of glad you don’t take what I say all that seriously… I mean, I’m happy you listen to me, but it makes me feel better that you’re not completely counting on me. That could end up a disaster.” You gave him a smile, moving some of your hair back behind your ear. “I think that your tactics for this particular situation are perfect, though. I’m learning a lot about these things from you.” 

Bakugou nodded, taking a moment to stand and walk the map to its regular resting place, inside of a small cabinet along with other documents. “You’re learning very quickly. At least, you retain information well. That’s a good quality to have. It could help you survive out here for sure.” 

With a small sigh, you gave a shrug, eyes on his bare feet as he came back towards the low table you were still sitting at. “I guess so. Though, I don’t have to learn much being cooped up in this palace all the time.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Coming to stand beside you, Bakugou held out a hand, which you took to use his assistance up off the floor. “In this palace is the safest place you could be. Out there is nothing but death.” 

After standing, you fixed your clothing back into place a bit, smoothing out the fabric around your hips. “I mean, that is true. But it would be nice to at least get to go out to town occasionally. I haven’t stepped foot outside of the palace since I got here.” 

“Again, why would you want to leave? You have your pond with Sushi, your books, your paper and ink to keep you occupied. By now you’ve made friends to visit when you’re able.” 

“I know, and I really am grateful for all these things, but…” Feeling your chest grow tight in nervousness of admitting the truth to him, you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, not wanting to offend him or belittle his generosity in any way. “I still feel like… I’m nothing but a prisoner. I’ve been here almost seven months, and I’ve done nothing but show my support and loyalty. I had just hoped that… that perhaps by now, I’d be more accepted into the clan.”

Bakugou stood in front of you for a moment, his presence silent and tense. You could tell just by the way he didn’t move or say a word that your confession had upset him, but in what way? When he was angry, he lashed out with words and angry body language, so it wasn’t that. This seemed more like… he was contemplating his own choices on how you had been treated thus far. 

“You have done well. But there is still something about you that my Lord is having difficulty trusting, so he cannot accept you, no matter how… others may feel. I cannot allow you full freedom without his consent.” 

Your stomach bubbling with that dreadful feeling of rejection, all you could do was give a small nod, knowing that anything else you had to say wouldn’t change your situation. 

“But…” 

Confused, your gaze was pulled off the floor to look up at Bakugou’s face, instantly feeling your cheeks flush with heat at the calm expression on his face. Sly smirk crossing his lips, you immediately knew that he had noticed your blush, though you didn’t have a chance to hide it before he spoke again. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t go into town with a chaperone.” With a gesture to the door, arm outstretched, Bakugou took a step back to allow you room. “Let’s go.” 

“‘L-let’s’?” You made your way towards the exit, even though your legs felt like jelly. “You’re taking me into town? Right now?” This was beyond anything that you had expected from Bakugou of all people. He wasn’t one to enjoy going out into public to begin with, so for him to willingly take you into town himself was intensely shocking. Had something you said struck a guilty chord? Was he doing this because he pitied you or because he wanted to cheer you up? Was this like… a date?

No, no! Don’t think things like that! This isn’t a date! It’s not!

“You’re the one complaining that you don’t get to go out. If you don’t want to--” 

“N-no, I want to!” You stopped for a moment, turning to look up at him in worry. You didn’t want him to change his mind. This opportunity was something that you couldn’t let slip through your fingers, no matter how embarrassing or frustrating it may be. Bakugou, this brute of a man, was stopping any plans he had for the day just to take you into town. It made you excited, nervous and… happy. 

In truth, although your attitude was pleasant and as content as possible, it had been a very long time since you could consider yourself truly happy. Even before you were sent to this world, your life was void of that lightness in your chest, that fluttering in your stomach that spread warmth through every inch of your body. But this… this simple action Bakugou had decided to make was filling you with a happiness you had nearly forgotten. 

“Good,” Bakugou huffed with an annoyed scowl on his face, sliding the door shut behind him as he joined you outside. “Because I won’t be offering to do this again. You’d better enjoy it!” 

Unable to resist the small smile on your lips, you followed him as he made his way towards the stables, finding it difficult to pull your eyes off a particular spot between his shoulder blades. “I’m sure it will be wonderful.” 

“More like a pain in the ass. You keep your name and anything about you to yourself, understand? There will be people who will want to pry and be curious about why you are with me.” 

“What will you tell them?” 

“That it’s none of their fucking business.” Bakugou snarled at you over his shoulder, though you couldn’t resist giggling at his use for the modern curse. “Shut up! Why do you always laugh when I say that word?!” 

“It’s nothing!” You smiled up at him, walking a bit faster so you were beside him instead of behind. “It’s just so silly to hear you say that when you don’t know what it means.” 

“Then tell me what it means! I don’t care if it’s offensive, I want to know!” 

Tapping your finger to your chin, you hummed out in thought, wondering if it was worth it. He would surely get embarrassed if you told him, so you didn’t want to ruin your chances of getting to leave the castle. “Okay, I will tell you. But not until we get to town.” 

“Excuse me?! You don’t get to make the rules around here, Demon. I command you to tell me!” 

“And I promise that I will,” You smiled up at him, bringing a frustrated and flushed expression to his face that you couldn’t quite understand. “But not until we get to town. Deal?” 

“Tch, fine! I’ll hold you to that…” Nearly pouting, Bakugou turned his glare back in front of him, shoving his arms into the adjacent sleeves. Placing your own back behind your back, you peeled your eyes off his cute expression to instead watch your feet as you walked. Your wooden geta sandals clacked against the pristine flooring with each step, as did Bakugou’s, but you found it to be a pleasant sound. At the moment, the paired resonating noise represented a companionship, one which you hadn’t expected to bloom. And yet, your closeness to this ruthless and hot-headed man had blossomed into more than just a professional relationship based around occupational necessity. 

Bakugou was your friend… and your crush. That only made it harder for you to not think that this was something more than him just doing a favor for you. You wanted it to be more, for there to be some other motive that was driving him. Although there may have been a hint here and there as you both made your way to the stables, there was nothing definitive. 

His ears and cheeks flushing could be from the heat. 

Right? 

His sideways glances and wandering gaze could just be him watching you for any mischief. 

Right? 

His gentle touch and lingering hands as he put you up onto Yonaka’s back were just him helping you out and supporting you. 

Right? 

His arm around your waist as he settled in behind you was just to make sure you were body steady and comfortable. 

Right? 

That’s all it was. There was nothing deeper about any of his interactions with you, now or from the moment you had met him. You were just a woman that he used for his own gain and he had no romantic feelings for you whatsoever. 

“Maybe while we’re down there, you can pick some clothes for yourself, so you don’t wear the same rags every day. And some pork noodles sound good, there’s a place in the center of town that sells it with their own special sake that will probably ruin you.” Bakugou spoke calmly as Yonaka lumbered his way out of the castle gates, waiting until you were out of earshot of the guards so no one else caught wind of what was going on. “I hate town, but it will be good to get away.” 

Feeling heat rush to your cheeks, you kept your eyes on Yonaka’s ears, which twitched and twisted at the sound of Bakugou’s voice and the chirping birds in the trees. “I-I don’t have any money…” 

“Who said you needed it?” 

Clutching onto the pommel of the saddle tightly, you suddenly found it difficult to breathe, a tightness in your chest constricting your lungs and throat. If only you could tell him that a man taking a woman to buy clothes and dinner during your time meant something more than just a simple favor. In your mind, all you could think of was the possibility that he was doing this in pursuit of something more. 

But he couldn’t be. You absolutely could not fall for this man, and he couldn’t be falling for you. It just wasn’t something that could happen. 

Right?

“Ah, okay… Well, thank you, Bakugou. I look forward to it.” 

“Katsuki. Call me Katsuki.”

[writingfromkitchenator]

Crowley ~ Fire on the Mountain

Fire on the Mountain by Rob Thomas

600 Followers Challenge!

Requested by @gettinjoyful

Words: 1380

Warnings: A little angst?  Mentions of loss.

You sat beside the road, head resting your hands and backpack between your knees, not entirely sure what to do with yourself now that it had come to this.

Glancing up as a car drives by, a part of you hopes that it’s familiar black glisten of Baby, rock music playing just a little too loudly, but you were sorely disappointed when it was just a regular old shit box that managed to just spray you with a puddle.

Making a disgusted noise, you get to your feet and start walking, going nowhere in particular. You knew that Sam and Dean would be mad, but you never though that they’d be this mad, not to the point of throwing you out of home and onto the street.  It wasn’t like you’d betrayed them or anything, although Dean seemed to think otherwise.

The truth was, you hadn’t handled the Leviathan situation very well, and after losing your father, you decided that you had had enough.

You walked away from everything.

It was true, that your timing wasn’t exactly brilliant, that they had needed your help in that final battle, and maybe, just maybe, things might have turned out a little differently than what they did, but after a complete and utter shut down like you did, you had no other explanation for what you were meant to do.

You left the country, deciding to see the world that your father had always talked about, and in doing so, you found more and more reasons to come back.  It took some time, but eventually you found yourself back on familiar ground, completely changed, but more than ready to re-join the fight.

Sam and Dean, once you tracked them down, had been pleased at first, or, so you thought, more than eager to have someone onside again, but after you were forced to practically babysit a particular demon, it all seemed to go downhill from there.

A part of you still wondered whether Crowley had put any thought there about not trusting Sam and Dean anymore, but you always realised that that suspicion had started long before the boys threw you at him.

It seemed the final straw for them was walking in on Crowley kissing you.

You had tried to explain that it hadn't been intentional, that he'd been having an episode with the blood cravings, but they wouldn't hear anything of it, not even from Crowley himself, who, surprisingly, was actually apologising profusely.

It had quickly spun out of control, with a lot of words said that you were trying hard not to believe, especially words about family, about Bobby spinning in his grave over what you'd done, how you'd abandoned them.

You'd beat the boys back to the bunker, fury in your step as you threw everything together and left, taking to the road on foot, not wanting any visible trace that they could easily track you, going so far as leaving your phones behind too.

Once it had all calmed, that was when you sat by the edge of the road.

Your feet were hurting, a part of you wishing that you'd still taken a car and abandoned it later, but you knew that a walk was going to be better for your mood than driving.

What made it all worse, was knowing that Bobby wouldn't be impressed.  You hadn't made a deal like he had, but you had technically let the kiss happen, you hadn't really tried to stop him, and you couldn't deny that a part of you had wanted it.  You couldn’t blame Crowley for what he was or his nature or being tormented by his own emotions and past, but you couldn’t certainly blame yourself.

There was another sound of car but before you had a chance to even dare glance, a cold spray of water hit you, making you yelp and leap back.

The car driving away beeped and you quickly shouted after it, giving it the finger.

Thoroughly drenched, you stomped as quickly as you could to the next town, got a motel room, cleaned up and decided that you definitely needed a drink.

The bar was dark and dingy, full of those that you knew were trouble, but then and there, you didn't care. You weren't interested in company but there were already a few eyes on you as you took a shot, enjoying the burn, before getting another drink and heading to a table by yourself.

Sighing, you couldn't help but feel guilty over the situation, knowing that if you hadn't left, you would have shared their in the traumas that they went through, would be in a similar boat to them, but you also knew that they should understand what you went through to get you here.

They'd lost their family too.

You stared at the drink in front of you, weariness taking it's toll as you feel the eyes of several people locked onto you, weighing you up.

You knew you could handle a fight, but it was the question of whether you wanted to or not that scared you.

Draining your drink, you go to stand to leave only to watch the door open and an unexpected sight walk in.

Crowley glances around the bar quickly before spotting you, hesitating, and making his way over.

You watched him sit opposite you, still frozen in your chair.

“Hello Y/N,” He said rather quietly.  “This is...not really a place where I thought I'd find you.”

Pursing your lips, you shrug and then signal for two drinks to the bar tender, feeling the eyes disappear off you.  “Where do you go when you can't go home?  It seems only fair that I sit in a bar and drink.”

He flinches, which surprised you, but you were more interested in the drinks being put down in front of you, pushing one towards him before taking a drink.

“I am sorry.”

You blink and look at him. “For what?”

Crowley licks his lips. “For what happened.  I can’t say it was my finest moment.”

“Oh,” You said slowly and took a drink.  “Well, it’s not like I really complained about it.  I think that was the final straw really, just among a lot of other things I’ve done, or they seem to think I’ve done.”

He stares.  “You aren’t…upset?”

“Of course I’m upset,” You said, but give a small smile.  “It’s either going to work out eventually or it’s not.  I’ve seen enough to know how these things work; all I can do is take it one day at a time, as I always have.”

Crowley looks at his drink thoughtfully, his finger tracing the rim.  “I…I’m not usually one to ask this type of thing love, but…seeing as you’ve helped me and-and seeing as I got you in this predicament…”

You waited as his gaze keeps flicking to you, waiting for a reaction, but you kept your expression passive, wondering where he was going to go with this.

Sighing, he straightens himself up, fiddling with his suit.  “I was wondering if I could offer you somewhere to stay?”

A small laugh left you before you could help it.  “I’m sure Dad would love to hear that one.”

Crowley looks at you, a little crest fallen.

“That doesn’t mean I’m saying no, Crowley,” You said softly.  “Even if it gets me into more trouble, I can’t say I like any of my other options right now.  I got sick of motels during all the travelling I did.”

For the first time since he walked in, you actually watched him smile, and, surprising you, it lit up his features.  “It’s not like I really expected a hunter to look after me, or that I would ever end up in the situation I was in.”

Draining the rest of your glass, you stand and hold out a hand to him.  “On that note then, us two little odd ones out should go cause some trouble right?”

Crowley chuckles, pushing his drink away and taking your hand.  “I think some better drinks are in order for that first.”

With that, the two of you vanished, leaving chaos behind you in the bar as the patrons that had been watching wondered what the hell they just saw.

[rileysroleplayingephemera]

Soooo... in the RP I’m currently in, all the PCs have fallen for this one (awesome) NPC, to a greater or lesser extent. Also, I would totally be on board for him to have a side romance with another NPC (not a specific one, just, I’d be down for that. Mohammed is eminently shipable).

Also, we found out in the last session that he’s literally a millionaire doctor with huge emotional issues (well, we knew some of that already) which makes him a literal Harlequin Presents hero.

Anyway, I have no chill, so I made THESE.

Bonus: My character with his husband

Yes, they’re all supposed to be this horrible.

Fake romance novel summaries under the cut, because I am steadily losing the ~negative 50 chill I have.

Sheikh’s Desert Duty

A fake mistress... in a very real predicament!

Pamela Martel is used to changing her identity to suit herself and keep the authorities off her trail, but high society is not a place she’s comfortable. High heels and evening gowns don’t exactly scream ‘rebel, rebel’. But she’s not sending another man she loves into the lion’s den alone.

Mohammed Bashir might not be at ease in this world, but he’s a lot more familiar with it than she is. His father’s reputation can get them in - but it can’t keep their enemies’ watchful eyes off Mohammed. He knows Pam is the only way to get the information they need... but he also knows they can’t afford any distractions.

But as the situation grows steadily more precarious, and Pam and Mohammed are forced to depend on each other for more than backup, it becomes clear that one thing neither of planned for was their hearts.

“...immensely satisfying...” - theringer.com

Desert Affair

She’s far from home... and trapped in Paradise!

Kaelyn Howard never planned to get swept up in world events - but now she’s targeted by terrorists and on the run from the law, trying desperately to stay alive, get out of the country... and reconnect with the daughter she never knew.

With fellow fugitive Mohammed Bashir, Kit is forced to flee the United States - running straight to his father’s luxurious empire. But there’s more to reckon with than their enemies - there’s her painful history, her complicated feelings, and Mohammed’s dark and mysterious past - which may put them all in even more danger...

“...pretty adorable.” - @theserpentsadvocate​

The Sheikh Doctor’s Bride (First Edition)

Never back down...

Pam Martel is stranded.

After everything she’s done in the last few years, the United States finally has a valid excuse to throw her in jail. She can’t even go home to Canada without being extradited. Given everything she’s done to stop a terrorist cult - and the fact that her friends are going back to their old lives while she’s trapped in the Emirates - the rest of her life looks both bitter and bleak.

Mohammed Bashir is the one bright spot in her awful situation, but he’s not without his own troubles. Without a wife, he’s in danger of losing his father’s comprehensive business empire. After all he’s been through, Mohammed is on the point of giving up and going back to the one thing he can still fall back on - medicine. But there’s no way Pam is going to let that happen to the one person who hasn’t abandoned her.

Maybe she should have thought before she made the offer, but there are worse things than being married to stunningly handsome millionaire doctor. If only she wasn’t in love with him...

“OMG.” - @natalie-is-my-name​

Be Loved

The only way forward... is together

In the years since they’ve last seen each other, things have changed a lot for Reuven Svobodya and Mohammed Bashir... but some things are still far too similar.

Mohammed has done a lot of soul-searching in the interim, and it’s pretty certain now that he’s not as straight as he once thought, but coming face to face with the man who prompted that realization still isn’t something he would have chosen. Some friendships are better left unrevived, especially when one of you can’t be honest. And then there’s the fact Mohammed is sure that Reuven still blames him for the loss of his family - after all, he blames himself.

It’s been a long time since Reuven decided to cut everyone important out of his life - any more hurt would have been impossible to take. Making a completely new life for himself was the only way to survive the crushing weight of what happened. But being near someone he once cared about is making him question that for the first time. And if he can forgive Mohammed, maybe he can finally forgive himself...

“[W]hen I've... started questioning my use of my limited time on this planet... this is what I'll remember.” - actual professional musician Luke Maynard

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

Under the mistletoe... for two weeks!

Pam Martel was hoping to dodge the tiresome Christmas season and say hello to an old friend - she didn’t anticipate becoming his fake wife!

When Mohammed told a business associate he was engaged, the white lie was supposed to fend off the man’s overly amorous daughter; he never anticipated this! While being told his wife had arrived for the Christmas celebrations was a shock, Pam is the one person who might be able to pull off the deception - a good thing, since being caught out could ruin an important political connection for him.

Pam’s usually willing to roll with anything, but this is different. She’s carried a torch for Mohammed for years, and if there was ever a right time to make a play for him, this is it. She’ll be Mrs. Bashir, all right - and the act will be so realistic her ‘husband’ won’t know what hit him!

“Friends-to-lovers has never been more fun.” - soyouthinkyoucanwrite.com

The Harlot and the Sheikh

He gave her everything she wanted... except his heart.

Samar Naaji has been forced to do some awful things to survive. So has Mohammed Bashir. The difference is that while Samar is condemned by society, Mohammed is condemned only by himself.

In a chance encounter, Samar once saved Mohammed at great risk to herself, and while she doesn’t expect a hero to remember someone like her, she’s willing to try anything to get her sister the medical care she so desperately needs.

The last thing she expects is to be whisked into a world of luxury while all her worries disappear. More comfortable scrubbing a floor than being waited on, Samar devotes herself to understanding her rescuer, and quickly finds that underneath his wealth and privilege is a deeply broken man.

All Samar wants is to make him understand how good he is... but by that time, will she be too captivated to survive without him?

“[You] should... lead with [this].” - @theserpentsadvocate​

Every Move He Makes

To stay alive, they will have to learn to lean on each other.

Reuven Harel doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on, but he knows it isn’t good. Counting on someone else to get him through this is galling, but at the very least he’s sure Mohammed is more trustworthy than the multitudes of people shooting at them. The truth is, the other man is the only thing keeping them both alive.

Mohammed Bashir knows exactly what’s going on, but he’s pretty sure he’s starting to fracture around the edges. The man he’s chosen to protect might be utterly in the dark, but Mohammed envies him his rock-solid sense of self. In fact, he’s starting to think that Reuven might be the only thing keeping him sane.

As their enemies grow and the body count rises, the two men must turn to each other for what they can’t find anywhere else: safety, surety... and maybe even love.

“What is even happening right now?” - @whimzhbeeaffairs​ (Also Reuven, probably.)

The Sheikh Doctor’s Bride (Second Edition)

One condemned by her crimes, the other by his past... but can they save each other?

After breaking the law to stay alive, Kit Howard is facing extradition back to the United States. The only way to stay free is to remain in Saudi Arabia... married to a citizen. After the wreckage of her first horrific marriage, she balks at the restrictions that come with it.

The tumultuous events that brought them together have left their mark on Mohammed Bashir. Before he goes back to his old life, he’s willing to make one final sacrifice to keep Kit safe - but after the loss of his father and brothers, getting attached seems almost fatally foolish.

Neither Kit nor Mohammed wants anything more out of this marriage than necessary... but somehow that’s all too easy to forget when they’re together. At least, as good friends and nothing more, nobody’s heart will get broken...

“OMG.” - @whimzhbeeaffairs​

Dancing With the Tide

The greatest risk... is love

Mohammed Bashir’s purpose is to protect people more important than himself, people who can make a difference. Right now, that person is Reuven Harel. As the illegitimate son of an influential American politician, he might have leverage; as one of the prophesied Lightbringers, he has an unknown amount of power - but even if it’s all a myth, his simply staying alive is vital to Mohammed’s cause. He’s also a genuinely good person - not the worst man in the world to take a bullet for, if it comes down to it.

Reuven doesn’t believe in a bunch of supernatural bullshit, but he does believe in fulfilling his obligations. As far as he’s concerned, Mohammed is an innocent civilian being targeted by terrorists - and the American government - and it’s Reuven’s responsibility as a police officer to keep him safe. That he’s kind, handsome, and unfairly charming is irrelevant.

At first, the only thing the two men can agree on is that they want the other safe - but when things take a dark turn, they find common ground in other ways. When they’re forced to take refuge in a part of the world where their growing feelings could be punished by death, things threaten to burn out of control. If they want to avoid losing each other, they’re going to have to risk their hearts...

“My word.” - Luke Maynard, literal published author

Be True

They’ve been friends for years, but who knows what’s hiding beneath the surface…

Reuven Harel has always known who he is and what he wanted.

Sure, he’s gone from being the loud, angry, openly gay teenager at marriage equality rallies to an equally out RCMP officer, but he’s still loud, still proud, and still determined to change the world for the better. Unfortunately, being between serious relationships brings it home that he’s also still hung up on a too-good-to-be-true college friend. It’s not worth jeopardizing their friendship – but now he knows Paul’s not straight, it’s even harder to let those feelings die.

Paul Svobodya lost the blueprint for his life a long time ago.

He likes teaching history, likes living in Halifax, and frankly he loves being a single dad. It’s a long way from teaching English in Alberta with a wife and 2.5 kids, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He never intended to be single at twenty-seven, newly out as bisexual, and supporting a mortgage and a five-year-old, but that’s how things shook down. Rocking the boat at this point seems like a bad idea, but with his last serious relationship over and one or two casual dates with men under his belt, it’s hard to keep on denying what he really wants…

“This is the purest and wholest thing.” - Luke Maynard

*

(All novel write-ups are technically and theoretically canon-compliant as of this writing, although I used Reuven’s birth name in EBHT and DWtT because using his married name felt squicky. Yes, I killed his husband in the other one. I literally murdered my own OTP. Jesus fuck. I don’t believe it either. And let’s not even think about Nat.)

Stay tuned for the harem anime and maybe a mockup of the more serious AU/novella idea I have where Paul sells Christmas trees.

Why am I like this.

[dailyaudiobible]

05/23/2018 DAB Transcript

2 Samuel 2:12-3:39, John 13:1-30, Psalms 119:1-16, Proverbs 15:29-30

Today is the 23rd day of May. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you today. I hope that your week is doing well. And we're gonna dive back in, picking up where we left off yesterday. And we're just getting going in the book of 2 Samuel and continuing forward in the life of David. This week we're reading from the New Living Translation and we'll read 2 Samuel 2:12-3:39 today.

Commentary:

Alright. So, we have a good amount of political intrigue happening in 2 Samuel. And as we were talking about yesterday, once Saul died it wasn't just David became the king. Because of all of the reasons of succession, right? So Ish-bosheth who was Saul's son and the next in line because some of his brothers had been killed in the same battle that Saul had been killed in, was anointed the king and was protected by the army of Israel, with Abner being the first in command. Joab, on the other hand, was David's first in command of his forces. And let's just remember, these guys all served in one army at one time. They all knew each other. They were high ranking warriors. They all knew each other. But eventually, right? There can't be two kings of one country. And so as time went on things heated up, a battle happened. David's forces won that battle, which left Abner, who was Saul's general, running for his life. And he happened to be being chased by Joab’s brother, Asahel, so the general of David's army. So this is like a really really tight close thing going on. Asahel knows Abner. They've known each other. They've probably fought battles together, but Asahel is chasing Abner to try to kill him. And the battle is going on and Abner’s trying to tell Asahel to stop chasing him because he doesn't want to kill him, right? Abner doesn't wanna kill Asahel because Abner and Joab know each other very very well. But in the end, Asahel is killed in battle. And this isn't murder on Abner's part. That's not the way it's treated because it happened in battle. But later we see the intrigue happen. Ish-bosheth turns on Abner. Abner turns on Ish-bosheth, the king of Israel, and defects to David, bringing the entire country who wants David to be king, along with him. So these two generals, first in command of the military, these guys are highly revered among the people. When Joab realizes that Abner has come to the king even though he doesn't know the whole situation, he can't believe that David would have let him go. And so he and his one remaining brother have a plot and they assassinate Abner, the leader of the Israelite army. Which puts David in a very precarious political position. Here the entire nation is coming around him to anoint him king and oust Ish-bosheth and the family of Saul. But the one who had kind of rallied everyone together around David has been murdered by David's military. That's what it looks like. So even though Abner's killing was a revenge killing, it thrust David into a really really weird predicament politically. So, David's gotta make a move and what we learn, what we see in David, gives us some sage advice. When David finds himself in the wrong, he doesn't bluster and basically stamp his feet and claim, I'm the king. I can do whatever I want. He humbles himself and that's what he does in this situation. He humbles himself. He weeps and mourns for Abner. He knew Abner. He had fought alongside Abner. And it was Abner and Saul who were trying to chase David down. But David knew the life of a warrior and he knew Abner was and he respected that. And he felt as if Israel had lost a mighty military person that day. And he mourned. And he had everyone put on sackcloth and ashes and they mourned. And David sang a song at the funeral. So, all this stuff people are seeing this. And it's helping them see that David didn't kill Abner. Because had that rumor gotten out and had David been blamed for Abner's death, it would have probably led to full blown civil war. But David, the king, the king of Judah, humbled himself, honored Abner. And it turned the people's hearts to David because they knew he didn't do it. That's the story of how this shepherd boy David could become the king of Israel. And we will follow that story tomorrow, but when we move into the book of John, we see a very very similar posture. Here we have God Almighty wrapped in flesh in the person of Jesus enjoying his last meal with his friends when he chooses to do the very awkward thing that he did, which is to jump up in front of them and then disrobe, put a towel around his waist, get a basin of water and wash the filthy feet of his friends. Again, a very humble, gracious, kind thing to do. But this is God down on his knees before his friends, before his creation washing the grime off of their feet. So, in the life of David, we see this humility and it gives us an example in our own lives because what happened was David's humility brought him, actually elevated him to the throne.

And we see God's humility through Jesus in the same fashion. But with Jesus, He used the entire situation as a teaching moment that has vast implications, not only on His friends, His disciples, but on us. Because once He had washed everyone's feet and stood up and wiped His hands off, He said, You call Me Teacher and you call Me Lord and you are right because that's what I Am. So, since I, Your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you oughta wash each other's feet. I have given you an example to follow. Do as I have done to you and God will bless you. So, let's consider this humble posture today. Whose feet can we wash today? And this doesn't have to be disrobing and putting a towel around your waist and getting a wash basin and getting down on your knees and washing someone's literal feet. This posture of humility, especially when it's unexpected, brings such calm to any situation. Jesus said, I have given you an example to follow. What does that look like for you today?

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into that question. What does that look like for us today? We don't necessarily know what that looks like for us today because we don't know the events of the day. But we do know that we must be aware for these opportunities to be Your hands and feet in the world and follow Your example. So, come Holy Spirit. Make us aware and alert of the situations going on around us. And show us how we can walk through this day in humility, knowing that in Your kingdom to be the servant of all is to be in a very high position. Come Holy Spirit, we pray. In Jesus name we ask. Amen.

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Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello Daily Audio Bible family. This is Sean 316. And I don’t know what in the world has taken me so long to call but, well, back in January I lost my job so I called and we’ve been praying ever since for a job or a new opportunity. And somehow, someway, even without a job the Lord has been providing for me and allowed me to take care of my mother without a job and we were able to live as comfortably as when I had a job even without a job. So, it’s like I just had this extra-long vacation. And then out of nowhere the Lord blessed me. When my resources were at their minimum, He decided to bless me a couple weeks ago with a great job. And for some reason I failed to call...just give the Lord praise. Well…Hallelujah. The Lord is worthy to be praised forever and ever. And if there is anyone out there, any brothers or sisters who, like me, failed to call or forgot to call after the Lord has provided you with the answers to your prayers, please call. Please give us an update because it is the word of our testimony that we’re able to overcome. And I just want to thank the Lord and I thank you all for your prayers. And God bless you all.

I’m Tonya. God has convicted me to call in with my testimony. For all of you out there who are dating, who are in relationships, I pray that this message comes across with love because I do not mean it to offend anyone but I just want to tell you my story, my testimony. I did not meet my husband until I was 39 years old and you know why? Because I stayed single for five years because I was done sinning, I was done having sex before marriage and it just convicted me. A Christian woman sat me down and talked with me and it convicted me. When I met my husband, the first thing I asked him on our first date was, was he a Christian. I know for some of you that may not be the path that you choose but this is again my testimony, my story. Met him. Asked if him if he was a Christian. He told me yes. I then, after I was dating a couple of months, and we were having sex, God convicted me after this woman sat me down and I then had to confront him and told him I was no longer willing to sin and I did not want to have a sex anymore until I was married with my husband, whether or not the him or someone else, that’s the decision that I had made. Five years of being by myself just with the Lord. And five months later he proposed. I got married at 40. I had child at 41. So, to all of you out there who are in relationships and you’re not sure, you’re not married yet, I know this is such a hard message for us to grasp because we live in a world with sin and wherever God is doing, and it just seems like a norm. But read these Bible verses. Corinthians 7:3-4, Hebrews 13:4, Mark 7:21-22, Proverbs 5:18-19, Corinthians 7:2, Matthew 5:28, Genesis 2:24. Read these verses. Meditate on the word. I am praying for you all. I am praying that all of us stop sinning. And something else I heard is that we repent. We repent enough to stop sinning. I love you guys. I pray these words come over you with…

Hi. My name is Brenda I’m from Main and I’ve listened to the Daily Audio Bible every day since January 1st of 2015. Thank you, Brian and Jill. I am asking if you could please say a prayer for my beautiful granddaughter, Madison Marie. She’s nine years old and had a terrible accident. Her hand got caught in a treadmill and she’s lost the skin in the nerves on her fingers. Although we haven’t seen a specialist yet the doctor told her mom it will take up to seven years to heal, but in the New Testament, the book of James chapter 5 verse 16, it says that the earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results. In verse 50, it says such a prayer offered in faith will heal the sick and the Lord will make you well. We call her Maddie. She just turned herself __ and she was doing so well. Will you please pray for her and ask our Lord to heal her precious little hand. And please pray for her mom and her dad, my daughter and my son-in-law, that they stay strong and they’re blessed with great doctors. I believe. I believe in earnest prayer. I believe in earnest prayer of righteous people and the power that has. I ask our Lord will heal our little Madison. So, I turn to you and ask for that prayer. Please pray with me. Thank you so much.

Hello friends. Calling from the southern Texas front here for a couple of dear friends who are also DABbers, I’m calling in for Burke who has recently been diagnosed with __ disease. __ pray Father. Father, we come to You and just ask Lord, just be here with us Lord as we humble ourselves to You Father. We ask Lord that Your kingdom would come Lord. We ask for healing over Burkes body Father. We ask that his thyroid would be renewed and restored. Lord we see Your hands right now healing him Father. We see Father the regeneration of cells and tissue Father as Your hand works miracles upon his body Father. We pray Lord for just You to continue to work in him Lord, that You would comfort him and console him Lord in the times when he’s feeling scared of the unknown Father. I ask Lord also that You would just begin to Father give him the confidence Lord to know that Your miraculous hand is at work Father. And I pray Lord that there would be forgiveness in all that he is Lord, that there would be nothing entering Your work. From our perspective, that You forgive our sins Father, that we would be working on a clean slate Lord and that Your work would continue to work, Your Holy Spirit would begin to move Lord in all of us Lord. We ask forgiveness for our sins and for anything that we’re holding onto. We release those things to You and we ask for Your whole armor to be upon us Father. Lord, the truth would be wrapped around her waist, righteousness upon our chest, the shoes of the gospel upon our feet, the shield of faith protecting us, the sword of Your word piercing our hearts, and the helmet of salvation protecting our thoughts, our mind, emotions, everything that we are in do the glory of Your kingdom. We love You and we honor You and we praise You in Jesus name. Thank You all family. This is Delta Alpha FoxTrot calling from the southern Texas front.

[reifromrfa]

Jumin x MC Week 1.4 - On the Line Chapter 4

Prompt: Alternate Universe

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3

Also posted this on fanfiction.net because I realized that the italicized words don’t always come out when you read using your phone so here it is :)

On the Line

A/N: This story is also not historically correct ^^;

Day 4

"Jumin...have you ever been in-love?"

"I have no time for such things."

She giggled. "What a serious person you are, saying you have no time for love."

"It's just," he explained. "I want to prove to the world that I'm not just the son of the infamous Mr. Han. I want my staff to see that I am just as hardworking as them, even more so because I'm supposed to be leading them soon. I am my own person and I did not get to where I am just because my father owns the company."

"But it certainly helped."

Jumin's lips curled up. "Yes, of course. But nevertheless, I don't want to take advantage of that by slacking off or passing off my duties to my staff. I want to be an efficient leader."

"We may have never met personally, but I believe you'll surpass your own expectations and reach for the stars, Jumin Han."

Ba-thump.

He arched his brow. His heart was doing that weird thing again. "Thank you," he replied. "What about you? Have you ever been in-love?"

He wasn't really thinking about what he was saying, he just thought it would be polite to ask as well. But after saying it, Jumin was suddenly burning with curiosity.

MC was quiet at first, but when she answered, her voice sounded so sad that he wanted to pull her to him, to comfort her.

"No...but I'm engaged."

"Oh."

His heart sank.

"But you do not love him?"

"Most certainly not."

"Then why are you marrying him?"

"Why, indeed?" She let out a mirthless laugh before continuing, "Simply put, we are broke. My father cannot afford to maintain this vineyard anymore and he sold me to the highest bidder."

His grip on the phone tightened. "He sold you? MC, I do not believe people can be auctioned off like antiques. Isn’t this illegal?"

“Perhaps it is but what can I do? He’s my father. When he heard that one of the wealthiest businessmen in town had a son, he set a meeting with them as soon as possible. He took me with him, saying he wanted me to learn more about the family business. Before I even had the chance to find out what was going on, he had already set me up on a date with him."

"Is this man reputable, at least?" He didn't know why he was asking this. This was obviously her personal matter, who was he to poke around other people's business? Why did he care so much?

"Hardly. Everybody in town whispers about how handsome he is but he uses his looks to toy with women's emotions. He uses his money to buy pleasure and when he doesn't get what he wants, he uses force."

Jumin closed his eyes in an effort to remain composed.

"It sounds like this man is insane."

"He is."

"You should not marry such a vile man."

She sighed. "If I could escape, I would have. But if I don't marry him, I'm afraid my father will be so desperate that he'll push my other sisters to marry him instead. And I cannot do that to them."

Other sisters.

So MC was protecting her sisters. His respect for her grew but he still wished he could do something to get her out of that situation.

"I wish I can help you," he tells her softly. "I don't like the predicament you're in."

"I knew you were my angel." He could hear the smile in her voice and his heart melted. "I wish I could run away. Maybe I can come work for you instead. Make enough money to support my sisters and hide from our father forever."

"You wouldn't need to work for me, I would have provided you with whatever you needed and ensured your safety."

Jumin froze.

What did he just say?

She laughed.. "That's very thoughtful of you, but I would never impose myself on you."

"No," he said. "I would be deeply offended if you refused my help." And he meant it. Every word he just told her was true --he would be willing to do anything to keep MC safe. He found it odd that he felt so strongly about someone he's never met before, but everything about their current situation was not normal.

“Thank you, Jumin. That means a lot to me. I…We’ve never met and we don’t owe each other anything, but I feel as though I’ve known you my entire life.”

“As do I.”

For a moment, they were both silent, each deep in thought. Jumin’s mind was a mess, the threads in his mind intertwining with the rest that he now has an intricate disaster inside his head. His emotions, however, were worse. He didn’t understand anything that was happening to him right now. He was intrigued and curious about this situation with MC. He silently seethed about her having to marry such a dishonest and loathsome cockroach man. He wanted to make her happy, just so he could hear her laughter one more time. He wanted to keep her safe and make sure the sadness vanished from her eyes and from her heart.

“Are you always this nice to strangers?”

“Not really. But you’re no stranger to me, we’ve known each other our entire lives, no?”

She laughed and Jumin grinned, wanting nothing more than to see her laughing right at that very moment.

“You’re funny, Jumin.”

She thought he was funny!

“It’s one of my special talents,” he said, knowing full well that if V heard him saying that, his best friend would have strongly disagreed.

MC giggled. Jumin was the only one who could make her smile these days, his deep voice the only one that brought her comfort and allowed her to sleep at night. She wished she could see him but she had no idea how he would be able to send his photo to the past. Still, MC was thankful that she could at least talk to him.

Her angel.

“Tell me about your family.” MC said, turning to her side and pulling her blanket closer to her body. She wanted to know everything about him, what kind of a person her angel was. She already knew he was nice and funny. But what else lay behind that deep voice of his?

“My family? There’s not much to know. My father and mother are divorced and currently, I’m living with my father. I respect him very much and I’d like to think we are similar to normal fathers and sons. He…he’s a bit of a womanizer, but I love my father dearly. I don’t have any siblings and very few I can consider my true friends. I guess you can say that my family consists of my father, Elizabeth the 3rd, and my best friend V.”

“I’m sorry, but what’s a divorce?”

“Oh…I guess it’s not legal yet in your time. A divorce is when a married couple decide to dissolve their marriage.”

“Dissolve their marriage?” MC asked, her breath catching. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Who knows? Perhaps they weren’t suited for each other? They fell out of love? I’m not sure.”

“That sounds awful.” MC replied, feeling sad. The future suddenly seemed like a lonely place to live if people created things such as divorces. “Jumin, promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“When you get married someday, promise me you’ll never get a divorce.”

She heard his light chuckle and her heart skipped a beat. MC bit her lip, holding onto the phone tightly as she waited for his reply.

“I doubt I’ll ever get married but if I do, I promise I won’t get a divorce.”

MC let out the breath she was holding. “That’s good. Thank you, Jumin.”

“What an odd request, MC. I’ve had people ask me for a lot of things, but no one’s ever asked me to promise not to get a divorce.”

“It’s just,” MC stated, twirling the cord around her fingers. “I believe that people should marry for love. And if things ever get bad in a marriage, then shouldn’t the couple fix it instead of abandoning each other?”

“Things don’t work like that anymore, I guess.”

“The future seems so bleak.”

Jumin laughs again. “It’s not that bad. I wish you could be here so I could show you all the good points of the future.”

“Oh? The busy owner of C&R will take time off to give me a tour of the future? I’m very honored, Mr. Han.”

“I will make an exception for you, MC, because you laugh at all my jokes.”

“Why? Do people not laugh at your jokes?”

“They say my jokes are not funny. Or perhaps they find it awkward when their boss jokes around with them.”

MC laughed. “I’ll laugh at all your jokes if you promise to take me around in those flying cars you use.”

Jumin lets out a genuine laugh and MC smiles. His laugh sounded so nice. It made her want to see him in person and see him laughing so she could keep that memory of him inside her head forever.

“Flying cars haven’t been invented yet. If you wish, I could take you around in my private jet or a helicopter.”

“You could take me around riding a horse and I wouldn’t care. We could even walk, I wouldn’t mind either.”

“Horses? Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“I should tell my assistant to research about the farms in the country.”

MC giggled. This man…was her ray of sunshine.

“But…”

MC repositioned herself on the bed, transferring the phone to her other ear.

“…if you believe people should marry for love, then I suggest you have a talk with your father about your marriage with that man. You will not be able to divorce him, MC. It will be a life sentence with him once you say I do.”

Her smile disappeared and her heart clenched. “Jumin, it’s not that easy.”

“If your father loves you, he will understand. You must try.”

She has tried. MC had already pleaded with her father but his solution was to offer her younger sister and MC couldn’t allow that to happen. But surely must love them, right? Surely he loves his daughters. She thought of her father’s smile as he taught her how to ride a horse and how to choose the best grapes. Maybe he would understand. She knew he only feared about not having enough money to feed her and her sisters. Maybe there was another way.

But she also remembered the look in Hong Chul’s eyes whenever he looks at her and she shuddered.

“I…I’ll try, Jumin. Honestly, I’m more afraid of Hong Chul.”

“Hong Chul?”

“My—"

Before MC could continue, she heard the door across the hallway opening. If her father catches her talking to a man on the phone, she would lose all chances of him listening to her.

“Jumin, I need to go.”

“Is everything alright?"

“Yes. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He seemed to hesitate, but only said, “Okay. Tomorrow, then. Goodnight, MC.”

“Goodnight, Jumin.”

MC put down the phone quietly and got under the blanket as fast as she could, closing her eyes and pretending to be sleep as the footsteps got closer. The door opened and she heard the heavy footsteps of her father entering the room and making his way towards her. She tried to even out her breathing and relax, hoping he wouldn’t realize that the lights were still on.

MC could feel him standing close to her bed silently. It went on for a minute before she heard him speak.

“My dear MC…I’m so sorry.”

And then just like that, he left, closing the door behind him and leaving a string of questions inside MC’s mind.

1  |  2  |  3  |  x  |  5  |  6  |  7  |  8  |  9  |  Soon?

Buy me a Mango Shake? ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

[easyfoodnetwork]

Some Restaurant Owners Want to Close. The Problem Is, It’s Not That Simple.

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Confronted with growing losses from the pandemic, restaurant owners face personal ruin

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to voices@eater.com.

Earlier this month, Washington Gov. Jay Inslee announced a four-phase approach to reopening our state’s economy. For restaurants in Seattle, this means a couple more weeks of to-go and delivery only, followed by an undetermined number of weeks at 50 percent capacity, then 75 percent capacity, and so on until full service is allowed.

Similar announcements are being made throughout the country. While we can debate their logic and safety, what isn’t being addressed is what will happen for the number of small, independent restaurants that won’t be able to make it that long or have already closed permanently. These closures will not only shape the culture and community of the cities they inhabited, but also the lives of their owners, who could face personal financial devastation as a result of closing their businesses.

This isn’t fair.

When I started hearing about a potential global pandemic and began to see mandatory restaurant closures in China and Italy, I knew exactly what many of these restaurant owners must be feeling. As a two-time (now ex-) restaurant owner, I can still feel the visceral dread in my stomach of what one weekend’s lost sales would mean for our bank account — to say nothing of being closed for weeks, or even months. As I watched the situation unfold, I felt an immense amount of guilt for how grateful I was to no longer own a restaurant, but I was resolute in my commitment to help owners get support in any way that I could. In addition to brainstorming solutions for the restaurant group I now work for, I was thankful to be asked to join the advisory board for Seattle Restaurants United, a coalition of small, independent restaurants in the Seattle Area.

But it wasn’t until I was on a Zoom call for that advisory board, discussing how we could help restaurants pay (or avoid paying) their bills in the upcoming weeks and months so that they won’t have to close forever, that a board member pointed out what should have been obvious to me much earlier on: Some of these restaurants owners want to close, but can’t. Tired of living on razor-thin profit margins for years, they simply cannot accept being thrown into further debt that they could possibly never escape. They don’t want to pivot to delivery or takeout or whatever model we agree is the best. Some of them cannot reconcile reopening their restaurants with the knowledge that they could be putting themselves or their employees at risk. They want out.

The problem is, it’s not that simple. What very few people realize is that when restaurant owners open their businesses, many of them forfeit their exit plan. They collateralize anything they have to get a little more cash. Margins are so thin that they end up putting up their houses, their cars, anything for a lease or a loan, and sign personal guarantees for all contracts. In some cases, walking away can mean personal financial ruin.

And so right now, in this time of chaos and terror, our local, state, and federal governments must do what is right and pass legislation releasing these small business owners from their business liabilities, namely their commercial leases, SBA business loans, and any past-due sales or business taxes.

I say this having lived through something similar myself, twice. Having narrowly avoided the same issues so many restaurants face right now, I am in the unique position of knowing not only how much they truly need our government’s help, but also why.

Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail.

Over the past decade I opened, operated, and sold two successful restaurants with my husband. When people ask about it, I usually give them the nice version: We had a beautiful dream that we made happen with equal parts hard work, perseverance, and faith, and then eventually our priorities changed, we decided to sell, and we’ve lived happily ever after. It’s what people generally want to hear and it’s much easier than telling the truth.

Telling the truth would mean talking about the pit that lived full time in my stomach, churning over how we would pay for this week’s payroll, or this month’s sales tax, or rent, or a broken sink. It would mean talking about how I cried in my office after an employee called me a bitch for requiring that he know our wine list, screaming profanities at me as he left the building. It would mean talking about how I felt like I never got to see my kid.

My feelings sound like complaints, because they are, and I can tell you from experience that no one wants to hear a restaurant owner complain. There is a special disdain reserved for dreamers who complain about their dream. Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail. After all, this was my choice, and everyone knows restaurants are hard. I knew that going in, didn’t I?

Even now, writing this, I feel shame for admitting how much I struggled. The fear I felt constantly is a secret that we restaurant owners keep hidden. In public, we share it with each other through subtle glances and knowing smirks. In private, we text each other that we don’t know how much longer we can keep it up. We all know better than to say it out loud and potentially invite the ire of the public or even worse, somehow give the words the power and make it all worse (restaurant owners can be very superstitious).

Let me be clear: Restaurant owners love what they do. There is no other reason to do it; they certainly don’t do it for the money. Their restaurants are most likely the loves of their lives, and fear and anxiety simply come with the job. If anything, the fact that they live with so much discomfort and yet still wake up and go to work every day is a testament to how much they love their restaurants.

But sometimes, love isn’t enough. About a year into opening our second restaurant, Mean Sandwich, I found myself sitting on my couch at home in the middle of a beautiful day, having what I thought was a heart attack. It was our one day off, the day we were supposed to use to relax and spend time with our 3-year-old daughter, doing crafts and going on walks. Instead, as I felt my chest get tighter, I laid down and yelled to my husband, “Babe, it’s happening again. It feels like I’m going to die.”

It was a panic attack, one of many I had during that year. I felt trapped in our restaurant, which wasn’t making enough money to support our family despite its outward success, and on whose income we relied to pay the mountain of debt we had signed on for in order to open it. We had maxed out all of our personal credit cards because we still couldn’t afford to pay both of our salaries, as well as our business cards to pay for improvements to our little restaurant’s backyard. Our business lease was iron tight and personally guaranteed by both of us. We had taken out an SBA loan to open the restaurant, and the monthly payments were nearly as much as our rent. We had no savings whatsoever, so closing the restaurant almost definitely meant having to declare bankruptcy and immediately move in with my parents. It had also taken a toll on our personal life; sometimes it felt like the only things holding our marriage together were inertia and denial. I could feel the noose around my neck tightening every day, and the tighter it got, the less energy I had to find a solution. So I drank and cried and panicked.

My story has a good ending: Eventually, like we had with our first restaurant, Thirty Acres, we put Mean Sandwich up for sale and found a buyer, through a friend, who wanted to keep it alive. I cried when we finally sold it, but they were tears of pure relief and gratitude. We had escaped by the skin of our teeth, neither unscathed nor debt-free, but we got out, and I could barely believe it. Although I still grapple with how to move beyond the shame of the mistakes I made, we are better every single day.

Restaurant owners do not deserve to go bankrupt over this. Faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one.

But while I may relate to what restaurant owners are experiencing during this nightmare, I also recognize the ways that we are different. You see, I got myself in my predicament with our restaurant. I chose to open it and I chose when I was done, and thankfully, it worked out for me.

These restaurants aren’t closed because their owners fucked up. Most of them were doing everything right; they were working harder and under more pressure than any of us can possibly imagine. Before they saw their sales start to dwindle and were told to shut down by the state, they were paying their bills and their employees, often providing health care and sick pay, creating places for their communities to congregate, and everything in between. They do not deserve to go bankrupt over this, and trust me when I say that faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one. We can’t let that happen.

Instead, these restaurant owners deserve to be told this wasn’t their fault. And then, if they want one, they should be given a way out.

What would that look like? First, restaurant owners must be released from being held personally liable for their commercial leases if they have been impacted by COVID-19. While these leases represent private contracts in which the local government does not usually have the authority to intervene, this pandemic clearly represents an abnormal circumstance for which exceptions must be made. We’re already seeing this in the form of proposed bills such as New York City’s 1932-2020 (which the city council passed last Wednesday) and California’s SB 939. Both bills prevent landlords from holding commercial tenants personally liable in the event that they have to close due to COVID-19’s economic impact. They are a good start, and we need to see this type of legislation nationwide.

Small-restaurant owners cannot be expected to pay for these leases for the entirety of their terms or even until the landlord is able find another tenant, whenever that is. Even those owners fortunate (or wise) enough to have “good guy guarantees,” which release them from having to pay out the entire lease term as long as certain conditions are met, are still usually beholden to paying landlords a minimum of three to six months of rent in addition to any rent they are behind on.

Second, in addition to their current offer to defer loan and interest payments for six months, the Small Business Administration must forgive all existing business debt for restaurants that decide to close. There is no reason a restaurant owner should face bankruptcy when those loans are supposed to be secured by the SBA.

And last, federal grants should be provided to restaurants that are unable to open — without concern for how likely they are to reopen — so that they can pay any employees they have been unable to pay for past work as well as pay for any unpaid sales or business taxes. To naysayers who might say this is too far-reaching, I would point out that just as it is unfair that restaurants were told to close indefinitely without any imposed fixed expense relief, it would also be unfair to let restaurants close without ensuring support for the rest of the ecosystem that relies on them. Now is the time to consider holistic approaches to the problem, rather than solutions that simply shift the problem onto others.

These restaurant owners haven’t done anything wrong. They stepped up and closed their doors for the safety of their communities and it ruined them. It isn’t fair that we leave them to deal with cleaning up the mess on their own. But they don’t need a handout, or your pity. What they need instead is a large-scale solution tailored to the restaurant industry. They are hard-working and creative entrepreneurs; give them an inch, they will make it into a mile.

But for those who are done, who don’t have any energy left to pivot, who are facing down months of bills and debt while they wait for a workable solution that may never come, we need to offer an escape hatch. Trust me: They will figure out what to do next.

Alex Pemoulié is a Seattle-based writer and the director of finance for Sea Creatures restaurant group. She previously owned and operated two restaurants, Thirty Acres and Mean Sandwich, with her husband.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2LEmYLo https://ift.tt/3cIT1FV

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Confronted with growing losses from the pandemic, restaurant owners face personal ruin

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to voices@eater.com.

Earlier this month, Washington Gov. Jay Inslee announced a four-phase approach to reopening our state’s economy. For restaurants in Seattle, this means a couple more weeks of to-go and delivery only, followed by an undetermined number of weeks at 50 percent capacity, then 75 percent capacity, and so on until full service is allowed.

Similar announcements are being made throughout the country. While we can debate their logic and safety, what isn’t being addressed is what will happen for the number of small, independent restaurants that won’t be able to make it that long or have already closed permanently. These closures will not only shape the culture and community of the cities they inhabited, but also the lives of their owners, who could face personal financial devastation as a result of closing their businesses.

This isn’t fair.

When I started hearing about a potential global pandemic and began to see mandatory restaurant closures in China and Italy, I knew exactly what many of these restaurant owners must be feeling. As a two-time (now ex-) restaurant owner, I can still feel the visceral dread in my stomach of what one weekend’s lost sales would mean for our bank account — to say nothing of being closed for weeks, or even months. As I watched the situation unfold, I felt an immense amount of guilt for how grateful I was to no longer own a restaurant, but I was resolute in my commitment to help owners get support in any way that I could. In addition to brainstorming solutions for the restaurant group I now work for, I was thankful to be asked to join the advisory board for Seattle Restaurants United, a coalition of small, independent restaurants in the Seattle Area.

But it wasn’t until I was on a Zoom call for that advisory board, discussing how we could help restaurants pay (or avoid paying) their bills in the upcoming weeks and months so that they won’t have to close forever, that a board member pointed out what should have been obvious to me much earlier on: Some of these restaurants owners want to close, but can’t. Tired of living on razor-thin profit margins for years, they simply cannot accept being thrown into further debt that they could possibly never escape. They don’t want to pivot to delivery or takeout or whatever model we agree is the best. Some of them cannot reconcile reopening their restaurants with the knowledge that they could be putting themselves or their employees at risk. They want out.

The problem is, it’s not that simple. What very few people realize is that when restaurant owners open their businesses, many of them forfeit their exit plan. They collateralize anything they have to get a little more cash. Margins are so thin that they end up putting up their houses, their cars, anything for a lease or a loan, and sign personal guarantees for all contracts. In some cases, walking away can mean personal financial ruin.

And so right now, in this time of chaos and terror, our local, state, and federal governments must do what is right and pass legislation releasing these small business owners from their business liabilities, namely their commercial leases, SBA business loans, and any past-due sales or business taxes.

I say this having lived through something similar myself, twice. Having narrowly avoided the same issues so many restaurants face right now, I am in the unique position of knowing not only how much they truly need our government’s help, but also why.

Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail.

Over the past decade I opened, operated, and sold two successful restaurants with my husband. When people ask about it, I usually give them the nice version: We had a beautiful dream that we made happen with equal parts hard work, perseverance, and faith, and then eventually our priorities changed, we decided to sell, and we’ve lived happily ever after. It’s what people generally want to hear and it’s much easier than telling the truth.

Telling the truth would mean talking about the pit that lived full time in my stomach, churning over how we would pay for this week’s payroll, or this month’s sales tax, or rent, or a broken sink. It would mean talking about how I cried in my office after an employee called me a bitch for requiring that he know our wine list, screaming profanities at me as he left the building. It would mean talking about how I felt like I never got to see my kid.

My feelings sound like complaints, because they are, and I can tell you from experience that no one wants to hear a restaurant owner complain. There is a special disdain reserved for dreamers who complain about their dream. Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail. After all, this was my choice, and everyone knows restaurants are hard. I knew that going in, didn’t I?

Even now, writing this, I feel shame for admitting how much I struggled. The fear I felt constantly is a secret that we restaurant owners keep hidden. In public, we share it with each other through subtle glances and knowing smirks. In private, we text each other that we don’t know how much longer we can keep it up. We all know better than to say it out loud and potentially invite the ire of the public or even worse, somehow give the words the power and make it all worse (restaurant owners can be very superstitious).

Let me be clear: Restaurant owners love what they do. There is no other reason to do it; they certainly don’t do it for the money. Their restaurants are most likely the loves of their lives, and fear and anxiety simply come with the job. If anything, the fact that they live with so much discomfort and yet still wake up and go to work every day is a testament to how much they love their restaurants.

But sometimes, love isn’t enough. About a year into opening our second restaurant, Mean Sandwich, I found myself sitting on my couch at home in the middle of a beautiful day, having what I thought was a heart attack. It was our one day off, the day we were supposed to use to relax and spend time with our 3-year-old daughter, doing crafts and going on walks. Instead, as I felt my chest get tighter, I laid down and yelled to my husband, “Babe, it’s happening again. It feels like I’m going to die.”

It was a panic attack, one of many I had during that year. I felt trapped in our restaurant, which wasn’t making enough money to support our family despite its outward success, and on whose income we relied to pay the mountain of debt we had signed on for in order to open it. We had maxed out all of our personal credit cards because we still couldn’t afford to pay both of our salaries, as well as our business cards to pay for improvements to our little restaurant’s backyard. Our business lease was iron tight and personally guaranteed by both of us. We had taken out an SBA loan to open the restaurant, and the monthly payments were nearly as much as our rent. We had no savings whatsoever, so closing the restaurant almost definitely meant having to declare bankruptcy and immediately move in with my parents. It had also taken a toll on our personal life; sometimes it felt like the only things holding our marriage together were inertia and denial. I could feel the noose around my neck tightening every day, and the tighter it got, the less energy I had to find a solution. So I drank and cried and panicked.

My story has a good ending: Eventually, like we had with our first restaurant, Thirty Acres, we put Mean Sandwich up for sale and found a buyer, through a friend, who wanted to keep it alive. I cried when we finally sold it, but they were tears of pure relief and gratitude. We had escaped by the skin of our teeth, neither unscathed nor debt-free, but we got out, and I could barely believe it. Although I still grapple with how to move beyond the shame of the mistakes I made, we are better every single day.

Restaurant owners do not deserve to go bankrupt over this. Faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one.

But while I may relate to what restaurant owners are experiencing during this nightmare, I also recognize the ways that we are different. You see, I got myself in my predicament with our restaurant. I chose to open it and I chose when I was done, and thankfully, it worked out for me.

These restaurants aren’t closed because their owners fucked up. Most of them were doing everything right; they were working harder and under more pressure than any of us can possibly imagine. Before they saw their sales start to dwindle and were told to shut down by the state, they were paying their bills and their employees, often providing health care and sick pay, creating places for their communities to congregate, and everything in between. They do not deserve to go bankrupt over this, and trust me when I say that faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one. We can’t let that happen.

Instead, these restaurant owners deserve to be told this wasn’t their fault. And then, if they want one, they should be given a way out.

What would that look like? First, restaurant owners must be released from being held personally liable for their commercial leases if they have been impacted by COVID-19. While these leases represent private contracts in which the local government does not usually have the authority to intervene, this pandemic clearly represents an abnormal circumstance for which exceptions must be made. We’re already seeing this in the form of proposed bills such as New York City’s 1932-2020 (which the city council passed last Wednesday) and California’s SB 939. Both bills prevent landlords from holding commercial tenants personally liable in the event that they have to close due to COVID-19’s economic impact. They are a good start, and we need to see this type of legislation nationwide.

Small-restaurant owners cannot be expected to pay for these leases for the entirety of their terms or even until the landlord is able find another tenant, whenever that is. Even those owners fortunate (or wise) enough to have “good guy guarantees,” which release them from having to pay out the entire lease term as long as certain conditions are met, are still usually beholden to paying landlords a minimum of three to six months of rent in addition to any rent they are behind on.

Second, in addition to their current offer to defer loan and interest payments for six months, the Small Business Administration must forgive all existing business debt for restaurants that decide to close. There is no reason a restaurant owner should face bankruptcy when those loans are supposed to be secured by the SBA.

And last, federal grants should be provided to restaurants that are unable to open — without concern for how likely they are to reopen — so that they can pay any employees they have been unable to pay for past work as well as pay for any unpaid sales or business taxes. To naysayers who might say this is too far-reaching, I would point out that just as it is unfair that restaurants were told to close indefinitely without any imposed fixed expense relief, it would also be unfair to let restaurants close without ensuring support for the rest of the ecosystem that relies on them. Now is the time to consider holistic approaches to the problem, rather than solutions that simply shift the problem onto others.

These restaurant owners haven’t done anything wrong. They stepped up and closed their doors for the safety of their communities and it ruined them. It isn’t fair that we leave them to deal with cleaning up the mess on their own. But they don’t need a handout, or your pity. What they need instead is a large-scale solution tailored to the restaurant industry. They are hard-working and creative entrepreneurs; give them an inch, they will make it into a mile.

But for those who are done, who don’t have any energy left to pivot, who are facing down months of bills and debt while they wait for a workable solution that may never come, we need to offer an escape hatch. Trust me: They will figure out what to do next.

Alex Pemoulié is a Seattle-based writer and the director of finance for Sea Creatures restaurant group. She previously owned and operated two restaurants, Thirty Acres and Mean Sandwich, with her husband.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2LEmYLo via Blogger https://ift.tt/2z8xWWP

[meogeosseo]

The Yellow Hibiscus of Milae: Coffee Beans.

A/N: This is a Mystic Messenger time slip AU fic. Spoiler warning: there are scenes mirroring Jaehee’s route.

Summary: Jaehee the eunuch discovers the blessed beverage; coffee.

Main Characters: Cast List | MC, Jaehee, Seven, Jumin

“What is this?”

“My lord, they called it ‘koh-fee beens,” the man, who was locked in a deep bow so that he wouldn’t have to look at the young prince’s eyes, pronounced each syllable tentatively. 

A girl with long brown hair furrowed her eyebrows at the familiar word. She was seated on the side, under the stage the throne sat upon, surrounded by books and scrolls of what appeared to be basic hanja. “... Do you mean coffee beans?” she confirmed quizzically. 

The messenger sighed with clear relief laced in his tone, he was glad that there was somebody that understood him. He was afraid that they thought he would be speaking nonsense, and have him executed. The Kingdom of Han was a prosperous country, yes, but the palace life was strict and wrought with danger. “Yes, what the lady said.”

Prince Jumin and Jaehee the eunuch exchanged questionable glances, unsure of what to make of this new predicament. It appeared that a foreign ship had docked and left their ports, and in exchange for precious Han kingdom silk, swapped three bags full of little brown pellets that had a strong aroma. The bags were now presented before the young prince, torn open to reveal the product within, scent wafting through the throne room.

“MC, you know about these... ‘ko-fee beens’?” Jumin asked. He was no longer so suspicious about this newcomer who was completely illiterate, and instead regarded her with curiosity - for some odd reason she was one of the only people who could surprise him with strange knowledge and insight on the world beyond the Kingdom of Han. Truly a maiden of ‘Milae’ indeed. He often wondered where on earth such a country was.

The girl nodded, looking up from the hanja scrolls. “They’re really common in the milae.”

Now, Prince Jumin had been quite pampered, but he was an independent man who knew he could not always rely on his father. No, he had to prove himself, as the heir to the Phoenix Throne. Unfortunately as a prince, he had no idea about anything from the lower class - that was what common meant, right? Common. Commoner’s. Peasant produce. But these pellets certainly weren’t native to the Kingdom of Han.

After a bit of thought, Prince Jumin concluded the impromptu meeting with a task. “Common? I see. Well, eunuch, research about these... exotic ‘ko-fee beens’. We must calculate their value here in the kingdom. If they prove to be useful, it would be beneficial to distribute these to whatever stores require them.”

“Yes, my lord.” Came the reply, quiet and respectful. But MC could hear the ‘oh god another project’ sigh in her voice.

MC had deep respect for Jaehee. Not only did she have to pretend to be a man but she was, out of all people, Jumin’s eunuch. Everyone except the prince himself agrees that she’s always overworked. Sometimes MC visited the eunuch’s room, where she would find her not even getting a good day’s worth of rest but surrounded by work, and help her apply makeup to cover those eyebags that sagged under her tired lids. 

Though she had her own studies to worry about - there was no way she was going to survive in the palace without at least knowing how to read hanja - she resolved to help Jaehee with this newfound task.

“The coffee bean is the seed of the coffee plant, it’s actually the pit of a fruit that can be red or purple... two of the most common types are the arabica and the robusta, but I’m not sure which one the merchant gave us... Jaehee, are you listening?” MC looked up at the eunuch, who seemed to be glowing with thirst for knowledge. With just the two of them alone, Jaehee didn’t need to hide herself anymore. Her hat sat on the floor, and she had undone her bun, long hair flowing all around her, spilling from her shoulders.

“This.. is quite interesting. I am astonished that such a product exists. And you say that this ‘coffee bean’ produces a beverage called ‘coffee’?” 

Her eyes were shining, leaning ever so close towards the MC. They were seated at a low table, surrounded by books that the eunuch had gathered from the library, especially books from foreign lands, in hopes of finding the origin of - or any information of - the beans. “And this beverage gives the drinker energy? Is it similar to the ginseng elixers we have in the capital?”

MC chuckled to herself, “Well, yes. But it doesn’t taste as disgusting.”

“I would like to try this coffee. Do you know how to make it?”

“Eh?" MC was caught by surprise. Most people should know how to make coffee, but she always forgot that she was stuck in a place far away from home - not only in location but in time. In a world of instant coffee, MC wasn’t quite sure how to actually brew a cup, but... “I can try.” She took hold of Jaehee’s hands. They were rough, not the hands of a lady, because she always spent her days writing nonstop for Jumin as she worked. In another world, perhaps these hands would have been soft and delicate. “Would... you like to help me?”

“I would love to, Lady MC.”

Though MC wouldn’t say that their bean roasting and the resulting cup of coffee was the best, it was like magic to Jaehee and the women who were watching in the kitchen. Jaehee scooped a spoonful from the bowl the aromatic liquid sat in, blew on it lightly, before tasting this magical substance. The crowd that had gathered seemed to hold their breath, waiting for judgement. What did it taste like?

Jaehee began to cough, overwhelmed by the strong taste, and for a second MC’s heart jumped into her mouth - but when the eunuch managed to smile through her watery eyes, MC began to wonder what other modern things she could bring into this world to bring such joy into the Kingdom of Han.

Soon, this rough concoction began to spread throughout the palace staff. It was nowhere near what the people from the 21st century would call coffee, but it was something new and something mysterious and exotic. They didn’t have it by the cup full, they usually brewed one bowl and tasted it little by little with a spoon, passing it to the next person. The maids loved it, they said they felt energy burn through their very bones, surge through their bodies. Jaehee enjoyed it the most, especially when she could share one with MC. The latter had never seen a bigger smile on the eunuch’s face when she first learnt how to brew a cup herself.

"You seem to be in a good mood, what happened?” Jaehee, on her daily errands, had bumped into the general of the Kingdom of Han; Seven. An enigmatic youth with bright red hair that was highly unusual, he had been strolling around the palace with a fan in hand. While most fans had poems written on it, or fantastical paintings of the Han kingdom scenery, Seven’s had strange strings of shapes on it. Seven called it numbers of a foreign land, but everyone else only saw circles and lines. 0 and 1.

“Oh, Seven. Apologies for not seeing you - I was just tidying up after myself... I have been writing a lot on this coffee product.” There was a gleam in her eye, “You should try some.”

“Coffee isn’t my thing,” Seven hummed. “I much prefer something else, maybe next time?”

The eunuch tilted her head with confusion. “You mean there is something even better than coffee?”

“Uh.. maybe, subjective opinions, you know. I best be off, hurry along now.”

“... I see, very well. May we meet again.” The eunuch bowed before continuing her way, disappearing down the many halls that lined the palace, wooden panels polished to perfection, enough that one could see their own reflection if they just looked down.

The general’s eyes narrowed knowingly, how could Jaehee have discovered how to brew coffee? It hadn’t been long since they had received the raw product. He laughed to himself. It had to be MC. It was good that she was making life here more exciting but... Seven’s grip on the fan tightened - this was just another sign that the MC didn’t belong here. He had to hurry to find a way to send her back, back to the time that has yet to come.

“Did you hear?” whispers echoed through the halls, maidens with their heads close murmured to each other quietly, news from the capital travelling past palace walls. It had been some time since coffee was brought to the Kingdom of Han, and after the excitement had died down considerably, Jaehee had been considering bringing her research to the prince. The weeks she had spent pouring over books and talking about coffee with MC had been exciting, no doubt better than reading scrolls about horses. She was sick of horses. Horses this, horses that, why was the prince so obsessed with horses? 

So she was surprised when she caught wind of a rumor that she heard while she was out. The rumor that coffee was in a fact a poison. Out of fear, those who knew within the staff threw the remainder of the beans into the storage room, never to be touched again.

“No!” MC shook her head at the question Jaehee had asked. The eunuch had burst into her room, frightening the lady within, spilling ink all over the paper she had been practicing her characters on. Desperately, she tried to save her work, but Jaehee paid no heed to MC’s frantic movements. “Coffee isn’t poisonous! A- At least I don’t think it is-”

But what if it was? She only knew about instant coffee and the basics. The ‘common’ beans in the modern era. What if... this was a new type of coffee bean? She was clearly in the past, or a world reminiscent of the past. MC had just assumed that it would be safe to drink just like the coffee in her world. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was poisonous? “I- I don’t know, Jaehee...”

A billion thoughts sprouted in Jaehee’s mind. What if she poisoned half the staff? What if she killed someone? Oh god, what if she had served it to the prince and poisoned him? She would be executed by the Emperor! No, no. There was no way that this heaven graced beverage was poisonous. She had never felt more alive. The staff had never been so energized - they even managed to complete their work on time. The rumors claimed that it was a slow acting poison, it would take weeks for them to ‘die’. What was the date? They drank they last spoon of coffee several weeks ago - if they were to die from this poison, it would be the following Sunday. Yes, she had until then to discover the truth. If it was indeed a lethal substance... she will find the antidote as well.

“You are to cease this research about ‘ko-fee beens’,” the prince glowered at the eunuch. “It is too dangerous for our people, better to keep them safe, I will not introduce poison into society.”

“But my lord! You will render all of my work useless with... just a baseless rumor?”

“A ‘baseless rumor’ that if proven true, will result in deadly consequences.” He was the heir to the throne, he wasn’t going to let something so disastrous happen. Jumin was the voice that will soon guide the people, bad impressions would be costly. “If anything happens on Sunday, I will ensure that you will just be removed from your position, not executed.”

“But-”

“No objections. Continue your books about horses until then, there are still many breeds to explore. I want a whole bestiary done on this magnificent creature.”

“...”

“I’m sorry, Jaehee... this is my fault.” Seated around a table, a worried and concerned MC sat with the crestfallen Jaehee, arms wrapped around the eunuch hoping to comfort her. Zen was on the eunuch’s other side, patting her back awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do in this situation. Seven sat across from them, fanning himself as usual, procrastinating from his daily work. “I was the one who suggested-”

“No, MC, it was my fault. So it is true. Curiosity did kill the cat.”

“But it really isn’t poisonous!”

“I believe you, but the prince doesn’t.”

“Well, Jumin has never been the type to take risks when it comes to the people,” Seven piped.

Zen had been so angry with the prince earlier, he threatened to strangle him, needing to be convinced by the others that this would be a horrible idea that could cost the actor his life. “Stupid uppity prince, not only did he overwork you to the bone, now he thinks he can just throw all that work away? My god, doesn’t he know how hard you work, Jaehee?” he huffed. “Just because he heard something that might not even be true.”

“No, I understand my lord. He is just concerned for the people,” Jaehee sighed. Even till the end, she was loyal to the one she served. 

“Don’t defend him, have some self-respect, Jaehee-”

“Now, now, don’t yell! People are gonna come into my room and I don’t like that-” Seven’s room was littered with junk, normal people would want their room to be clean, but Seven was less than normal. 

MC drew Jaehee closer to her, taking her hands and squeezing them. The eunuch was shaking, and MC’s heart sunk with guilt and sadness. She shouldn’t have indulged her about the subject of coffee. This was her fault. “Does... anyone have any ideas on what to do?”

“Research about coffee, of course. We should find out of it’s actually poisonous.”

MC shook her head. “But Seven, Jaehee isn’t allowed to continue her research, Jumin told her to work on some horse bestiary.”

Seven’s lips curled up into a mischievous smile. 

“Jaehee, you continue with the coffee. Let me write the bestiary, I know plenty about horses.”

Friday came. The horse bestiary project had to be presented to show its progress. Half of it had been done in Jaehee’s meticulous handwriting, filled to the brim with statistical information, pictures of horse anatomy and whatnot. The rest of it up to the point it was currently at... was done by Seven. Of course, Jumin wasn’t aware of this. 

A cup of tea at his side with an arrangement of sweet biscuits, he settled himself down before he began his daily reading of the bestiary. He enjoyed this very much, and didn’t mind reading it from the start, memorising each and every fact that was listed and written with care. Today, however, he decided to start with the new content.

As he flipped open the book, he was greeted with a magnificent drawing of a prancing horse with a horn on its head, mane flowing in an unseen air. The papers found themselves splattered with tea, an uncouth reaction from the prince that he hoped no one saw or heard.

“JAEHEE!”

And so, the eunuch found herself without a job. Dismissed from her permission by an angry Jumin, she wandered her way into MC’s room, fell to the floor and curled up on the mats. 

“It’s not that bad,” MC comforted the woman, whose eyes were wide with shock, unable to speak. “You have the time to earn some proper rest now, right? Let’s see it as a blessing.”

“You can come and work for me if you want, Jaehee,” Zen offered with a charming smile. “The theater always needs more staff.”

“What about tutoring me?” Yoosung piped up, trying his best to comfort the once-eunuch, though there was not much the youngster could offer. “I’ll pay you.”

“Uh... I am not sure what to say... but you are a very talented woman, there will always be a place for people like you,” said V.

At least for that night, Jaehee slept well, realising that now she had freedom. Free from the tight schedules, the sleepless nights, the workload. Ahh, all gone.

As Sunday rolled past, there were noticeably no bodies to collect. The staff continued on their daily tasks, some even surprised that they were still alive. It became increasingly obvious that the rumor was in fact, false. 

Without an eunuch, the workload for the prince was piled high, his table turning into a forest of books, papers and scrolls. The more he worked, the more he seemed to become frustrated and angry, when finally...

“... May we call Jaehee back as my personal eunuch? I am afraid this is too much work for me to handle myself.”

“But my lord, you dismissed him already-”

“But I am the prince, so hire him back!”

And so was the story of the eunuch Jaehee and coffee beans. While most would have been mad at the prince’s sudden change in mind, Jaehee’s willingness to return was seen as a sign of undying loyalty for her boss. 

At least she got a full night’s worth of sleep.

[papatens-blog]

Jeno || bad boy (ang/f.)

+Where the self entitled bad boy unknowingly experiences love at first sight for a girl he planned to make his next victim+ *warning: shit ton of swearing* New school new me, that was how it was. My dad moved us here so he could be closer to his job, however it definitely wasn't the first time we've ever moved. I've been to many places around the world, Israel, Brazil, America, Mexico, Spain etc. you name it I've probably been there. Right now his job is held in Korea for a few years, I wasn't as nervous despite the whole culture shock thing in fact I was very excited like I usually am about these things. Some people would be annoyed and yeah I am but I've always loved traveling and meeting new people and making friends, it was fun for me to do so. What sucked however was not the language barrier I experienced with most visits to countries but instead that I would have to go to school instead of preferably being homeschooled. And today was my first day of a new school with many different people, new language, new culture, new faces, new drama. I was never fond of drama but there was always that one girl in all my other schools who made it their goal to ruin me like their lives depended on it. Upon entering the school I was already experiencing what I expected. That being odd looks, glares, whispering, pointing, snickering, mocking, or genuinely surprised looks. I couldn't blame them for looking at me so quizzically I was way different anyways, it took no genius to notice my tanner skin, naturally colored hair, along with many other features. I kept my head up high in order to not to be a target that easily. "Hi!!!" I flinched at the loud dolphin like boy in front of me, as much as I wanted to smack him for being so loud I held myself back and gave him a smile before returning his hello. "My name is Chenle, I was new you're new so what's your name?" He held out his hand I didn't hesitate to shake it. "Hi I'm y/n, um if you don't mind while you're here can you please show me to the office?" I felt bad for asking but it had to be done or else I'd never go to class. He gave me an excited smile before linking his skinny arm with my own and basically dragging me to the office where he translated for me the whole time. I found it amusing because he definitely didn't know that I studied the language before coming here like I usually did with the other countries. I wanted to let him know it was alright but he looked so happy while helping I couldn't help but let him. "The big fat turd said she forgot to finish your schedule and that it would be done in a few days and that you have to follow an assigned classmate till further notice." He snickered with a knowing smile. "Jesus Chenle you better hope she can't understand you..." I chuckled silently so we wouldn't get scolded for disrupting the peace of the already boring office. "This woman? No way we're good she can barely understand Korean considering she is Korean much less our own language." I gave him an impressed look and walked right behind him after bidding goodbye to the already fed up lady. "Here." He said handing me a paper with a class number on it. "You should get going I would take you but we're in different grades meaning that's another building and listen I love you but I'm not getting a detention because of you." He held his hands up in defense before running off in the distance. The kid was something else I thought. Looking at the paper which read '3-B' I sighed before making my way to the class which thankfully was in the next building not too far away. However, just as I was getting to the class I saw what I assumed was my teacher outside, with arms crossed and a heavy glare set on me. Great, late on the first day. "Im sorry teacher...." I bowed like I was taught to do so in situations like these, "I accidentally made a wrong turn....again I am sorry!" I bowed again not forgetting to keep my hands on my sides respectfully. "It's alright, you're new so I will excuse it bUT do not make this an ongoing thing- AYE LEE JENO! WHY ARE YOU LATE! YOUVE BEEN HERE LONGER YOU KNOW THIS IS-" "Oops" The teacher held his temple as that Jeno kid shoved right past us into his seat. "Don't mind him Ms. L/n, he's a nobody, won't do any harm. Now let's get in there and introduce you." I thought his words were a but harsh but instead of confront him I nodded and walked behind him into the class. "Class, today you will meet our new classmate, Ms. L/n can you introduce yourself." I gave him a single nod before turning to the class. "Hello everyone, my name is f/n and I am from _____. Please take care of me as a fellow classmate." A few boys whistled while the girls didn't hesitate to give me disgusted glares before snickering towards their friends. "Ah that's right! Class listen up!" The class quieted down before waiting for the teacher to speak, "Our friend here actually has no schuedule yet thanks to the lovely Ms. Shin, therefore I will actually choose someone for her to shadow behind till further notice, any volunteers?" I grimaced at the amount of roudy boys who yelled 'me!' 'Please me!' Etc. I hoped to God I wouldn't get them. "Ah perfect we have a volunteer!" My teacher announced with an evil tone, everyone quieted down before looking at the so called volunteer. "Where is he?" That Jeno kid looked around when he realized everyone was looking at him. Great. "You found him!" My teacher smiled grimly, Jeno glared at him before turning his icy gaze to me. Shit shit shit shit. "Why me." Shit ok bitch. "Why not you?" My teacher crossed his arms in amusement. "Because I already got girls behind me 25/8! I don't need her trailing behind me like some lost dog!" Ouch sHit ok. "Take your seat right next to him Ms. L/n, may God be with you." I slowly nodded and made my way towards the back of the class where the boy occupied a desk next to an empty one. "Hello...." I muttered as I sat down, I obviously didn't expect him to return my greeting considering his behavior not even a few minutes ago. He sighed took out his phone while everyone began taking notes. How did I find myself in this predicament? I couldn't think but repeat the question several times throughout our lesson. Me and Jeno didn't talk at all, but I could feel him glaring at me the whole time during class. Right as the bell rung he stood up and tried to sneak to the door but before he could get out our teacher stopped him. "LEE JENO!! I know what you're up to and im not letting it happen again. If you ever ditch her I'll make sure you get suspended. We both know why you wouldn't like that." Jeno glared at the teacher before making his way towards me angrily. "Hey what the-" with an angry grip Jeno held my tiny wrist in his hand while dragging me out forcefully. "Hey wait Jeno stop! You're hurting me!" I yelled loud enough for only us to hear as he stormed down the hall with me behind him. He threw my wrist out of his grip causing my arm to make a cracking noise, I held my wrist in pain before glaring at him. "Lemme tell you this right now sweetie. Since you're new, and I'm being forced into this you're obeying all my rules." He put his face close to mine as he spoke. "Im not doing shit, look I don't know who you think you are but-" he grabbed my wrist again this time not moving but instead just gripping it with anger. "You're going to be here for a while, if you want to live nicely I suggest you do as I say.... you wouldn't want to suffer during your stay right?" I opened my mouth to say something only to forget as I realize that this kid didn't care about what I had to say. I decided to not argue with him and just try to go along with it for the time being, it's not like I had to deal with it forever. "Now if you're done annoying the absolute shit out of me I'd like to go see my friends so if we could just move along that would be great." He gave me a sarcastic smile before dragging me the way a dog would with one of it's toys. Just as we reached the enterance of the cafeteria Jeno let go of my wrist and turned to me. "Now listen up, you're to stay with me and my friends. DO NOT try and make friends with my friends or anyone else. Got that?" I huffed at him before nodding. "Might as well tell me to stop breathing...." I muttered as he lead me towards his group of friends who took up a space in the middle of the cafeteria. He sat down and Immediately started talking with a kid who had one of the cutest smiles ever, I mean of course after Chenle. I remained standing up as I wasn't invited to sit down and it would've been rude if I just plopped down. "Hey, why are you just standing there? Who is it you want to confess to?" A kid with tan skin similar to my own gave me a bored look. "Oh im not here to confess, I was actually dragged here...." I held my hands up in defense as he gave me a look of amusement. "I was kidding, I saw the whole thing in the hallway, here you can sit with me." Unknowingly I was breaking Jeno's first rule 'DO NOT make friends with my friends'. "Thanks....um.." "Donghyuck." "Yeah, at least for now you're the only nice kid I met beside some other kid I met earlier." I admitted as I took a sip of my water. "For now? Jeez I thought we had something!" He laughed obnoxiously causing me to laugh too. "Anyways how do you know Jeno?" Donghyuck asked as he shoved a whole starwberry in his mouth. "Know Jeno? Oh no baby no. That kid wants nothing to do with me." I chuckled as I took out my lunch box containing only fruits because I didn't have that much of an appetite. "I can tell, look at your wrist how does skin get that red?" He said while examining my feeble wrist. "Im actually really weak, when he did that I honestly felt like I was about to burst out crying in front of everyone." I said taking my hand back to get a plastic fork out of my container. I stabbed into a dragon fruit slice before realizing there was a gaze on me, looking up I realized Jeno had been listening to me and Donghyuck. I took my eyes of him before turning to Donghyuck who was shooting daggers at Jeno,of course I hadn't noticed this at the moment. "Is that all you're going to eat?" Donghyuck asked worriedly as he pointed to the several fruit slices in my container. "Yeah, is there something wrong with it?" I asked him before taking another slice and putting it into my mouth. He sighed and put his hand on my cheek before saying, "You're so thin you're practically a skeleton, consider eating more than just fruits." He swiped his thumb on my cheekbones before looking at my fruits. "Which one is your favorite?" He pointed at the variety of fruits, I smiled before stabbing a dragon fruit slice and putting it in front of his mouth for him to eat. "Woah thats a bit close I can see well you know." He giggled and backed his head away a tiny bit. "No silly I'm offering it." He gave me a tiny grin before taking the slice with his mouth and giving me a thankful nod. I felt a tap on my shoulder and was met with another kid I didn't know, "I don't know how you eat those things I heard they have no taste, whats the point of it?" His eyebrows looks like frowns and his skin was milky white. I stabbed another slice and handed it to him with my fork, he gave me a small smile before taking the slice with his mouth like Donghyuck did. "Im y/n, you?" He held out his hand and said "Mark, thanks for the fruit." I nodded and turned my attention back to Donghyuck who's attention was on me despite me giving it to someone else. "Sorry I didn't mean to ignore you-" "No it's fine!" He clarified putting his hands up. Me and Donghyuck continued talking until the bell suddenly rung, he offered to take my trash away and I gladly accepted his offer. The other boys left with him except for Jeno who didn't even look at me. "Hey, where to now?" I asked as I made my way to him so I was in front of him. "I don't know ask Donghyuck." I gave him a confused look before falling into a deep pool of realization. "Im sorry, I didn't mean to break the rule.... I totally for-" He stood up abruptly ultimately startling me causing me to completely obliterate my sentence, "I don't care. Just shut up and follow me." I gave him an annoyed look before following his orders. "Jeno why are we going out of the building aren't we supposed to be in class?" I ask as we walk towards the back of the school. "Don't ask questions." "Sorry" I mutter and pick up my speed to catch up to him. We reach a spot where an abandoned bench laid beside the school wall. Jeno plopped himself on the bench with a deep sigh, I noticed his gaze was on the baby blue sky. "Can I sit with you?" I ask him after about one minute of standing by myself. "Why are you asking me?" The question left me baffled, why was I being so polite to him? "It's just....nevermind I'll just sit down and be quiet." I did just as I said before pulling out my phone. "You know, that seems ideal but now it's going to bother me if you don't answer my question." Jeno says now sitting up, I sighed before deciding not to front anymore. "Well it's just, since I saw you this morning you seemed not to be having it today, and when our teacher announced that I would be your shadow you definitely haven't been the most positive about it." I sighed looking down not feeling as if looking at him would be a bright idea at the moment. "Well yeah, what's so nice about you being my shadow all day. There's not one good thing that can happen from this." He scoffed before turning his gaze to me. "Not one good thing?" I asked, I still kept my gaze low as he stood in front of me. "What can come out of this? Huh? I don't know about you but this is pretty annoying to me." Jeno's voice was like venom and for some reason what he was saying hurt me. "What if things go well? What if we end up being friends, best friends at that! Why can't you be positive for once?!" He scoffed at my words and kicked a rock nearby. "Maybe it's because I don't want to be your friend! Especially best friends! After this I can't wait till you get out of my face you annoying little shit!" He barked, all I did was freeze. My first days were always bad but this was just horrible, never has anyone ever made me feel so worthless like Lee Jeno did. I wanted to slap him across the face, yell at him, hit him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I finally picked up my gaze not realizing that when I did that a tear slipped out. "Guess you don't have to wait any longer." I stood up and grabbed my belongings before walking right out of campus. It was pathetic for me to admit but I couldn't deny to myself how much his words hurt me. It was my fault though, for some reason I secretly insisted on becoming closer to him. +Jeno pov+ I watched as she walked out of the school gates without even looking behind, she didn't hesitate to just leave and for some reason that frustrated me. Sighing I sat down on the part of the bench where she was seated, only to find myself becoming like a statue. It was warm. "Was I too harsh? No. It's her fault for not leaving me alone...." I concluded, but somehow that didn't satisfy me. I ruffled my hair and grabbed a rock that was under the bench before studying it. "Why do I care? She's just some random girl." I tossed the rock onto grass before closing my eyes just so I could think. "You're lying to yourself and you know it." I opened my eyes and flinched at the sudden voice interrupting my thoughts. "Oh it's just you...." I turned my gaze away from him and focused on the tree totally ignoring his footsteps coming towards me. "Me and you both know she's not just anyone. Why did you do that to her?" I rolled my eyes as Donghyuck chidded me. "You think I know why I did that? Because trust me buddy I dont. I just met her today for now she's no one to me." I snapped, Donghyuck only chuckled in amusement. "You know you don't have to know someone to love them right? All you have to do is just feel it, im sure you did that. You felt that spark didn't you?" I remained silent as I felt my cheeks burn from his statement. "They call this love at first sight. You two, have chemistry. It doesn't seem like it yet but trust me you do." He bumped his shoulder with my own, I rolled my eyes at the thought. "Even if that was the case, I'd still want to get to know them before falling in love." I muttered. "Then ask her on a few dates so you can determine that." I gave him a skeptical look, how could he say that to someone so easily. It was always easier said than done. "Yeah you shit how the fuck do you expect her to go on a date with me when I told her that I didn't even want to be her friend! Jesus Donghyuck." I shook my head in disappointment. He sat there for a while before suddenly standing up. "I got it!" He smiled, I stood up too for some reason. "What do you got?" He sat back down and I followed suit. "Do you know where she lives?" I gave him an annoyed look instead of answering. "Ok ima take that as a no, so what do you think about apologizing to her tomorrow?? buy her some roses, maybe a bear I don't know whatever girls like. Give them to her and be sincere! You can't be a dick about this." He looked at his phone before widening his eyes. "I got to go my mom is here and you know she doesn't play games, see ya!" He yelled as he ran towards his mom's mini van. I felt my phone buzz so I took it out of my pocket. 'Don't forget to buy the stuff!! Buy her something expensive! I'll give you money tomorrow to pay you back, now huRRy!!! I don't want you to forget!! xoxo hyuckie❤️' I stepped out of campus to do what Donghyuck instructed me to do. Hopefully this'll work, we'll just have to wait till tomorrow. +Next day back to your pov+ Oh how I wished I could just skip out on school today. However even in my dreams I knew that was impossible. I could only grimace as I walked through the school gates. "Hey! Y/n!" I turned around only to be met with Donghyuck. "Hi...." I muttered as I walked towards the school building. "So how've you been?" He asked as we walked side by side. "I've had better days.... thanks for asking though." I smiled gently at him and we turned into the same hallway. "What class do you have?" He asked. "3-B, dude you don't know how much I'm not looking forward to today!" I groaned, he only gave me a small smirk. "Don't be so down, good things might happen!" I gave him a concerned look before realizing we were in front of my class. That was quick. "See ya! Sit with us at lunch?" I hesitated before ultimately deciding to nod at his invitation. I walked in with my gaze on the ground, the class was silent upon my entrance. I decided to ignore the strong gazes before walking to the desks in the back, where me and Jeno occupied them. "Hi." I muttered as I sat down beside the boy. I decided to not be so petty about the situation despite feeling like I should be. "Y/n I-" "Hello class! Ready to spend five long hours with me?" The whole class groaned except for me, and surprisingly Jeno. As we were taking notes I noticed a new piece of paper on my desk. It was tiny and contained at least a paragraph along with several hearts. I knew it was Jeno who gave me it but I decided to just read it anyways. 'I want to say this to you with my voice, I really do but as you know that wouldn't be the smartest thing to do right now. This may not seem sencere but please trust me, it is. Yesterday when I said what I did I wasn't thinking straight. Im sorry for making you feel like shit, after I found out what I did yesterday trust me you weren't the only one feeling shitty. If this note isn't enough for you would you consider going on a date with me? I'll pay for everything!! You won't have to pay for a single thing!! Please~~~~❤️❤️' I stared at the note before coming out of my trance and realizing Jeno wanted an answer. "Free food?" I whispered to him, his attention was already on me. He nodded and I couldn't help but smile. "Thanks for the note, it was enough. Bad boy Jeno let go of some of his pride to apologize to me, it's heartwarming really." I whispered trying not to get caught by our distracted teacher. "So are you rejecting my date offer? Since my note was good enough?" He frowned, I chuckled silently before hitting his shoulder softly. "Of course not, a date is a nice way for you to redeem yourself. Plus like I said, free food." I smiled gently while folding the note and putting it in my pocket. We both got back to our notes so we wouldn't get in trouble. While I was distracted with my notes I almost let out a shriek as I felt something funny and warm on the bare skin of my thighs. I looked down and felt my heart sizzle at the sight of the pink stuffed bunny that held an 'im sorry❤️' sign between it's cute little bunny paws. I turned to him and thanked him before getting back to my notes again. I still couldn't believe that little bad boy Jeno had it in himself to ask me out on a date, and I accepted for some odd reason. -admin I've been working on this for two days, it's nothing special of course but you know... I hope who ever reads this enjoys this!

[tripile]

A Eulogy for my Grandfather

A few years after my grandmother died, I joined my mother and brother to visit her grave. Her remains are located in a crowded cemetery, one that has different markers to guide mourners to the right place.

After visiting a different relative, my mum got turned around and could not get us back to my grandmother. My mum is a blisteringly smart woman, but directions are not her forte. The three of us wandered the rows in search of my grandmother, laughing at our predicament.

Eventually, with my mother in the distance reading people’s graves, I stood next to my brother and turned my face up to the sky. “Grandma!” I called out. “Your daughter got lost, but this time it was en route to find you. Can you give us a hint over here?”

Moments later, a crow starting cawing and flew to the far end of the section that my brother and I were standing in. We turned to look at each other sharply.

Surely not?

“Come on, let’s go!”

We both sprinted toward the bird at the same time, our pace slowing as the tombstone came into view. We found a crow sitting on my grandmother’s grave. The gravestone was double length, as she and my grandfather planned to share a double plot whenever he should pass.

We took a few moments to stop freaking out, and then called our mum over.

“How did you guys find it?” She asked, incredulously.

“Well you’re not going to believe it but…..”

My grandmother and me.

***

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother on the day they met, an action born from a connection far deeper than many of us can comprehend.

He saw her and knew, he said. There wasn’t a question in his mind.

Through the entire length of their marriage until her death in 1996, he was a gentleman deeply in love with his wife. Subsequently, and among many other things, he was a widower who would still tear up upon the mere mention of her name decades later.

I am comforted by the thought of them reunited again at last, twenty plus years later.

My grandparents, 1945

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother because he caught a glimpse of her on a fateful day in 1944.

He enlisted in the Air Force and was sent to England in the early 1940s. That too is family lore, because the man wore thick glasses since he was a child. But he wanted to fight for his country during the Second World War, and wanted to join the Air Force to do so. He couldn’t disclose his terrible eyesight, however, and so he failed the eye test several times taking it without glasses. They rejected his application.

Did he give up? No. He never gave up. He memorized the eye chart and waited until a new doctor was giving he exam. The strategy paid off and he finally passed. He was sent to Gander in Newfoundland for training, and eventually onwards to England. The ruse was up eventually, of course, and he was not able to fly planes. Instead, he served happily from the ground.

(I got my stubbornness from several family members, him among them.)

Eventually, he transferred to a base on the coast of England. There, he and his Air Force buddies would spent one evening a week at a hotel near the sea, playing poker with injured son of the owner.

One week in 1944, a young woman caught his attention on his way to that weekly game. She was walking down the stairs at the hotel with an older woman, her mother, and she stood out immediately, he said.

He turned to his friends and told them to go on to the game without him.

In all of the times I have heard this story, I never thought to ask how he broke the ice. I imagine it started with a cheerful hello. Perhaps, as he saw her heading to a room in the hotel, he asked her if she was retiring so soon. It was early evening, and the sun hadn’t set.

“Hello..are you retiring so soon? Would you like to take a walk along the beach?”

Seeking an escape from the London smog for a weekend, my great-grandmother brought my grandma to the coast with her. Slim, petite, and always introspective, I can only imagine what was going through her head that she agreed at age 19 to an impromptu date with a stranger.

He was 25.

I suspect it wasn’t logic, because my grandmother, like my grandfather, confirmed that it was love at first sight. Further, unbeknownst to my grandfather, she was engaged to a gentleman in London. For a shy (engaged!) young lady to leave her mother and wander the beach during the war took something larger than life. Love.

She did not retire for the night, and instead did what she always did because she was always cold: she went and got a sweater. She turned and explained her need for a sweater to my grandfather – this part we all do know – and that she wanted to get her mother settled for the night.

“Ok. Then I will wait,” he replied.

And he did.

Their first date was a drawn-out walk along the cliffs at the edge of the sea, one that culminated in a proposal. Complicating matters was not only my grandmother’s engagement, but that my grandfather too was promised to a woman in Canada who he planned to take up with after the war.

Regardless, and as they both told it, those previous plans were impossible now. Something shifted in the universe, something firm and unyielding. They felt that they were meant to be together despite the chaos that would it would likely cause in their respective families.

My grandparents during WWII

Before they knew it, it was almost curfew. My grandfather had to be back in his barracks or risk being declared AWOL. A gentleman, he tried to walk my grandmother to the hotel regardless, but she insisted that he not risk his enlistment. They made plans to meet at the hotel the next day, and she told him to rush back before it was too late.

My grandfather made It back in time and in one piece, but my grandmother did not.

During the war, a country-wide blackout went into effect Sept 1, 1939. Lights could easily geolocate a spot for Germans to bomb, so at dusk there were no lights. The effect was immediate, and conditions like “blackout anemia” spread as city dwellers got used to a life without nighttime light. “For the first minute going out of doors one is completely bewildered, wrote Londoner Phylllis Warner, “then it is a matter of groping forward with nerves as well as hands outstretched.”  Near the sea, it was especially important that the blackout was in full effect because U-boats were patrolling the waters.

With darkness upon them, my grandparents split up to make their way back to their respective sleeping spots. In the inky blackness, my grandmother felt her way along the cliffs toward the hotel. Along the way she tripped over a retaining wall, and promptly collapsed a lung.

What was she thinking, inching back in the dark after accepting a stranger’s engagement, in pain and alone? Again, the questions I never thought to ask as a child.

Clearly, the mother-daughter trip to the coast was over. My grandmother and great-grandmother left at dawn for to London to see a doctor. The next day, my grandfather returned to the hotel as planned, only to find out that my grandmother was gone. He begged the hotel for their London address, and on his first day of leave he rushed to London to see her.

Today, treatment for a severe collapsed lung usually involves inserting a needle or chest tube between the ribs to remove the excess air. In 1945, however, it was simply bedrest for as long as it took to hopefully heal. So for several months, my grandfather made the trip from the coast to London and back again whenever he had a day of leave. As they couldn’t go anywhere, or do anything, they talked.

And through that multi-month recovery, they got to know each other.

One day, my great-grandfather took my grandpa aside to ask him what his intentions were, since he was doggedly returning every chance he got. “As soon as she is better and strong enough,” my grandfather said, “I plan to make her my wife.

They were married in 1945 in London, and honeymooned in Wales.

My grandparents’ wedding picture, London, 1945.

My grandparents on their honeymoon

It’s worth mentioning that my grandparents were as lucky as they were star-crossed. In the case of my grandpa, the ship he was supposed to take from Gander to England was hit by a German U-boat torpedo on its trajectory. Thankfully, a pilot friend was also being shipped out to England, and offered my grandfather a seat on his plane. Everyone on the ship bound for England died.

So too did my grandmother cheat death. After recovering from the collapsed lung, she took a her job at the office of a munitions factory in London. She had perfect attendance at work, until she came down with flu over a weekend. Not wanting to miss work, she only allowed herself to stay home Monday morning, returning to the factory in the afternoon. She arrived to find it completely levelled; it suffered a direct hit by a German bomb that morning, and everyone inside was killed.

In a similar vein, she had a near-death experience on her passage to Canada. When the war ended, my grandfather returned home with his fellow servicemen. As many Canadians stationed in England met and married English women, the government provided them special ships that transported them back to their now-husbands. The Canadian government estimates that by 1946, 48,000 marriages between Canadian servicemen and civilian women overseas had been registered. The women were called “War Brides,” and while most were from Britain, a few thousand came from elsewhere in Europe, like the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Italy and Germany. By the end of March 1948, the Canadian government had transported approximately 44,000 wives and 21,000 children to Canada, sent across the ocean on huge troop ships or modified cruise ships.

My grandmother sailed on a troop ship and came up on deck feeling nauseous from sea-sickness during a storm. Being so slight, when a wave crashed into the ship she went with it. A sailor holding a guide rope grabbed onto her just before she was swept off deck.

She arrived safely to Halifax eventually, my grandfather eagerly awaiting her smiling, no doubt exhausted, face. They settled in Montreal, eventually starting a family of their own.

My mum, their firstborn, aged 4.

We humans love to connect dots, and to create a compelling narrative where there may not be any. Were they just lucky? Perhaps. In my family, they were far more than that. A couple that was simply fated to be, with an incredible love story that transcended time, a war, and borders to bring them together.

***

Every conversation with my grandfather started with intense cheer.

“Hello Dolly!” He would say when he saw me, “tell me some good news.”

It wasn’t just me. He brightened everyone’s day, no matter the place or time. He was universally loved, to the point where his caretakers and nurses sobbed when they heard the news of his passing. Throughout his life, he comported himself with dignity and a strength that you knew you never wanted to test.

Before he retired, he worked in the menswear industry, building a modest company into a huge operation over the course of his career. Due to his vocation, he was impeccably dressed until his heath interfered and people had to choose them for him. In true grandpa fashion, too, he was classy and comfortable without ever appearing snobby. He dressed well because he believed in the products he made and the materials he traveled far and wide to personally source.

He is the only man I’ve ever met who could make an ascot seem normal.

That’s a testament to his shapeshifting nature, one day selling his clothing to shops, and the next in the countryside to see what raw materials he wanted to buy next. I drew on his strength many times when on the road and out of my element, or up to my eyeballs in fear. He was a comforting chameleon who charmed everyone.

The man also did great at anything he put his mind to. And I’m not just talking about his work. He bowled a perfect game for most of his life, and at 89, he complained to my mother that his arm was hurting. My mum gently told him that perhaps three different bowling leagues weren’t the best idea as he approached his 90th birthday.

Fiercely independent and unrepentant in his desire to live each day fully, he was not impressed by her suggestion that he cut down to two.

He learned how to play bridge at 85, not only learned but learned, remembered, and kicked some serious bridge ass.

Around the same time, he decided to join meals on wheels, for “something else to do.” Not content to bowl, go to the gym (yes, the GYM), socialize, and participate in community programmes, he wanted to give back. That’s right, in his 80s he joined Meals on Wheels to serve the food, not to receive it.

“I’m going to visit the old people,” he’d tell my mum with a characteristic chortle.

He was, of course, older than many of the people who received those meals.

***

My grandfather taught me to stand up for what I believe in, not just because someone tells me to do so but because it was right. Because I knew it was right inside. No one could take that from you, he would say, looking right into the heart of who I was.

“You stand up for what you know is right.”

Integrity mattered to him, to me, and to all of his grandkids.

My grandfather taught me that anything in life was possible in life and love.

He taught me that mealtimes could be anything I wanted them to be, with his joyful celebration of soup for dessert. Why have ice cream when there’s soup available? He never turned down a bowl, something my cousin Alanna and I clearly inherited from him.

By extrapolation life could be anything you wanted it to be, too. While he didn’t understand why I quit my job as a lawyer to start traveling, when this blog turned into a website and a business, he believed I was making a difference. (Plus, by then I was telling everyone “I eat soup for a living”, so I am sure that bought me some goodwill). I was effecting change without compromising my values, something that mattered to him.

I have handwritten notes from him well into his 90s, encouraging me to keep doing what I was doing.

One of my favourite memories of him was a trip to New York City when he was 90. I was working at a law firm then, and my parents drove in with him during thanksgiving weekend. He traipsed around town with us, over the Brooklyn Bridge, down into the subways, and into Times Square. He had not been to New York since the 1950s, and I remember looking over at him in the neon chaos of 42nd street, with all its noise and bustle and movement. He looked up, he took a deep breath, and said “you know, take away the neon and it really isn’t that different.”

He was adaptable in ways that I couldn’t even fathom, and his ability to find connection to everything, everyone, everywhere, is a part of why I traveled the way I did.

He made it to 100, spending his milestone birthday last year surrounded by friends and family. By that point, dementia had set in, and he did not understand why everyone was clamouring around him, or that he was 100. “I AM?” He would say, astonished. “100? Are you sure?” He did not recognize who I was, and asked my mother how she and I met.

“Dolly,” he said conspiratorially as I walked by him at his party, “what is going on?”

Someone cut in to say that it was a party for him. “We are all here to celebrate your birthday! Do you want to say something?”

And he did what he always did and took charge of the situation with grace, poise, and authority. Despite not remembering he was 100, nor who the people were who were there to visit, he spoke clearly and confidently.

“I want to thank everyone here for coming to see me today. And I hope you all enjoy yourselves and have a wonderful time!”

My mum, stepdad, brother, me, and the 100th birthday boy last year.

***

I was too sick to attend my grandpa’s funeral, the second grandparent’s life celebration I’ve missed in the last few months.

To grieve alone when your family grieves together is a deeply isolating thing, but thankfully with family in town for the funeral, I was not alone for it all. My cousins piled onto the floor of my tiny bedroom for hours to grieve with me.

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother on the day they met, and though he taught my cousins and I many things, the legacy of their love abides in each of us. In the time since, he lived an astounding life full of more variety and purpose than most people get during their time on earth.

With every single thing he did, and every person he interacted with, he was charming, polite, and perspicacious. But when we all gathered at my mum’s last week before his funeral, the love story was the first thing we discussed.

As with many stories that span distance and generational time, however, it succumbed to a game of broken telephone over the years. Eventually, at my cousin’s wedding in 2007, the close family gathered around my grandfather during a break in festivities to hear the truth straight from the horse’s mouth. The candid photos from that gathering encapsulate his status as beloved patriarch: us cousins gesticulating, our parents shaking their heads, and my grandfather in the centre with his head thrown back in full-body laughter.

My grandfather and I at the family wedding in 2007, just after the broken telephone was resolved.

My cousins and I reminisced together about this famous family day, and then we moved on to the rest of our memories. How during loud, drawn-out family gatherings, he would glare at us sternly until we piped down enough for him to say blessings before the meal. And then, while the meal was served, he would come to the kids table, ostensibly to “check on us,” but inevitably to sit down and spend part of the meal with his grandkids. We shared what we learned from him, over the many hours of wise advice we received during our respective lunches, phone calls, and visits.

That nighttime tribute with my cousins felt like a beautiful celebration, one that he would have approved of. Later, we all went upstairs to rejoin our our parents and continue the memories until we could barely keep our eyes open.

***

I’m still on bedrest, but I know the smaller reminders will hit harder when I start interacting with the world again. Grief follows no timeline, of course, but even with time it comes back without warning in the smaller remembrances that give a sharp gut punch.

How he loved a bowl of Wendy’s chilli and every road trip with him involved a Wendy’s stop.

How we would all go for Chinese buffets as a family, and when everyone got dessert, he’d loop back to get another bowl of soup.

The smell of pipe tobacco from before he quit smoking. His beloved ascot. The pageboy caps he wore in the winter months.

That raucous, eternal laugh.

Always in a pageboy cap.

***

In early April I was on bedrest reading in my mum’s room. A flash of black caught my eye, and I looked up to see a crow flying straight at the window. It veered suddenly and disappeared.

Intrigued, I got up from the bed to look outside. The crow was sitting on the street in front of the house, and stared me straight in the eyes before flying away.

“Goodbye grandma,” I said softly. It reminded me of that story from her grave that I hadn’t thought about in some time.

That night, I went to my computer and downloaded a whole bunch of photos of me and my grandfather that I had stored to the cloud. I’m not even sure why, other than the crow reminded me of his beloved wife. When I told my brother, he shook his head and said, “well Jodi, the birds certainly seem to give you messages.”

My grandfather passed peacefully in his sleep that night, in the early hours of dawn. Peacefully, and unexpectedly.

I suppose nothing is unexpected when you are a hundred and a half, but his body was so robust that we were all shocked.

When I saw the bleary panic and grief in my mother’s eyes the next morning when she woke me up with the news, I never even thought that it was about my grandfather. He was a hundred, yes, but he was indomitable.

Of course, he was also human.

Transcending our grief was our relief that he passed painlessly and quickly.

And in death, as in life, he kept the whole family on its toes.

I miss him very much.

Air Force photo of my grandpa

The post A Eulogy for my Grandfather appeared first on Legal Nomads.

A Eulogy for my Grandfather published first on https://oceandreamblog.tumblr.com/

[outsidespaceblog]

A Eulogy for my Grandfather

A few years after my grandmother died, I joined my mother and brother to visit her grave. Her remains are located in a crowded cemetery, one that has different markers to guide mourners to the right place.

After visiting a different relative, my mum got turned around and could not get us back to my grandmother. My mum is a blisteringly smart woman, but directions are not her forte. The three of us wandered the rows in search of my grandmother, laughing at our predicament.

Eventually, with my mother in the distance reading people’s graves, I stood next to my brother and turned my face up to the sky. “Grandma!” I called out. “Your daughter got lost, but this time it was en route to find you. Can you give us a hint over here?”

Moments later, a crow starting cawing and flew to the far end of the section that my brother and I were standing in. We turned to look at each other sharply.

Surely not?

“Come on, let’s go!”

We both sprinted toward the bird at the same time, our pace slowing as the tombstone came into view. We found a crow sitting on my grandmother’s grave. The gravestone was double length, as she and my grandfather planned to share a double plot whenever he should pass.

We took a few moments to stop freaking out, and then called our mum over.

“How did you guys find it?” She asked, incredulously.

“Well you’re not going to believe it but…..”

My grandmother and me.

***

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother on the day they met, an action born from a connection far deeper than many of us can comprehend.

He saw her and knew, he said. There wasn’t a question in his mind.

Through the entire length of their marriage until her death in 1996, he was a gentleman deeply in love with his wife. Subsequently, and among many other things, he was a widower who would still tear up upon the mere mention of her name decades later.

I am comforted by the thought of them reunited again at last, twenty plus years later.

My grandparents, 1945

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother because he caught a glimpse of her on a fateful day in 1944.

He enlisted in the Air Force and was sent to England in the early 1940s. That too is family lore, because the man wore thick glasses since he was a child. But he wanted to fight for his country during the Second World War, and wanted to join the Air Force to do so. He couldn’t disclose his terrible eyesight, however, and so he failed the eye test several times taking it without glasses. They rejected his application.

Did he give up? No. He never gave up. He memorized the eye chart and waited until a new doctor was giving he exam. The strategy paid off and he finally passed. He was sent to Gander in Newfoundland for training, and eventually onwards to England. The ruse was up eventually, of course, and he was not able to fly planes. Instead, he served happily from the ground.

(I got my stubbornness from several family members, him among them.)

Eventually, he transferred to a base on the coast of England. There, he and his Air Force buddies would spent one evening a week at a hotel near the sea, playing poker with injured son of the owner.

One week in 1944, a young woman caught his attention on his way to that weekly game. She was walking down the stairs at the hotel with an older woman, her mother, and she stood out immediately, he said.

He turned to his friends and told them to go on to the game without him.

In all of the times I have heard this story, I never thought to ask how he broke the ice. I imagine it started with a cheerful hello. Perhaps, as he saw her heading to a room in the hotel, he asked her if she was retiring so soon. It was early evening, and the sun hadn’t set.

“Hello..are you retiring so soon? Would you like to take a walk along the beach?”

Seeking an escape from the London smog for a weekend, my great-grandmother brought my grandma to the coast with her. Slim, petite, and always introspective, I can only imagine what was going through her head that she agreed at age 19 to an impromptu date with a stranger.

He was 25.

I suspect it wasn’t logic, because my grandmother, like my grandfather, confirmed that it was love at first sight. Further, unbeknownst to my grandfather, she was engaged to a gentleman in London. For a shy (engaged!) young lady to leave her mother and wander the beach during the war took something larger than life. Love.

She did not retire for the night, and instead did what she always did because she was always cold: she went and got a sweater. She turned and explained her need for a sweater to my grandfather – this part we all do know – and that she wanted to get her mother settled for the night.

“Ok. Then I will wait,” he replied.

And he did.

Their first date was a drawn-out walk along the cliffs at the edge of the sea, one that culminated in a proposal. Complicating matters was not only my grandmother’s engagement, but that my grandfather too was promised to a woman in Canada who he planned to take up with after the war.

Regardless, and as they both told it, those previous plans were impossible now. Something shifted in the universe, something firm and unyielding. They felt that they were meant to be together despite the chaos that would it would likely cause in their respective families.

My grandparents during WWII

Before they knew it, it was almost curfew. My grandfather had to be back in his barracks or risk being declared AWOL. A gentleman, he tried to walk my grandmother to the hotel regardless, but she insisted that he not risk his enlistment. They made plans to meet at the hotel the next day, and she told him to rush back before it was too late.

My grandfather made It back in time and in one piece, but my grandmother did not.

During the war, a country-wide blackout went into effect Sept 1, 1939. Lights could easily geolocate a spot for Germans to bomb, so at dusk there were no lights. The effect was immediate, and conditions like “blackout anemia” spread as city dwellers got used to a life without nighttime light. “For the first minute going out of doors one is completely bewildered, wrote Londoner Phylllis Warner, “then it is a matter of groping forward with nerves as well as hands outstretched.”  Near the sea, it was especially important that the blackout was in full effect because U-boats were patrolling the waters.

With darkness upon them, my grandparents split up to make their way back to their respective sleeping spots. In the inky blackness, my grandmother felt her way along the cliffs toward the hotel. Along the way she tripped over a retaining wall, and promptly collapsed a lung.

What was she thinking, inching back in the dark after accepting a stranger’s engagement, in pain and alone? Again, the questions I never thought to ask as a child.

Clearly, the mother-daughter trip to the coast was over. My grandmother and great-grandmother left at dawn for to London to see a doctor. The next day, my grandfather returned to the hotel as planned, only to find out that my grandmother was gone. He begged the hotel for their London address, and on his first day of leave he rushed to London to see her.

Today, treatment for a severe collapsed lung usually involves inserting a needle or chest tube between the ribs to remove the excess air. In 1945, however, it was simply bedrest for as long as it took to hopefully heal. So for several months, my grandfather made the trip from the coast to London and back again whenever he had a day of leave. As they couldn’t go anywhere, or do anything, they talked.

And through that multi-month recovery, they got to know each other.

One day, my great-grandfather took my grandpa aside to ask him what his intentions were, since he was doggedly returning every chance he got. “As soon as she is better and strong enough,” my grandfather said, “I plan to make her my wife.

They were married in 1945 in London, and honeymooned in Wales.

My grandparents’ wedding picture, London, 1945.

My grandparents on their honeymoon

It’s worth mentioning that my grandparents were as lucky as they were star-crossed. In the case of my grandpa, the ship he was supposed to take from Gander to England was hit by a German U-boat torpedo on its trajectory. Thankfully, a pilot friend was also being shipped out to England, and offered my grandfather a seat on his plane. Everyone on the ship bound for England died.

So too did my grandmother cheat death. After recovering from the collapsed lung, she took a her job at the office of a munitions factory in London. She had perfect attendance at work, until she came down with flu over a weekend. Not wanting to miss work, she only allowed herself to stay home Monday morning, returning to the factory in the afternoon. She arrived to find it completely levelled; it suffered a direct hit by a German bomb that morning, and everyone inside was killed.

In a similar vein, she had a near-death experience on her passage to Canada. When the war ended, my grandfather returned home with his fellow servicemen. As many Canadians stationed in England met and married English women, the government provided them special ships that transported them back to their now-husbands. The Canadian government estimates that by 1946, 48,000 marriages between Canadian servicemen and civilian women overseas had been registered. The women were called “War Brides,” and while most were from Britain, a few thousand came from elsewhere in Europe, like the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Italy and Germany. By the end of March 1948, the Canadian government had transported approximately 44,000 wives and 21,000 children to Canada, sent across the ocean on huge troop ships or modified cruise ships.

My grandmother sailed on a troop ship and came up on deck feeling nauseous from sea-sickness during a storm. Being so slight, when a wave crashed into the ship she went with it. A sailor holding a guide rope grabbed onto her just before she was swept off deck.

She arrived safely to Halifax eventually, my grandfather eagerly awaiting her smiling, no doubt exhausted, face. They settled in Montreal, eventually starting a family of their own.

My mum, their firstborn, aged 4.

We humans love to connect dots, and to create a compelling narrative where there may not be any. Were they just lucky? Perhaps. In my family, they were far more than that. A couple that was simply fated to be, with an incredible love story that transcended time, a war, and borders to bring them together.

***

Every conversation with my grandfather started with intense cheer.

“Hello Dolly!” He would say when he saw me, “tell me some good news.”

It wasn’t just me. He brightened everyone’s day, no matter the place or time. He was universally loved, to the point where his caretakers and nurses sobbed when they heard the news of his passing. Throughout his life, he comported himself with dignity and a strength that you knew you never wanted to test.

Before he retired, he worked in the menswear industry, building a modest company into a huge operation over the course of his career. Due to his vocation, he was impeccably dressed until his heath interfered and people had to choose them for him. In true grandpa fashion, too, he was classy and comfortable without ever appearing snobby. He dressed well because he believed in the products he made and the materials he traveled far and wide to personally source.

He is the only man I’ve ever met who could make an ascot seem normal.

That’s a testament to his shapeshifting nature, one day selling his clothing to shops, and the next in the countryside to see what raw materials he wanted to buy next. I drew on his strength many times when on the road and out of my element, or up to my eyeballs in fear. He was a comforting chameleon who charmed everyone.

The man also did great at anything he put his mind to. And I’m not just talking about his work. He bowled a perfect game for most of his life, and at 89, he complained to my mother that his arm was hurting. My mum gently told him that perhaps three different bowling leagues weren’t the best idea as he approached his 90th birthday.

Fiercely independent and unrepentant in his desire to live each day fully, he was not impressed by her suggestion that he cut down to two.

He learned how to play bridge at 85, not only learned but learned, remembered, and kicked some serious bridge ass.

Around the same time, he decided to join meals on wheels, for “something else to do.” Not content to bowl, go to the gym (yes, the GYM), socialize, and participate in community programmes, he wanted to give back. That’s right, in his 80s he joined Meals on Wheels to serve the food, not to receive it.

“I’m going to visit the old people,” he’d tell my mum with a characteristic chortle.

He was, of course, older than many of the people who received those meals.

***

My grandfather taught me to stand up for what I believe in, not just because someone tells me to do so but because it was right. Because I knew it was right inside. No one could take that from you, he would say, looking right into the heart of who I was.

“You stand up for what you know is right.”

Integrity mattered to him, to me, and to all of his grandkids.

My grandfather taught me that anything in life was possible in life and love.

He taught me that mealtimes could be anything I wanted them to be, with his joyful celebration of soup for dessert. Why have ice cream when there’s soup available? He never turned down a bowl, something my cousin Alanna and I clearly inherited from him.

By extrapolation life could be anything you wanted it to be, too. While he didn’t understand why I quit my job as a lawyer to start traveling, when this blog turned into a website and a business, he believed I was making a difference. (Plus, by then I was telling everyone “I eat soup for a living”, so I am sure that bought me some goodwill). I was effecting change without compromising my values, something that mattered to him.

I have handwritten notes from him well into his 90s, encouraging me to keep doing what I was doing.

One of my favourite memories of him was a trip to New York City when he was 90. I was working at a law firm then, and my parents drove in with him during thanksgiving weekend. He traipsed around town with us, over the Brooklyn Bridge, down into the subways, and into Times Square. He had not been to New York since the 1950s, and I remember looking over at him in the neon chaos of 42nd street, with all its noise and bustle and movement. He looked up, he took a deep breath, and said “you know, take away the neon and it really isn’t that different.”

He was adaptable in ways that I couldn’t even fathom, and his ability to find connection to everything, everyone, everywhere, is a part of why I traveled the way I did.

He made it to 100, spending his milestone birthday last year surrounded by friends and family. By that point, dementia had set in, and he did not understand why everyone was clamouring around him, or that he was 100. “I AM?” He would say, astonished. “100? Are you sure?” He did not recognize who I was, and asked my mother how she and I met.

“Dolly,” he said conspiratorially as I walked by him at his party, “what is going on?”

Someone cut in to say that it was a party for him. “We are all here to celebrate your birthday! Do you want to say something?”

And he did what he always did and took charge of the situation with grace, poise, and authority. Despite not remembering he was 100, nor who the people were who were there to visit, he spoke clearly and confidently.

“I want to thank everyone here for coming to see me today. And I hope you all enjoy yourselves and have a wonderful time!”

My mum, stepdad, brother, me, and the 100th birthday boy last year.

***

I was too sick to attend my grandpa’s funeral, the second grandparent’s life celebration I’ve missed in the last few months.

To grieve alone when your family grieves together is a deeply isolating thing, but thankfully with family in town for the funeral, I was not alone for it all. My cousins piled onto the floor of my tiny bedroom for hours to grieve with me.

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother on the day they met, and though he taught my cousins and I many things, the legacy of their love abides in each of us. In the time since, he lived an astounding life full of more variety and purpose than most people get during their time on earth.

With every single thing he did, and every person he interacted with, he was charming, polite, and perspicacious. But when we all gathered at my mum’s last week before his funeral, the love story was the first thing we discussed.

As with many stories that span distance and generational time, however, it succumbed to a game of broken telephone over the years. Eventually, at my cousin’s wedding in 2007, the close family gathered around my grandfather during a break in festivities to hear the truth straight from the horse’s mouth. The candid photos from that gathering encapsulate his status as beloved patriarch: us cousins gesticulating, our parents shaking their heads, and my grandfather in the centre with his head thrown back in full-body laughter.

My grandfather and I at the family wedding in 2007, just after the broken telephone was resolved.

My cousins and I reminisced together about this famous family day, and then we moved on to the rest of our memories. How during loud, drawn-out family gatherings, he would glare at us sternly until we piped down enough for him to say blessings before the meal. And then, while the meal was served, he would come to the kids table, ostensibly to “check on us,” but inevitably to sit down and spend part of the meal with his grandkids. We shared what we learned from him, over the many hours of wise advice we received during our respective lunches, phone calls, and visits.

That nighttime tribute with my cousins felt like a beautiful celebration, one that he would have approved of. Later, we all went upstairs to rejoin our our parents and continue the memories until we could barely keep our eyes open.

***

I’m still on bedrest, but I know the smaller reminders will hit harder when I start interacting with the world again. Grief follows no timeline, of course, but even with time it comes back without warning in the smaller remembrances that give a sharp gut punch.

How he loved a bowl of Wendy’s chilli and every road trip with him involved a Wendy’s stop.

How we would all go for Chinese buffets as a family, and when everyone got dessert, he’d loop back to get another bowl of soup.

The smell of pipe tobacco from before he quit smoking. His beloved ascot. The pageboy caps he wore in the winter months.

That raucous, eternal laugh.

Always in a pageboy cap.

***

In early April I was on bedrest reading in my mum’s room. A flash of black caught my eye, and I looked up to see a crow flying straight at the window. It veered suddenly and disappeared.

Intrigued, I got up from the bed to look outside. The crow was sitting on the street in front of the house, and stared me straight in the eyes before flying away.

“Goodbye grandma,” I said softly. It reminded me of that story from her grave that I hadn’t thought about in some time.

That night, I went to my computer and downloaded a whole bunch of photos of me and my grandfather that I had stored to the cloud. I’m not even sure why, other than the crow reminded me of his beloved wife. When I told my brother, he shook his head and said, “well Jodi, the birds certainly seem to give you messages.”

My grandfather passed peacefully in his sleep that night, in the early hours of dawn. Peacefully, and unexpectedly.

I suppose nothing is unexpected when you are a hundred and a half, but his body was so robust that we were all shocked.

When I saw the bleary panic and grief in my mother’s eyes the next morning when she woke me up with the news, I never even thought that it was about my grandfather. He was a hundred, yes, but he was indomitable.

Of course, he was also human.

Transcending our grief was our relief that he passed painlessly and quickly.

And in death, as in life, he kept the whole family on its toes.

I miss him very much.

Air Force photo of my grandpa

The post A Eulogy for my Grandfather appeared first on Legal Nomads.

A Eulogy for my Grandfather published first on https://whartonstravel.tumblr.com/

[easyfoodnetwork]

Getty Images Confronted with growing losses from the pandemic, restaurant owners face personal ruin This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to voices@eater.com. Earlier this month, Washington Gov. Jay Inslee announced a four-phase approach to reopening our state’s economy. For restaurants in Seattle, this means a couple more weeks of to-go and delivery only, followed by an undetermined number of weeks at 50 percent capacity, then 75 percent capacity, and so on until full service is allowed. Similar announcements are being made throughout the country. While we can debate their logic and safety, what isn’t being addressed is what will happen for the number of small, independent restaurants that won’t be able to make it that long or have already closed permanently. These closures will not only shape the culture and community of the cities they inhabited, but also the lives of their owners, who could face personal financial devastation as a result of closing their businesses. This isn’t fair. When I started hearing about a potential global pandemic and began to see mandatory restaurant closures in China and Italy, I knew exactly what many of these restaurant owners must be feeling. As a two-time (now ex-) restaurant owner, I can still feel the visceral dread in my stomach of what one weekend’s lost sales would mean for our bank account — to say nothing of being closed for weeks, or even months. As I watched the situation unfold, I felt an immense amount of guilt for how grateful I was to no longer own a restaurant, but I was resolute in my commitment to help owners get support in any way that I could. In addition to brainstorming solutions for the restaurant group I now work for, I was thankful to be asked to join the advisory board for Seattle Restaurants United, a coalition of small, independent restaurants in the Seattle Area. But it wasn’t until I was on a Zoom call for that advisory board, discussing how we could help restaurants pay (or avoid paying) their bills in the upcoming weeks and months so that they won’t have to close forever, that a board member pointed out what should have been obvious to me much earlier on: Some of these restaurants owners want to close, but can’t. Tired of living on razor-thin profit margins for years, they simply cannot accept being thrown into further debt that they could possibly never escape. They don’t want to pivot to delivery or takeout or whatever model we agree is the best. Some of them cannot reconcile reopening their restaurants with the knowledge that they could be putting themselves or their employees at risk. They want out. The problem is, it’s not that simple. What very few people realize is that when restaurant owners open their businesses, many of them forfeit their exit plan. They collateralize anything they have to get a little more cash. Margins are so thin that they end up putting up their houses, their cars, anything for a lease or a loan, and sign personal guarantees for all contracts. In some cases, walking away can mean personal financial ruin. And so right now, in this time of chaos and terror, our local, state, and federal governments must do what is right and pass legislation releasing these small business owners from their business liabilities, namely their commercial leases, SBA business loans, and any past-due sales or business taxes. I say this having lived through something similar myself, twice. Having narrowly avoided the same issues so many restaurants face right now, I am in the unique position of knowing not only how much they truly need our government’s help, but also why. Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail. Over the past decade I opened, operated, and sold two successful restaurants with my husband. When people ask about it, I usually give them the nice version: We had a beautiful dream that we made happen with equal parts hard work, perseverance, and faith, and then eventually our priorities changed, we decided to sell, and we’ve lived happily ever after. It’s what people generally want to hear and it’s much easier than telling the truth. Telling the truth would mean talking about the pit that lived full time in my stomach, churning over how we would pay for this week’s payroll, or this month’s sales tax, or rent, or a broken sink. It would mean talking about how I cried in my office after an employee called me a bitch for requiring that he know our wine list, screaming profanities at me as he left the building. It would mean talking about how I felt like I never got to see my kid. My feelings sound like complaints, because they are, and I can tell you from experience that no one wants to hear a restaurant owner complain. There is a special disdain reserved for dreamers who complain about their dream. Restaurateurs are seen as cowboy entrepreneurs with glimmers in our eyes who have no one to blame but ourselves when we fail. After all, this was my choice, and everyone knows restaurants are hard. I knew that going in, didn’t I? Even now, writing this, I feel shame for admitting how much I struggled. The fear I felt constantly is a secret that we restaurant owners keep hidden. In public, we share it with each other through subtle glances and knowing smirks. In private, we text each other that we don’t know how much longer we can keep it up. We all know better than to say it out loud and potentially invite the ire of the public or even worse, somehow give the words the power and make it all worse (restaurant owners can be very superstitious). Let me be clear: Restaurant owners love what they do. There is no other reason to do it; they certainly don’t do it for the money. Their restaurants are most likely the loves of their lives, and fear and anxiety simply come with the job. If anything, the fact that they live with so much discomfort and yet still wake up and go to work every day is a testament to how much they love their restaurants. But sometimes, love isn’t enough. About a year into opening our second restaurant, Mean Sandwich, I found myself sitting on my couch at home in the middle of a beautiful day, having what I thought was a heart attack. It was our one day off, the day we were supposed to use to relax and spend time with our 3-year-old daughter, doing crafts and going on walks. Instead, as I felt my chest get tighter, I laid down and yelled to my husband, “Babe, it’s happening again. It feels like I’m going to die.” It was a panic attack, one of many I had during that year. I felt trapped in our restaurant, which wasn’t making enough money to support our family despite its outward success, and on whose income we relied to pay the mountain of debt we had signed on for in order to open it. We had maxed out all of our personal credit cards because we still couldn’t afford to pay both of our salaries, as well as our business cards to pay for improvements to our little restaurant’s backyard. Our business lease was iron tight and personally guaranteed by both of us. We had taken out an SBA loan to open the restaurant, and the monthly payments were nearly as much as our rent. We had no savings whatsoever, so closing the restaurant almost definitely meant having to declare bankruptcy and immediately move in with my parents. It had also taken a toll on our personal life; sometimes it felt like the only things holding our marriage together were inertia and denial. I could feel the noose around my neck tightening every day, and the tighter it got, the less energy I had to find a solution. So I drank and cried and panicked. My story has a good ending: Eventually, like we had with our first restaurant, Thirty Acres, we put Mean Sandwich up for sale and found a buyer, through a friend, who wanted to keep it alive. I cried when we finally sold it, but they were tears of pure relief and gratitude. We had escaped by the skin of our teeth, neither unscathed nor debt-free, but we got out, and I could barely believe it. Although I still grapple with how to move beyond the shame of the mistakes I made, we are better every single day. Restaurant owners do not deserve to go bankrupt over this. Faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one. But while I may relate to what restaurant owners are experiencing during this nightmare, I also recognize the ways that we are different. You see, I got myself in my predicament with our restaurant. I chose to open it and I chose when I was done, and thankfully, it worked out for me. These restaurants aren’t closed because their owners fucked up. Most of them were doing everything right; they were working harder and under more pressure than any of us can possibly imagine. Before they saw their sales start to dwindle and were told to shut down by the state, they were paying their bills and their employees, often providing health care and sick pay, creating places for their communities to congregate, and everything in between. They do not deserve to go bankrupt over this, and trust me when I say that faced with that as their only option, some will choose a more dire one. We can’t let that happen. Instead, these restaurant owners deserve to be told this wasn’t their fault. And then, if they want one, they should be given a way out. What would that look like? First, restaurant owners must be released from being held personally liable for their commercial leases if they have been impacted by COVID-19. While these leases represent private contracts in which the local government does not usually have the authority to intervene, this pandemic clearly represents an abnormal circumstance for which exceptions must be made. We’re already seeing this in the form of proposed bills such as New York City’s 1932-2020 (which the city council passed last Wednesday) and California’s SB 939. Both bills prevent landlords from holding commercial tenants personally liable in the event that they have to close due to COVID-19’s economic impact. They are a good start, and we need to see this type of legislation nationwide. Small-restaurant owners cannot be expected to pay for these leases for the entirety of their terms or even until the landlord is able find another tenant, whenever that is. Even those owners fortunate (or wise) enough to have “good guy guarantees,” which release them from having to pay out the entire lease term as long as certain conditions are met, are still usually beholden to paying landlords a minimum of three to six months of rent in addition to any rent they are behind on. Second, in addition to their current offer to defer loan and interest payments for six months, the Small Business Administration must forgive all existing business debt for restaurants that decide to close. There is no reason a restaurant owner should face bankruptcy when those loans are supposed to be secured by the SBA. And last, federal grants should be provided to restaurants that are unable to open — without concern for how likely they are to reopen — so that they can pay any employees they have been unable to pay for past work as well as pay for any unpaid sales or business taxes. To naysayers who might say this is too far-reaching, I would point out that just as it is unfair that restaurants were told to close indefinitely without any imposed fixed expense relief, it would also be unfair to let restaurants close without ensuring support for the rest of the ecosystem that relies on them. Now is the time to consider holistic approaches to the problem, rather than solutions that simply shift the problem onto others. These restaurant owners haven’t done anything wrong. They stepped up and closed their doors for the safety of their communities and it ruined them. It isn’t fair that we leave them to deal with cleaning up the mess on their own. But they don’t need a handout, or your pity. What they need instead is a large-scale solution tailored to the restaurant industry. They are hard-working and creative entrepreneurs; give them an inch, they will make it into a mile. But for those who are done, who don’t have any energy left to pivot, who are facing down months of bills and debt while they wait for a workable solution that may never come, we need to offer an escape hatch. Trust me: They will figure out what to do next. Alex Pemoulié is a Seattle-based writer and the director of finance for Sea Creatures restaurant group. She previously owned and operated two restaurants, Thirty Acres and Mean Sandwich, with her husband. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2LEmYLo

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/05/some-restaurant-owners-want-to-close.html

[comfsy]

A Eulogy for my Grandfather

A few years after my grandmother died, I joined my mother and brother to visit her grave. Her remains are located in a crowded cemetery, one that has different markers to guide mourners to the right place.

After visiting a different relative, my mum got turned around and could not get us back to my grandmother. My mum is a blisteringly smart woman, but directions are not her forte. The three of us wandered the rows in search of my grandmother, laughing at our predicament.

Eventually, with my mother in the distance reading people’s graves, I stood next to my brother and turned my face up to the sky. “Grandma!” I called out. “Your daughter got lost, but this time it was en route to find you. Can you give us a hint over here?”

Moments later, a crow starting cawing and flew to the far end of the section that my brother and I were standing in. We turned to look at each other sharply.

Surely not?

“Come on, let’s go!”

We both sprinted toward the bird at the same time, our pace slowing as the tombstone came into view. We found a crow sitting on my grandmother’s grave. The gravestone was double length, as she and my grandfather planned to share a double plot whenever he should pass.

We took a few moments to stop freaking out, and then called our mum over.

“How did you guys find it?” She asked, incredulously.

“Well you’re not going to believe it but…..”

My grandmother and me.

***

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother on the day they met, an action born from a connection far deeper than many of us can comprehend.

He saw her and knew, he said. There wasn’t a question in his mind.

Through the entire length of their marriage until her death in 1996, he was a gentleman deeply in love with his wife. Subsequently, and among many other things, he was a widower who would still tear up upon the mere mention of her name decades later.

I am comforted by the thought of them reunited again at last, twenty plus years later.

My grandparents, 1945

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother because he caught a glimpse of her on a fateful day in 1944.

He enlisted in the Air Force and was sent to England in the early 1940s. That too is family lore, because the man wore thick glasses since he was a child. But he wanted to fight for his country during the Second World War, and wanted to join the Air Force to do so. He couldn’t disclose his terrible eyesight, however, and so he failed the eye test several times taking it without glasses. They rejected his application.

Did he give up? No. He never gave up. He memorized the eye chart and waited until a new doctor was giving he exam. The strategy paid off and he finally passed. He was sent to Gander in Newfoundland for training, and eventually onwards to England. The ruse was up eventually, of course, and he was not able to fly planes. Instead, he served happily from the ground.

(I got my stubbornness from several family members, him among them.)

Eventually, he transferred to a base on the coast of England. There, he and his Air Force buddies would spent one evening a week at a hotel near the sea, playing poker with injured son of the owner.

One week in 1944, a young woman caught his attention on his way to that weekly game. She was walking down the stairs at the hotel with an older woman, her mother, and she stood out immediately, he said.

He turned to his friends and told them to go on to the game without him.

In all of the times I have heard this story, I never thought to ask how he broke the ice. I imagine it started with a cheerful hello. Perhaps, as he saw her heading to a room in the hotel, he asked her if she was retiring so soon. It was early evening, and the sun hadn’t set.

“Hello..are you retiring so soon? Would you like to take a walk along the beach?”

Seeking an escape from the London smog for a weekend, my great-grandmother brought my grandma to the coast with her. Slim, petite, and always introspective, I can only imagine what was going through her head that she agreed at age 19 to an impromptu date with a stranger.

He was 25.

I suspect it wasn’t logic, because my grandmother, like my grandfather, confirmed that it was love at first sight. Further, unbeknownst to my grandfather, she was engaged to a gentleman in London. For a shy (engaged!) young lady to leave her mother and wander the beach during the war took something larger than life. Love.

She did not retire for the night, and instead did what she always did because she was always cold: she went and got a sweater. She turned and explained her need for a sweater to my grandfather – this part we all do know – and that she wanted to get her mother settled for the night.

“Ok. Then I will wait,” he replied.

And he did.

Their first date was a drawn-out walk along the cliffs at the edge of the sea, one that culminated in a proposal. Complicating matters was not only my grandmother’s engagement, but that my grandfather too was promised to a woman in Canada who he planned to take up with after the war.

Regardless, and as they both told it, those previous plans were impossible now. Something shifted in the universe, something firm and unyielding. They felt that they were meant to be together despite the chaos that would it would likely cause in their respective families.

My grandparents during WWII

Before they knew it, it was almost curfew. My grandfather had to be back in his barracks or risk being declared AWOL. A gentleman, he tried to walk my grandmother to the hotel regardless, but she insisted that he not risk his enlistment. They made plans to meet at the hotel the next day, and she told him to rush back before it was too late.

My grandfather made It back in time and in one piece, but my grandmother did not.

During the war, a country-wide blackout went into effect Sept 1, 1939. Lights could easily geolocate a spot for Germans to bomb, so at dusk there were no lights. The effect was immediate, and conditions like “blackout anemia” spread as city dwellers got used to a life without nighttime light. “For the first minute going out of doors one is completely bewildered, wrote Londoner Phylllis Warner, “then it is a matter of groping forward with nerves as well as hands outstretched.”  Near the sea, it was especially important that the blackout was in full effect because U-boats were patrolling the waters.

With darkness upon them, my grandparents split up to make their way back to their respective sleeping spots. In the inky blackness, my grandmother felt her way along the cliffs toward the hotel. Along the way she tripped over a retaining wall, and promptly collapsed a lung.

What was she thinking, inching back in the dark after accepting a stranger’s engagement, in pain and alone? Again, the questions I never thought to ask as a child.

Clearly, the mother-daughter trip to the coast was over. My grandmother and great-grandmother left at dawn for to London to see a doctor. The next day, my grandfather returned to the hotel as planned, only to find out that my grandmother was gone. He begged the hotel for their London address, and on his first day of leave he rushed to London to see her.

Today, treatment for a severe collapsed lung usually involves inserting a needle or chest tube between the ribs to remove the excess air. In 1945, however, it was simply bedrest for as long as it took to hopefully heal. So for several months, my grandfather made the trip from the coast to London and back again whenever he had a day of leave. As they couldn’t go anywhere, or do anything, they talked.

And through that multi-month recovery, they got to know each other.

One day, my great-grandfather took my grandpa aside to ask him what his intentions were, since he was doggedly returning every chance he got. “As soon as she is better and strong enough,” my grandfather said, “I plan to make her my wife.

They were married in 1945 in London, and honeymooned in Wales.

My grandparents’ wedding picture, London, 1945.

My grandparents on their honeymoon

It’s worth mentioning that my grandparents were as lucky as they were star-crossed. In the case of my grandpa, the ship he was supposed to take from Gander to England was hit by a German U-boat torpedo on its trajectory. Thankfully, a pilot friend was also being shipped out to England, and offered my grandfather a seat on his plane. Everyone on the ship bound for England died.

So too did my grandmother cheat death. After recovering from the collapsed lung, she took a her job at the office of a munitions factory in London. She had perfect attendance at work, until she came down with flu over a weekend. Not wanting to miss work, she only allowed herself to stay home Monday morning, returning to the factory in the afternoon. She arrived to find it completely levelled; it suffered a direct hit by a German bomb that morning, and everyone inside was killed.

In a similar vein, she had a near-death experience on her passage to Canada. When the war ended, my grandfather returned home with his fellow servicemen. As many Canadians stationed in England met and married English women, the government provided them special ships that transported them back to their now-husbands. The Canadian government estimates that by 1946, 48,000 marriages between Canadian servicemen and civilian women overseas had been registered. The women were called “War Brides,” and while most were from Britain, a few thousand came from elsewhere in Europe, like the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Italy and Germany. By the end of March 1948, the Canadian government had transported approximately 44,000 wives and 21,000 children to Canada, sent across the ocean on huge troop ships or modified cruise ships.

My grandmother sailed on a troop ship and came up on deck feeling nauseous from sea-sickness during a storm. Being so slight, when a wave crashed into the ship she went with it. A sailor holding a guide rope grabbed onto her just before she was swept off deck.

She arrived safely to Halifax eventually, my grandfather eagerly awaiting her smiling, no doubt exhausted, face. They settled in Montreal, eventually starting a family of their own.

My mum, their firstborn, aged 4.

We humans love to connect dots, and to create a compelling narrative where there may not be any. Were they just lucky? Perhaps. In my family, they were far more than that. A couple that was simply fated to be, with an incredible love story that transcended time, a war, and borders to bring them together.

***

Every conversation with my grandfather started with intense cheer.

“Hello Dolly!” He would say when he saw me, “tell me some good news.”

It wasn’t just me. He brightened everyone’s day, no matter the place or time. He was universally loved, to the point where his caretakers and nurses sobbed when they heard the news of his passing. Throughout his life, he comported himself with dignity and a strength that you knew you never wanted to test.

Before he retired, he worked in the menswear industry, building a modest company into a huge operation over the course of his career. Due to his vocation, he was impeccably dressed until his heath interfered and people had to choose them for him. In true grandpa fashion, too, he was classy and comfortable without ever appearing snobby. He dressed well because he believed in the products he made and the materials he traveled far and wide to personally source.

He is the only man I’ve ever met who could make an ascot seem normal.

That’s a testament to his shapeshifting nature, one day selling his clothing to shops, and the next in the countryside to see what raw materials he wanted to buy next. I drew on his strength many times when on the road and out of my element, or up to my eyeballs in fear. He was a comforting chameleon who charmed everyone.

The man also did great at anything he put his mind to. And I’m not just talking about his work. He bowled a perfect game for most of his life, and at 89, he complained to my mother that his arm was hurting. My mum gently told him that perhaps three different bowling leagues weren’t the best idea as he approached his 90th birthday.

Fiercely independent and unrepentant in his desire to live each day fully, he was not impressed by her suggestion that he cut down to two.

He learned how to play bridge at 85, not only learned but learned, remembered, and kicked some serious bridge ass.

Around the same time, he decided to join meals on wheels, for “something else to do.” Not content to bowl, go to the gym (yes, the GYM), socialize, and participate in community programmes, he wanted to give back. That’s right, in his 80s he joined Meals on Wheels to serve the food, not to receive it.

“I’m going to visit the old people,” he’d tell my mum with a characteristic chortle.

He was, of course, older than many of the people who received those meals.

***

My grandfather taught me to stand up for what I believe in, not just because someone tells me to do so but because it was right. Because I knew it was right inside. No one could take that from you, he would say, looking right into the heart of who I was.

“You stand up for what you know is right.”

Integrity mattered to him, to me, and to all of his grandkids.

My grandfather taught me that anything in life was possible in life and love.

He taught me that mealtimes could be anything I wanted them to be, with his joyful celebration of soup for dessert. Why have ice cream when there’s soup available? He never turned down a bowl, something my cousin Alanna and I clearly inherited from him.

By extrapolation life could be anything you wanted it to be, too. While he didn’t understand why I quit my job as a lawyer to start traveling, when this blog turned into a website and a business, he believed I was making a difference. (Plus, by then I was telling everyone “I eat soup for a living”, so I am sure that bought me some goodwill). I was effecting change without compromising my values, something that mattered to him.

I have handwritten notes from him well into his 90s, encouraging me to keep doing what I was doing.

One of my favourite memories of him was a trip to New York City when he was 90. I was working at a law firm then, and my parents drove in with him during thanksgiving weekend. He traipsed around town with us, over the Brooklyn Bridge, down into the subways, and into Times Square. He had not been to New York since the 1950s, and I remember looking over at him in the neon chaos of 42nd street, with all its noise and bustle and movement. He looked up, he took a deep breath, and said “you know, take away the neon and it really isn’t that different.”

He was adaptable in ways that I couldn’t even fathom, and his ability to find connection to everything, everyone, everywhere, is a part of why I traveled the way I did.

He made it to 100, spending his milestone birthday last year surrounded by friends and family. By that point, dementia had set in, and he did not understand why everyone was clamouring around him, or that he was 100. “I AM?” He would say, astonished. “100? Are you sure?” He did not recognize who I was, and asked my mother how she and I met.

“Dolly,” he said conspiratorially as I walked by him at his party, “what is going on?”

Someone cut in to say that it was a party for him. “We are all here to celebrate your birthday! Do you want to say something?”

And he did what he always did and took charge of the situation with grace, poise, and authority. Despite not remembering he was 100, nor who the people were who were there to visit, he spoke clearly and confidently.

“I want to thank everyone here for coming to see me today. And I hope you all enjoy yourselves and have a wonderful time!”

My mum, stepdad, brother, me, and the 100th birthday boy last year.

***

I was too sick to attend my grandpa’s funeral, the second grandparent’s life celebration I’ve missed in the last few months.

To grieve alone when your family grieves together is a deeply isolating thing, but thankfully with family in town for the funeral, I was not alone for it all. My cousins piled onto the floor of my tiny bedroom for hours to grieve with me.

My grandfather proposed to my grandmother on the day they met, and though he taught my cousins and I many things, the legacy of their love abides in each of us. In the time since, he lived an astounding life full of more variety and purpose than most people get during their time on earth.

With every single thing he did, and every person he interacted with, he was charming, polite, and perspicacious. But when we all gathered at my mum’s last week before his funeral, the love story was the first thing we discussed.

As with many stories that span distance and generational time, however, it succumbed to a game of broken telephone over the years. Eventually, at my cousin’s wedding in 2007, the close family gathered around my grandfather during a break in festivities to hear the truth straight from the horse’s mouth. The candid photos from that gathering encapsulate his status as beloved patriarch: us cousins gesticulating, our parents shaking their heads, and my grandfather in the centre with his head thrown back in full-body laughter.

My grandfather and I at the family wedding in 2007, just after the broken telephone was resolved.

My cousins and I reminisced together about this famous family day, and then we moved on to the rest of our memories. How during loud, drawn-out family gatherings, he would glare at us sternly until we piped down enough for him to say blessings before the meal. And then, while the meal was served, he would come to the kids table, ostensibly to “check on us,” but inevitably to sit down and spend part of the meal with his grandkids. We shared what we learned from him, over the many hours of wise advice we received during our respective lunches, phone calls, and visits.

That nighttime tribute with my cousins felt like a beautiful celebration, one that he would have approved of. Later, we all went upstairs to rejoin our our parents and continue the memories until we could barely keep our eyes open.

***

I’m still on bedrest, but I know the smaller reminders will hit harder when I start interacting with the world again. Grief follows no timeline, of course, but even with time it comes back without warning in the smaller remembrances that give a sharp gut punch.

How he loved a bowl of Wendy’s chilli and every road trip with him involved a Wendy’s stop.

How we would all go for Chinese buffets as a family, and when everyone got dessert, he’d loop back to get another bowl of soup.

The smell of pipe tobacco from before he quit smoking. His beloved ascot. The pageboy caps he wore in the winter months.

That raucous, eternal laugh.

Always in a pageboy cap.

***

In early April I was on bedrest reading in my mum’s room. A flash of black caught my eye, and I looked up to see a crow flying straight at the window. It veered suddenly and disappeared.

Intrigued, I got up from the bed to look outside. The crow was sitting on the street in front of the house, and stared me straight in the eyes before flying away.

“Goodbye grandma,” I said softly. It reminded me of that story from her grave that I hadn’t thought about in some time.

That night, I went to my computer and downloaded a whole bunch of photos of me and my grandfather that I had stored to the cloud. I’m not even sure why, other than the crow reminded me of his beloved wife. When I told my brother, he shook his head and said, “well Jodi, the birds certainly seem to give you messages.”

My grandfather passed peacefully in his sleep that night, in the early hours of dawn. Peacefully, and unexpectedly.

I suppose nothing is unexpected when you are a hundred and a half, but his body was so robust that we were all shocked.

When I saw the bleary panic and grief in my mother’s eyes the next morning when she woke me up with the news, I never even thought that it was about my grandfather. He was a hundred, yes, but he was indomitable.

Of course, he was also human.

Transcending our grief was our relief that he passed painlessly and quickly.

And in death, as in life, he kept the whole family on its toes.

I miss him very much.

Air Force photo of my grandpa

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A Eulogy for my Grandfather published first on https://takebreaktravel.tumblr.com/

[tinywerewolfbouquetlove-blog]

Mintos & Co fairy tales do not very last without end

Read More First contribution about the interest rate of Mintos. Make sure you observe my addendum adhering to this report. Lately, it has turn out to be increasingly challenging to get credit on the P2P bank loan platforms with good fascination rates. You possibly previously seen it in your portfolio. You want to invest but there is simply no way that is good adequate. After all, the chance ought to also be mirrored in the desire rate level. No issue what system, the demand is higher and the provide is reduced. Fairy tales do not very last eternally Currently in the interview with Viventor about the 2017 (to the job interview), the subject matter arrived to fruition. I complained to Tom's niparts why twelve% loans are no more time obtainable. He stated to me: "Yes, fairy tales do not last without end". And exactly this sentence arrived to my mind yet again right now. I had to reduce the times at Mintos * and TWINO my automobile trader to 11% minimum desire. In my knowledge so considerably, I have never been so minimal. Is the time of large interest charges over? I am frightened so! The final loans with thirteen.5% of Lendo on the system Mintos came in early January. Now, viewing the previous few days at Mintos, it does not look like investing. Right here even the volume of twelve% financial loans shrinks. Here you can now orient by yourself more in the direction of ten% -eleven%. At TWINO it is similar, the last handful of months it was hard to accommodate his funds. The return suffers. New financial loans, new international locations Let us just take a appear at the news from the final week. TWINO has opened a new country with Spain. Traders must now be pleased with eight%. Mintos * also has anything new. Aasa World-wide has been affiliated as a lender. Once again, desire charges are at a meager eight%. You do not have to be a clairvoyant to count 1 + 1 jointly. The fascination price predicament at Mintos and TWINO? I feel some of them will shortly have to downsize their automobile investors as a return of twelve% and more will probably be history. Swapers (twelve% / 14%) and Viainvest (~ twelve%) nevertheless have their curiosity charges. But Mintos and TWINO are the large men. And Swaper could do it as Viventor did. The credit enterprise does not even seem to scale that a lot. I know, there are other platforms with buyback. For example, Lenndy. But this is not about the mass of pre-funded financial loans. With Lenndy you can not just five hundred euros or a lot more accommodate. Unless you set everything on a handful of projects. The days is an additional new player additional. Robocash. I do not website link the service provider intentionally, due to the fact I do not have ample information yet and my first effect is rather hold out-and-see. This advertises also with Buyback and total 14% -sixteen%. Whether or not that is serious? I dont know. But to attract buyers, this kind of high interest costs are of program resource quantity a single. What to do with Mintos? At first glance, it is a pity that time at 12% and much more on Mintos * looks to be over. But I even now make investments. Following all, Mintos has introduced with Aasa Global a genuinely large fish on board. Aasa is the biggest lender that has at any time joined Mintos. In addition, Aasa is energetic in Finland and there are strategies to enter the Swedish marketplace. These are of training course quite fascinating nations around the world. I would like to carry on the growth and also just take the recent fascination, as extended as the Buyback Promise continues to be. In addition, one can chat properly about the falling interest charges and say that if the company model and the buyback are much more secure, then that must be the circumstance. but who understands that? Maybe with falling fascination costs, the organization will stabilize or the pockets of some managers. Who is aware of? If at the very least the interest costs for the debtors would drop, you could nevertheless relaxed his conscience and say that the financial loans are now "fairer". But if I take a appear at the Aasa internet site in Poland (https://www.aasapolska.pl/), then I am accused of a sassy once-a-year rate of more than one hundred fifty%. Since then my eight% are downright ridiculous.

[bothsandneithers]

Day 2047

For twenty days, I don’t have an email account or Facebook; I am not someone’s graduate student or employee; a con-man, mad-mad is not my president; I don’t reside in Denver, and I don’t have friends that I’ve been meaning to see. I’m not sure what that leaves me. Extract me from my culture, and I’m left with even less. Like, what are we even doing? Floating from country to country, just consuming and not contributing. It’s such an excess experience, seeing sites and museums -- like Mozart’s birthplace in Salzburg, where I guess I gained some comfort in learning that this musical genius saw the utility in traveling and did so for most of his adult life. But, in the same breath, we don’t have the counterfactual of how great he would have been if he would have stayed  --

-- hey, I interrupt myself, standing in the middle of a hotel room in Vienna where Marshall cabinets serve as nightstands, and the bathroom incontestably and inexplicably smells like the powdered seasoning from a chicken-flavored Cup O’ Noodles: Have you seen my other sock?

That is a good question, Don says, pleasantly, emphatically, and with the perfect undertones of rhetoric to imply: I’m not going to address any of your comments leading up to the concrete question about a misplaced article of clothing, because what are you even talking about.

 (

This reminds of the time that I rambled on about almost missing a train in Budapest: Time is a relentless parameter on my existence, and I don’t want to give it more of my life than I need to. Waiting at a train platform is considered preparation time, and I want to limit my allocation of time for such activities. I’m sorry that I almost made us late, but isn’t almost-late actually precisely-on-time? 

I must be really funny or very amiable or a light packer or something.

Because that must get old.

)

But to circumvent my unrelatable quandary of, like, what are we even doing (because I don’t really know why I travel), I will say that even though people and food and places make me tired, I do like the ordinary moments that accompany them. Seeing new places is a luxury; having a cleared mind to pay attention to the things around you is a greater one.  

In Iceland, he accidentally withdraws 1,000 dollars from the ATM at the airport (aren’t there restrictions on such a thing?). We’ve only been here for a day, and he slyly takes out the entire wad of cash, sheepishly becoming familiar with the denominations as he fumbles through each transaction.

We drive through a town, with a paper map, and I read the upcoming intersection with as much grace and effort as when I once tried to pronounce the name of my Ikea bed frame; my voice trails off to an incomprehensible and lazy mumble after the second vowel.

We wake up at noon. We put blueberries in our blueberry yogurt and then drive up to some lava land. We park with all of the tourists but quickly find ourselves on a path away from most of them. The lava walls rise up to form a chasm, and a little path lays below. The French man is on the path and is calling up to his wife, who appears  as if she were a mountain goat -- a stuck mountain goat -- wielding off instructions to her husband, and sometimes to us. It is entirely unclear if she is trying to help him out of the valley or if she is trying to find her way to him. Bonjour, Don says to them. I wonder how they got themselves in that predicament, he says to me.

“We are not meant to know everything, Mae. Did you ever think that perhaps our minds are delicately calibrated between the known and the unknown. Our souls need the mysteries of night and the clarity of day? You people are creating a world of ever-present daylight, and I think it will burn us alive. There will be no time to reflect, too sleep, to cool -- “

-- I KNOW. I say, and toss the book, The Circle, on the coffee table, frustrated that it is both two in the morning and not dark out. I can’t even enjoy this light. It’s not like the daylight that I like to stare out at. I feel like I’m spying. I worry that I will see things that I’m not supposed to see. Dark and night things. This is not my time to exist.

It feels like a lifetime ago that we left Iceland and land in Munich, although it has only been about six hours. We do laundry in a neighborhood near the train station. I like doing laundry when I am traveling. It helps me feel like I belong somewhere. I stand outside, leaning against the building. Me? I’m not just a tourist. I’m a tourist doing laundry. About five minutes ago, I figured out that if I push a button here, then the washing machine over there will fill with water. I belong. I engaged with the world without language. Of course I feel insecure, intimidated, and alienated by, say, the busy morphemes of Hungarian, or the seriousness of German, but I’m not entirely helpless.

We eat dinner in an inner courtyard of a neo-gothic structure in Munich. We hear sounds coming from a nearby table, and all of the candlelit diners disrupt their conversations to see what it is.  There he is. He orders a larger-than-life pork shank. He has invited his laptop to dinner as his date, and World of Warcraft on his screen. I know this game because I saw this video on the internet once that was a recording of characters playing this game (which is a thing that people do). All of the characters were huddled in an inner courtyard of a neo-gothic structure to plan their attack on some bad guys, because one of their teammates, Leeroy Jenkins, needs a shield or something. They strategize. They come up with their plan. One teammate calculates the probability of dying. They have a thirty-two point three-three (“repeating, of course”) percentage of survival.  It’s a selfless act, but before they can implement their plan, Mr. Jenkins takes off, running into the inner courtyard of a neo-gothic structure proclaiming his own name, inserting at least six duplicates for every vowel uttered. I think they all die.

I don’t want to say that what is happening in this courtyard is meta, because I think that term cheapens the experience.

“Infested with tourists” reads a TripAdvisor comment -- the same comment from which I stole the phrase “inner courtyard of a neo-gothic structure.” That’s also what the graffiti says in Vienna. Well, it actually reads: Tourists are Terrorists, but it shares the same derogatory sentiment.  But I am sometimes fond of this infestation; I think it’s wildly enjoyable.

Five minutes until the full train departs from Munich and people are panicking to get on (I did a poor job of managing my time, and so I am already on the train). It’s the family from the Midwest, you know them. They have been planning this trip for the longest time. We don’t know if there are four or five children. The mom is the friend’s mom you had in high school: A planner who is nice to her daughter’s friends, but is relentless in making sure that they know what they are going to be doing five years from now. The dad is the project manager on another team at work who seems nice enough, but you aren’t sure if he is actually good at his job. They all funnel in the departing door. Most of them through the same door.

Where’s Jimmy??

He’s in the back?

Where Tim?

He’s behind me!

Don slinks down in his seat; reeling in discomfort of the disorganization of the family. This is how Home Alone starts, he mumbles.

The dad begins swinging at least five overstuffed and identical suitcases into the overhead bins. He instructs the child closest to him: Seat of opportunity. Take the seat of opportunity.

He likes the sound of this. He gets louder for the whole train to hear him -- for his teammates back home to be inspired by the metaphor: Seats of opportunity, people! Seats of opportunity! It’s okay if we aren’t sitting next to each other; find a seat!!

I think of traveling as being similar to rapidly heated milk -- more specifically, the film of protein that forms over the top of the liquid, which might actually be called milk skin. If you took a fork, peeled off that top layer and ate it, you would be misleading your Facebook friends when you tell them that you drank a cup of milk (this metaphor is both gross and deteriorating). Sometimes you are lucky enough to meet people, or know people where you are going, and really get in a good gulp -- say, by attending a wedding, which happens on this trip. 

Back home, the United States of America shrinks into a corner, and retracts from the rest of the world in an act of distorted self-preservation that will ultimately contribute to its own downfall. It signals to the world that it is afraid of collaboration. The Germans we sit next to at the reception say they find him entertaining. I’m glad to hear that they aren’t losing sleep over him. 

The vowel harmony of the Hungarian language dances upon each of us as the bride and groom marry. The officiant kindly and effortlessly translates to English. New, yet familiar faces are met with recognition and delight as we pass each other in a traditional Hungarian dance circle. The second dinner at midnight comes at the right time replenish the guests.

Right here is one of those moments where it all converges. The appreciation of the banal and the friendly yet distant observations of humanity from train seats and cafes coincides with an untarnished connection between people, in spite of geopolitical boundaries. This might be a good reason to travel.