#I did sit on the patio with my cat in the sunset that was nice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ddaenggtan · 6 years ago

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amae | jhs

amae - japanese. the way you act when you want to depend on another person. relying on someone’s goodwill and love to help you. frequently thought of as wanting to be loved and taken care of.

when someone new moves in next door, you don’t expect to become friends. everyone on your block was friendly, yes, but none of you gave more than a courteous wave when you spotted each other in passing. that changes with jung hoseok; a literature professor with sunlight gleaming out of every pore, who enjoys complex lectures, random coffee trips, and…sleeping in your hammock? curiosity gets the better of you as you befriend him, but just what could have this man sleeping in your garden hammock every night?

pairing | jung hoseok x reader

genre/warnings | neighbor!hobi, writer!reader, pure cotton candy fluff, this may actually rot your teeth

word count | 6.7k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | ahaha this did end up shorter than give and take, bc it felt very right to end it where i did!!! there’s a lot of flower language used in this, bc i’m the ultimate slut for flower language, i think it’s the cutest shit i’ve ever seen. i also tried to make this MC different than g.a.t’s, pls tell me if i failed!!!! i want them all to be v distinguishable and independent and unique, and i love feedback!!!!

The moving van in front of the neighbor's house shocks you when you get up that morning. There had been a For Sale sign hanging in the yard for upwards of a year, and you've watched with mild amusement as the price continued to drop.

A favorite hobby of yours is coming up with creative reasons the realtor was more and more desperate to sell the house. Your favorite so far was that the adorable plump woman had to sell it soon, or her wife would run off with their girlfriend in the night, never to be seen again. Until Minri did get it sold, that is, upon which her wife and girlfriend would return and they would live in bliss.

Minri was, in actuality, very nice, and you doubt you should be entertaining such thoughts about her. She'd sold you your own house, after all; a lovely little three-bedroom, with a wonderful yard for your garden and your friends' dogs. Minri had even managed it at a great price, though she had emphasized the cleanliness of the place and the nearby churches, which was a little odd. You owed her for it, no matter how peculiar she had been during the viewing.

Well not really, she got a very nice commission from the sale, but it's the principle of the thing.

You scavenge one of the dry erase markers from the drawer and make a note on your fridge to bake her cookies sometime soon. Your mother would have a fit if she saw you writing straight on your fridge, but it was erasable and easy and you are if nothing if not a simple girl.

You pull yourself from your musings and make another note to call your mother before she could get huffy that you haven't in a while, and toss the marker back into the drawer when you're done. You direct your attention back at the moving van, unsurprised when a gaggle of young-looking boys emerges from the neighboring house to start unloading. Well, it wouldn't be extremely fair to call them a gaggle, as there are only three of them, but the point stands. They seem to be very close, judging by the way they tease and play, and it makes you smile a little. It was long past time the neighborhood got some life in it. The closest people to your age are the couple three doors down, in their 50s and always willing to talk about their seven children. It got tiring.

With a soft sigh, you turn from the window at your sink and dismiss the flash of bright pink you see in the mirroring window from next door. None of the three you saw had pink hair, but you could have missed one. You slide your hand along the spine of your cat, Tuna, and smile as she wraps her tail around your wrist for a moment before chirping and jumping down from the counter. She follows as you make your way to your office, tucked into the smallest of the bedrooms because it gets the best light, and settle at your desk to return to your work. Novels don't write themselves, after all.

You aren’t sure which of the boys lives next door, but it becomes quickly clear that it’s only one of them. Several are over at all hours of the day, but by the time the sun goes down, there’s usually only one or two there. A variety of vehicles come and go, but only one is there often enough to be the owner's. You might think it was a gay couple, had you not heard the complaints about an uncomfortable sofa on your way to get your morning paper.

They’re a very respectful bunch, whoever they are. They keep things quiet after sunset, and wait for a reasonable hour to start their backyard morning exercises. The music they play is pleasant, if a bit loud as it drifts over to where you kneel in the dirt. The fence that separates your yard from his reaches your shoulder. A white-picket thing that surrounds each of the yards in the neighborhood, you've never cared much for it, and it keeps you from seeing anything notable as you tend your garden. Still, you catch snippets of conversation, bits of stories that you never get a conclusion to, jokes with a punchline that’s carried off by the wind.

For the most part, though, you catch names; Jungkook, Jimin, Seokjin, different variants of each, but the one you hear most often is Hobi. His name rings out constantly, gliding through the air on notes of both mirth and vitriol. It’s usually accompanied by a laugh that makes your heart warm in your chest, or some form of inhuman screech, though you’re not sure why. You’ve never seen enough to understand what happens at the house next door, nor have you actually met any of the people that come and go like leaves in the fall.

Still, you can’t deny your curiosity, and you tell yourself that if the opportunity presents itself, you’ll introduce yourself. Despite that decision, the opportunity never does seem to present itself. Weeks pass, and you find that you feel nervous at the thought of going and introducing yourself now. The window has passed, it would be too strange now, he would think you odd. So you keep to your own house, tending your flowers and your trees, writing your novel, and doing your level best to keep Tuna off of the manuscripts and letters sitting around that you have yet to organize. You’ve resigned yourself to the sad truth that you simply won’t get to know your neighbor, won’t be able to have that adorable friendship you’ve dreamed of, won’t even know which one it is that lives there.

The universe has always worked rather strangely for you, though, and it’s not long after your acceptance of this fact that you come out of your back door, gardening gloves in hand and already reaching for the misting hose, to find someone swaying in your hammock.

You’re not really mad, you don’t use it very often anyway and someone should. Mostly you’re curious - you always have been, and always will be, most likely. Curious as to why someone is in your hammock when most everyone on the block has their own lawn furniture, who that someone is, how they got into your yard. The bolt on the gate is nearly impossible to unlatch from the outside; you know, from the many times that you’ve locked yourself out and had to James Bond your way into your own house through the back window.

You set your gloves on your patio table - a white bistro set your mother gave you when you moved out - and make your way over to the stranger. He’s good-looking; feather-soft brown hair and oddly clear skin, drowning in a sweatshirt that was at least two sizes too big, snoring lightly as the wind rocked him.

“Hey,” You say. He doesn’t respond, and you frown. “Hey, dude, what are you doing?” Still no response. You huff and turn, eyeing the yard for something to help. You don’t want to shake him awake, that could prove dangerous if he swings out at you. Your eyes light up as they land on the hose, forgotten among the grass. You tromp over and pick it up, dragging it back over to where the hammock sways among the tree branches.

“I’m gonna spray you awake,” You say. You receive no reaction, not that you expected any, and shrug. With one pulse, a fine mist of water settles on him. The guy does, indeed, flail, swinging wildly in a futile attempt to fight the water raining down him. He sputters and wipes at his face, and you watch as he does.

“What the hell, who the fuck sprays someone with water when they're sleeping?” He asks, shaking out his now damp hair.

“In my defense, I told you I was going to do it. You were the one that was asleep and didn’t hear.” The man freezes at the sound of your voice, looking around your yard as if seeing it for the first time. He gives you a hesitant and apologetic grin, and the sun seems to grow brighter on his face.

“I’m so sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep in your yard, I swear. There was...it’s a long story, but it really was an accident.” He flips himself gracefully off the hammock, with practiced ease that makes you only a little jealous. You should learn to do that.

“It’s fine, you can sleep in the hammock. I only want to know how you got in my yard.”

“I vaulted the fence,” He says as if it was obvious. You look from him to the fence, and back again. “What? It’s not difficult.” You turn back to the fence, measuring it with your eyes. If he was able to vault it without much difficulty, how fast would he have to be going? He would surely need a good deal of momentum, of course, to be able to launch himself five feet up in the air. The only thing in your brain is that ‘ten-foot vertical leap’ meme, and you curse your best friend for sending you every meme he ever thinks is remotely amusing.

The sound of your name brings you back to the present, and you focus on the man once more. “That’s you, I’m assuming?” The man says. You nod and point to him, belatedly realizing that you still have the hose in your hand when he flinches.

“Which one are you?” You ask him. He gives you a confused look. “There are several people next door most of the time, which one are you? Jungkook, Jimin, Seokjin, or Hobi?”

“Hobi,” He says after a second, beaming at you as he does. Something in your chest starts to unfurl itself, and the sensation is strangely comforting. “But my name is actually Hoseok, they just call me Hobi. You’re welcome to as well, most do.”

“Right.” You watch him for a few more seconds as he shakes out his sweatshirt, water dusting the grass below him. “I have gardening to do. Please let me know the next time you want to sleep in the hammock.” You turn back to the flowers closest the fence, satisfied now that you’ve answered so many of your questions about your neighbor.

“You aren’t going to ask why I’m here?” His voice calls from behind you. You shrug, kneeling beside your white camellias and checking their soil and sprouts. They were starting to bloom and you needed to be careful to make sure they weren’t soaking up too much water. “So I can seriously sleep here whenever. I just have to tell you first?”

“That’s what I said,” You reply. You pause, thinking for a second, and turn to look at him. “Does this make us friends?” The beaming smile he wears is nearly blinding, and you find it very endearing that he is so wildly happy at such a small thing.

“It absolutely makes us friends,” He tells you. You return the smile, albeit yours is much less sunshine-y than his. He starts to walk toward the fence and you laugh under your breath.

“Hoseok, you can use the gate,” You tell him. He stops and looks between the gate and the fence for a second before laughing embarrassedly at himself. “Please refrain from vaulting the fence in the future, as well. I'll leave the gate unlatched for you from now on.”

Hoseok grins and waves as he jogs out the gate and to his own home. You don’t relax until you hear the click of his door shut. A soft mrow from your left has you moving to pet Tuna once more, and you beam at her.

“It’s been a long time since I had a friend, hasn’t it?”

You don't expect to see or hear much from Hoseok after your brief interaction. You've had friends before, of course, but they all tend to fade away as they have their own lives and you have deadlines. Even your closest friends, three boys you met in college and somehow kept around, don't message you as often when you're close to finishing your work; they know better than to expect a response when you have an editor breathing down your neck. You're used to it, used to people becoming immersed in their own problems and not wanting to share them, so you never get upset about it anymore. There's no use in it, not when you do the same thing.

You're so used to this that it surprises you when Hoseok waves at you one morning as you're both getting mail. Another day he's playing football with a couple of friends and shouts a quick greeting over the fence as you dip down to do your gardening. One memorable evening, you turn from shooing a raccoon away from your trash with a feather duster to see Hoseok watching from his driveway. You give him a polite smile and he shoots you a proud, yet puzzled, grin, and the next day when he sees you putting out small feeders near the back part of your yard for the raccoon, he just chuckles.

Not to mention that you still come outside most mornings to find him snoozing in your hammock, rocking in the gentle breeze and comfortable as can be. He's never given you any explanation, though to be fair, you also don't pry.

It's a struggle; you want so much to know why he doesn't sleep in his house that sits not ten feet away from yours. You don't want to push him, though, too scared of breaking this tentative friendship you've built over something so small.

Things only start to change the afternoon he knocks on your back door while you're getting lunch ready for Tuna. She yells as you set the food down in front of her - a special blend designed to help her hearing and her eyesight since she's predisposed to troubles with both - but she quiets soon enough. You step around her to open the door, and you're shocked at the expression on Hoseok's face.

He wears a smile now, but for a second...for a second, he had looked afraid.

Your name drops from his lips in a tone that tells you he didn't expect you to answer. "I was only wondering, do you, um…" He trails off and you wait patiently for him to finish the thought. "Do you want to get lunch? Coffee? Anything? I need to get out of the house for a while."

"Sure," You reply. "Let me get my wallet." You move to the entryway to grab the thing - old and falling apart but still useful - and when you return, Hoseok is standing exactly where you left him. You pat Tuna's head and exit, closing the door behind you before you turn to Hoseok with an expectant smile. "I'll drive?" You suggest, since he still seems somewhat jumpy, and he nods.

He's not quiet on the drive, by any means, but it amazes you how he says so much but so little all at once. By the time you get to the cafe he directed you to, you've heard all about the antics of his friends - Jimin, Jungkook, and Seokjin, who helped him move that day - and you've heard plenty about their time at school and his days spent as a literature professor at the local university, and yet that's the most you know about him. Fun anecdotes and the off-hand comment about a student. Definitely not a word about why he sleeps in your hammock, or why he showed up at your door out of nowhere and asked you to lunch with a look in eyes that you thought you'd only see from a rabbit caught in a hunter's snare.

Still, as curious as you are, you can't bring yourself to ask about it, because it's so obvious that he wants to talk about anything else.

"So, what do you do? I never see you leave for work when everyone else does, so I assume you work from home?" You nod in response to Hoseok's question.

"I do. I'm an author, so I spend quite a bit of time in my office. That's why I started gardening, actually, so that I was forced to be outside in the sun at least a little bit every day. Otherwise, I tend to nest in my office for days without leaving."

"That makes a lot of sense," He says as he sips at his coffee. "What do you write?"

"Horror." The shock on his face, like perhaps he heard you wrong, is one of your favorite things about telling people you write. He gazes at you, taking in the messy hair, overalls, daisy-covered shirt, and pink sandals. "Psychological horror, to be exact.”

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." You grin, much too amused with the entire conversation. You slide your phone out of your pocket and tap at it until you're at your official website. You slide it across for him to see, and he clicks through the pages. There are several - one for each series, one for your upcoming releases, an appearance schedule, and then a quick bio that features a picture of you and Tuna. When he slides the phone back across the table, he looks impressed, and it warms you.

"I had no idea that was you," he says. You can't help the knowing grin. "You seem a little...bright for the genre."

"The mind is a fascinating place, Hoseok. The darker parts are so often either overlooked entirely or exaggerated for dramatic purposes. I want to tell real stories about real things that can happen. There's no need for embellishment when very real, very terrible things happen every single day. Besides, you don't need to dress in all black and carry around a leather-bound copy of Stephen King to prove you're interested in horror." He hums across the table, and his look has turned almost calculating.

"I may have to read some of your work then."

"You might." You give him a serene smile and finish your coffee.

He's somehow friendlier after that. He initiates small conversations almost every day, outside your mailbox or hanging over the fence while you garden. He appears all but every other day on your doorstep, looking terrified but grinning as he asks you to go to coffee. You start to wonder if there's something chasing him that only he can see, but brush the thought off the same second you have it. You've become too deep into your latest book.

He does read your work, which surprised you; you'd never expected him to do so. You offer to lend him your copies, as you have one of each on a shelf in your office, but he steadfastly refuses. You talk about it over coffee, and though you shouldn't be surprised at the quick thinking and keen observations he makes, you are. As often as you interact with your readers at signings and readings and conventions, you've never been quite so invested in someone's thoughts before.

You're eager to know what he thinks of the most recent book he's read. You're curious as to what metaphors and symbolism he's picked up on, what foreshadowing has punched him in the gut with realization. If he would criticize the heavy-handed allegory you've created, or if praise would fall from his lips to slide across and settle in your chest.

It's been a very long time since you cared for someone's opinion like this, you realize one morning as you stare out your kitchen window. Butterflies form in your stomach and you sigh, content in the knowledge that there would be no running from this. You watch as Hoseok runs around his own backyard, laughing at something Jimin says. He's sweaty from the game they're playing, but the sunlight seems to absorb into his skin in a way you've not seen before, and it looks like he's glowing. His smile lights up the sunset, and you can hear his laugh from here, and you want nothing more than to wrap yourself up in the sound.

No, you decide, there would be no running from these feelings, only acceptance of the blossoming fondness inside your heart. You turn from the window as Hoseok laughs again, spotting an empty section of your garden as you do, right beside the eye-catching red tulips. It makes you frown, as you can't remember there being an empty section there before.

You make a note on your fridge to pick up some pink camellias next time you're at the garden center to fill it. Your reminder to call your mother stares back at you and frown at it for a solid minute before you pick up the phone. As it rings, you resign yourself to yet another conversation with your mother about why you're not married with a real career yet.

"Have you had dinner yet?"

You look up from the weeds in your grasp to see Hoseok leaning across your fence and beaming at you.

"Have you had dinner yet?" Hoseok repeats at your obvious confusion. "I ordered delivery and saw you out here and I thought I should offer to share. Since you've been so kind in sharing your lovely hammock and free time, I want to repay the favor."

"Oh. No, I haven't eaten yet." You stand and dust the dirt off your gloves before sliding them off. Hoseok grins and hands two large bags over the fence to you. You take them, curious, and watch as he pulls himself up and over the fence. He’s careful not to step on your flowers, but he still gives an apologetic smile as you sigh. "The gate is right there, Hobi."

He winks as he rights himself and takes one of the bags. "It's faster like this." You laugh and slide your gloves off with care, not wanting to drop the food, and hang them on the fence beside you. Hoseok is already halfway to your back door and waves at Tuna where she waits on your dining table.

"Oh, Hoseok, don't-" He's opened the door before you can finish your sentence, and a small black and tan fluff darts out. The dog circles him, yipping at his toes and running back and forth between the two of you. Hoseok looks startled, but a smile spreads across his face after a moment. "I'm sorry, I'm dogsitting for my friend while he's out of town."

Hoseok coos at the dog and leads him back inside, luring him along with a small bit of meat. You laugh as you follow, sliding a hand down Tuna's back as you shut the door behind you.

"He's adorable, I love him!" Hoseok exclaims, laughing again as he sets the food on the counter. He looks at you and gestures to the piece of meat in his hand, and you nod to let him know it's fine. Yeontan takes it and follows Hobi around as he starts getting plates and utensils, the fact that he knows where they are is a testament to how often he's at your house.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Tuna bathes languidly atop her cat tower and Yeontan sits between you and Hoseok, his entire body shaking back and forth as his tail wags. Every so often, Hoseok will comment about his day, as he usually does when the two of you eat together, and he asks about yours. You tell him about the new flowers you've planted - some gorgeous white lilies that should bloom well. He tells you about his theories and opinions on the last book of yours he'd read.

By the time you're finished eating, he has several new thoughts and notes jotted down in a hasty scrawl on a napkin. He's insightful with his questions, bringing up points you hadn't considered and opinions on continuity that you need to clarify in the future. Your heart flutters in your chest when he smiles, bouncing Yeontan in his lap.

"I do think they're good, though," He says as he makes kissy faces at the dog. "Like, good good. If I ever teach a psychological horror class, I may use them. Students could learn a lot from the dedication to detail."

"Thanks, Hobi," You tell him, and you don't bother to hide the fond smile. The fluttering in your chest is familiar at this point, and it makes you sigh a little.

You're so smitten, you think as you watch him bounce Yeontan on his knee; you should, perhaps, feel more conflicted about your growing emotions. And yet, you've been accepting of it since you first met him. It was as if the second you met Hoseok, you knew you would fall for him. How could you not, with his charm and warmth and humor and the unbearable mystique he left in his wake each time you spoke to him?

"Oh, that reminds me, I have something for you!" You stand and head outside for a mere moment, grabbing what you need in a flash. When you return, Yeontan is on his belly beside Hoseok, Tuna glaring at both of them with envy. You set the pot in front of him, and he blinks at it, bewildered.

"Is this...?"

"Tulips!" You say with a grin. The yellow blossoms stand proud as he gapes, and you like to imagine that they're proud they look so good for him. "To brighten up your house. You always seem so interested them, and I had several extra seedlings this year, so I grew one for you."

The look on Hoseok's face is unreadable and he's silent for a long while as he looks at the flowers. You wait; you've seen the way he looks at your garden while the two of you talk over the fence, you've seen the way that he eyes the tulips as you weed them. You know it's a good gift, and you scream the reminder inside your chest to drown out the voice in the back of your head saying otherwise. It's worth the wait when his face splits into the biggest smile you've ever seen, radiant and bright. It almost seems to surround him, a halo of joy that feels like a summer sun.

"I absolutely love it," He tells you. "It's gorgeous, I'm going to make sure everyone can see it." He stands, potted flowers cradled in both hands like a babe, and gives Yeontan one last kiss. "I should be going anyway, I have a class in the morning, but I need to make sure I find the perfect place for these." He beams at you again, and you return his grin.

"It's nothing, Hobi," You say, walking him to the front door and opening it for him. "Consider it a housewarming gift." He beams as he makes his way across to his own house, and the way he's already cooing at the buds and talking to it have your emotions a mess.

It's been months since you first went to coffee with Hoseok. The two of you are, you would say, friends. You've definitely graduated from neighbors, and you spend more time together than acquaintances, but it feels strange to call him your friend when what you feel is so much more than that.

Every time you see him, it only gets worse. More than once, you wished time would stand still if only to keep him with you a little longer. Being around him feels like standing in a meadow of daffodils in the noon sun, heat seeping into your skin and painting the world with its oranges and yellows while the breeze whispers a promise in your ear as it rolls through you.

You wish you could bottle the feeling.

You make a note on your fridge - 'bottling emotions for capitalistic gain - too obvious? trite? overused? must consider further' - and set out a treat for Tuna. She's grumpy, likely because you've yet again woken at four in the morning and disrupted her usual bed - your face - with your need for a bathroom and a snack.

You haven't slept much that week, too busy polishing the last few press releases and comments that had to be perfect before release. You'd finally done the last of the work and had checked the mail and done your gardening before you received Joy's email saying you were good to go back into hibernation until the next book was due.

You took the hint and proceeded to pass out at around five that evening. You needed the sleep, clearly; you can't remember the last time you slept so long without even getting up to pee. Still, you muse as you munch on a week-old granola bar your mother left on her last visit, you're glad that you've gotten the book done. You're always relieved when you finish writing one, these days. In the beginning, you would wait anxiously until publication finished and the book was on the shelves. Joy had to pull you out of your rabbit hole several times, too consumed with what people were saying to even bother with anything else.

That was before Tuna, of course, and the garden.

Now, you were content seeing whatever happened your way. You didn't much care for professional reviews anymore; they were nice but they weren't as honest. The random people who stumbled onto Twitter in the early hours of the morning because they'd just turned the last page were much more genuine. There were always those that criticized you, of course, but you contented yourself with the knowledge that they never had to read your books if they didn't want to. Others enjoyed them, and that was what mattered. The ones who read them and then couldn't sleep, either for need to express their thoughts to someone before they could rest or because they were too on edge, too anxious, the ones who saw danger in every mundane shadow of their bedroom after putting your book down, those were the ones who mattered to you.

A bang startles you out of your thoughts, and you share a look with Tuna. Her fur is raised, tail straight up as she looks to your front door. You follow her gaze and see nothing, which isn't unusual. Tuna regularly communes with whatever shadow monsters exist in that parallel plane of existence only cats can see. It's not typical, however, for you to be able to hear said shadow monsters.

You pad your way to the front door, sliding one of the hardcovers that had arrived the day before into your hand as you do, in case one of the shadow monsters tried something. Another bang echoes throughout your house, followed by a series of quick, desperate knocks. Deciding that no respectable shadow monster would knock before murdering you, you open the door to see Hoseok, panicked and sweating and panting. He looks as surprised as you feel.

"Um…" is all he says for a minute, and you wait. "I didn't expect you to answer, honestly, I just. You weren't around earlier so I didn't want to use the hammock, and it's getting kind of chilly, and so I tried to sleep in the house, but it's gotten worse and I was doing alright but then it started making these noises? So I tried to get it to stop with some things I found online but that only made it all worse, and then it seemed like things were gonna shoot around the room, so I-"

"Hoseok," You interrupt. He stops, fixing wide eyes on you. "Context." "My house is being haunted by some kind of demon monster and I think it's going to try to kill me and I would really appreciate your help in exorcising it." You blink, but the grave expression on his face doesn't change. It takes a second for your brain to fit that particular frame around the puzzle that Hoseok has been - sleeping in the hammock, random coffee trips where he's jittery and on edge, the minute you go to leave the cafe, the terrified look in his eyes whenever he comes over or sparks a conversation out of nowhere.

"Okay," You say, sliding the book under your arm and closing the door behind you. Hoseok looks taken aback at the idea that you're actually going to help him, but he hesitantly follows as you head across the front yard to his own front door.

The house is quiet when you enter, the shadows of still-yet-to-be-unpacked boxes dancing on the walls as you turn the overhead light on. He's lived in the house for months and yet it seems only the bare necessities have been unpacked; it should surprise you more, but considering the fact that he's spent all that time believing there's a ghost haunting him, you aren't surprised.

Your first walk through the house doesn't seem to trigger anything. It's completely silent, eerily still, and yet Hoseok seems to jump at every creak of a floorboard, ready to run at every twisting shadow that shies away from the light.

"Is there a ghost here?" You eventually call into the living room, and Hoseok curses at the soft thud that echoes. Your eyes narrow, darting around the space. "I asked a question. Don't be rude, it's very inconsiderate of you." There's a couple of other thuds eyes track them around the room. "If you don't stop, I'm going to start performing an exorcism, and then who's going to regret being impolite?"

Hoseok hisses your name, but you ignore him, instead of focusing on the way the lamp in the corner wobbles ever so slightly. Hoseok clearly also notices this, inching towards the door once more.

"Hoseok said you were talking to him. Am I not good enough?" There's a pause, and then a warbled voice reverberates through the room, eerie and lingering, which only cements your theory. You turn to Hoseok and lower your voice, barely even whispering. You're so close that your lips brush his ear as you ask him where the entrance to his attic is. He leads you to it, stepping softly and avoiding the creaky floorboards as you do.

It's harder to be quiet as he pulls the trapdoor down, stairs sliding along with it, but at this point, you don't need to be. You ascend first, Hoseok following close behind. He no longer looks afraid, merely curious, and you're glad for it. It's a pity that he's felt so alienated from his own house.

There are several squeaking sounds as you turn on your phone flashlight and showing Hoseok exactly what has been haunting him: a pink-haired young man and his blonde friend, both scrambling for cover amidst the sleeping bag and snack wrappers that litter the floor of the attic.

You stand aside as Hoseok chases them out, cursing about mice and sleep and ungrateful friends as he does. When Jungkook and Jimin are both gone, laughing so hard they can't run, you show Hoseok the boots they used to stomp around, the nearly-invisible fishing line threaded down and around various lamps and paintings, the radio hookup they used to change their voices.

"It's all stuff I've used in books before," You tell him as he pours a cups of coffee for you both. "Also, I could hear them laughing."

"I feel like an idiot for waking you up for this. And for sleeping in a hammock and getting chased out of my house for something so stupid." He runs a hand through his hair and the fondness in your chest grows. He doesn’t look at you, instead staring at the potted tulips sitting in his kitchen window. It mirrors your own, and you’ve caught yourself staring more than once from your own kitchen.

"There are worse things,” you say.

"Oh?"

"Mhm. I could've not had a hammock." The small grin he gives has you melting, and you want nothing more than to wrap him in a hug and kiss away the line between his brows.

“You have a point," He says with a small laugh. "It is a really comfortable hammock. I almost don't want to go back to my bed."

"So don't," You say, voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. The tone in his voice feels new, feels good, like perhaps he's standing in that meadow of daffodils with you, and it gives you hope. "You're always welcome to use the hammock. As I said, someone should, otherwise it's going to hang there, all sad and lonely."

He looks shocked to hear that, though you aren't sure why. It isn't like you've been very secretive of the way he makes you feel; but then, you haven't been outright vocal, either. And he did think he was being haunted for the better part of four months, without realizing it was two of his friends living in his attic.

"You're welcome to come over whenever, Hobi," You tell him. "You don't need to be chased out by a ghost to talk to me."

"I don't want to interrupt your work," He says. His voice is hesitant and sweet and it reminds you of the orange blossoms you used to plant with your grandmother.

"I'm actually finished with my book," You tell him. He makes a questioning noise, and you remember the hardcover tucked under your arm and set it on the counter. "This is actually for you." He steps closer to look it over and flips it around to look at the back as well.

"I can't take your only copy," He starts but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

"I have one for me," You say. Your voice is firm, unaffected by the rolling of your stomach, but it's quieter than usual. "That's yours. I wanted your opinion on it if it lives up to the hype. We talked about the one right before this last week, and I'm curious if this one will answer any of your questions or if it leaves you with more. I've been trying some new things, and I'm not sure how well I executed them."

You choke the need to keep talking. Instead, you bite your tongue and return the look Hoseok is giving you; it's intense and full of something you can't place. But he's opened the book to the back, fingers resting lightly against the dedication bearing his name, thumb brushing the red carnation you'd pressed between the pages out of sheer impulse.

"You don't have to read it, of course," You eventually say.

"I'll need something to do while you garden, though," He says, stepping closer and letting the book fall closed. "I can't exactly lay in that hammock and watch you garden, can I?"

"If you wanted, you could." He's closer than he's ever been now, eyes focused on your lips even as he studies your face for any sign that you don't want him there. "I wouldn't mind."

When he finally presses his lips to yours, they're softer than you expected. Even his hands are soft as he slides them up to cup your jaw and press deeper, like gardenia blossoms against your skin, and everywhere he touches is warmed, as if the sun itself was dancing across you. It makes it hard to breathe, but god, at this point, you'd be fine with never breathing again so long as he kept kissing you.

It feels like hours when he finally pulls away, a shy smile painted pink with the sunrise, and it's breathtaking.

Later that day, you plant lilies, white and yellow intermixed in a pattern that your grandmother taught you, while Hoseok swings lazily in your hammock, one leg on the ground to rock himself. He spouts questions at you as he does, making little notes in the margins of each page as you respond, Tuna curled beside him and happily snoring.

You should plant more daffodils, you decide as you watch them.

#fic: amae #bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff #hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #hobi x reader #jhope x reader #neighbor!hobi #neighbor hobi #neighbor hoseok #neighbor jhope #kpop fanfiction #reader insert #ddaenggtan #this is literally so much fluff #there is exactly zero (0) smut so im sorry if thats why u read it lmao #boyfriend!hoseok #soft hoseok

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lighthouseofthewanderess · 6 years ago

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Father

I’ve been contemplating writing about this. Not because I didn’t know how to write it all, or the words that would do justice. But because it’s one of the things lesser known about me, and saying it here is akin to giving a piece of my heart to all of you reading. But here goes; I’ve tried to keep it short. Tried to make it less ‘white’. These, despite the amazing roller-coaster of a journey I’ve had, are the willingly forgotten bits about me.

I saw it on a movie. ‘Gardens of the Night’. While the plot was around pronography and prostitution that I largely skipped for some unspoken reason, the girl and her emotions mirrored mine. The more I saw, the more I understood that something had happened to me as a child. Something wrong. Abuse. Facts state that more often than not, in most sexual child abuses the offender is someone close to them. My father. And I couldn’t look away from the screen. Here were instances, things that were framed wrong. All that touching, why is someone other than the father doing it? Isn’t that what fathers did? See in my head, the way my father treated me was what I assumed every other girl was going through. That this was life, and that I had to listen to him. After all, he was the reason I was alive, wasn’t I?

It took me some more movies and observations of daughters with their fathers to understand that I was insanely wrong. He makes you sit on his lap to put his hand under your skirt. He doesn’t give you baths because he’s taking care of you. He only talks nice when you’re doing him a favor. It was frankly, too much to process. I lingered around the fact that I am making up things in my head, that I missed my mom and everything my father did was looking wrong to me only because he didn’t do it like a mother would do. Then, when I accepted his nature, I was met with a wall of disappointment. That the one person who was to look out for you and your safety was the only person harming you. That the years supposed to be filled with laughter and love was spent with belt marks and stained clothes. When I was about 14, that feeling turned into anger. I wanted him to know only one thing. That I knew. Knew what he did every night, and that I dare him to try it with me again. But it was late. The daily affair and routine of fetching me from the servant quarters in the dead of the night and throwing me out before dawn, had already messed up my head a little.

I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and was walking around with repressed memories that could shut me out anytime. I got used to the process -- there would suddenly be an incident that triggered something from my past, and I would just shut down. I would faint for anywhere between 10 minutes to 2 hours and nothing could wake me up unless I went to the hospital and they revived me. In that blackout, I wasn’t safe at all. I would revisit all the little things that my mind had safely tucked away hoping I will never find out. And why with such vivid details, why did I have to remember his voice and every move he made? That’s right eidetic memory.

I had bangles on my hand in a park. Glass bangles. I remember him walking to me with this long lanky legs covered by a brown trouser. I looked at him, my vision had my two chubby hands with bangles on their wrists. He wasn’t smiling, he was angry. That was my singal to keep quiet and do as he asks. He pulled my hand and dragged me behind a big cement building. Maybe it wasn’t too big, I was just a kid; it looked pretty big to me. He undid his belt and forced my hand between his legs. I yelled, he clamped my mouth. I fought, he placed one leg around me. I couldn’t remember anything other than the pain in my wrists as he held them firmly and the speed. It felt like my skin would come off anytime. When it was done, my bangle broke. And in a rush to hide the incident altogether, he pulled them off both hands and threw it in the garbage that stung me eyes. That’s how I got my first scar on my left hand. When I wake up from these blackouts, I am exhausted to have relived the moment again. I can’t feel the air in my lungs and everything is plain cold. I shiver, I feel numb. Then, I look around at the faces around me and know I’ve survived it yet again. He was miles away and he couldn’t touch me at all. Most of the school and the teachers in India attributed my fainting spells to being weak and underweight. They laughed, it became a long-standing joke. I let it be. It’s easier than having to explain what I saw. The thing is, I wish it all played out a little differently. That day in the park was the only time I resisted him; to me resistance equalled more pain. I’d rather just keep quiet and wait to be away from him. His drinking, his smoking, his rants afterwards about me and how he hated me all led me to wish only one thing. I wanted his love. I wanted to be on my best behavior and hear him tell me I was his daughter, a good little girl, and that I’m the best thing in his life. I heard two of those when he was busy fulfilling his needs with me in the picture, but I never heard him call me his daughter. Turns out the story ran long back, to when I was even littler. In Pune when Prerna and her friends, who had come down for her birthday, all sat around the table, I joined in the conversation. All was fine until they started talking of beaches in Mumbai and how one of her friends took her dog walking in the evenings. I shut down and entered another repressed memory. Here I was, walking with my father into the sunset. Well, almost. Here he was propping me up on a stool next to the bajji vendor parked on the Marina Beach. And there he went, only to reunite with another woman who was not my mother. He only came back when the sun was almost setting. And my blackout fast forwarded into so many evenings just like that where I would sit on the sand, play with a stray dog, and smell the fumes of the oil from the vendor. My father. Happily on the beach. Having an affair. In front of his daughter. To every other eye, it must have looked like we were a happy family of three. Little did they know that I wasn’t of her blood, or that smile on his face was only when he was with her. When I snapped out of this spell, a lot of things made sense. His resentment towards me and my family. His shedding of parenthood for I was not a child he ever wanted. His insistent nudges to send my mom off to the US so he could be free. What didn’t add up was -- why did he find pleasure in me. What a twisted thing it was, and how twisted was it to hear that after the divorce he went on to marry again. Yes that’s right. My mom hearing the story, rang up a friend in the Income Tax Department and he traced him down to a government college. Where he worked with his new wife. Did I want to see her picture? No thanks, the memory of her ID card around her neck was the last puzzle piece I needed. It broke my heart even more to know he had one son and one daughter. And that they were a happy family. Was I not enough? He didn’t hurt his children from a second marriage and decided to ruin the life of his first child? That validation I was seeking from him all those years crumbled away. It was no fault of mine, I could've borne every piercing pain and scar and yet that wouldn’t have made him a better person. Couldn’t have made him love you. When mom and I came back from the US to give the marriage another shot, I cursed my life over and over. My mom was unaware of everything because she had fled to the US. Her side of the family supported my dad because they had tossed the responsibility to him. It was all a big mess, a bomb that was running out of wick. In India, my mom didn’t work. She stayed home and tried to be a good housewife. And just like I feared, my father went back to his old ways. I had grown up now, I wouldn’t even have to kneel. The hunger in his eyes, the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he saw me getting ready to school -- these are the things that stuck with me and made me fear every guy. That look, what a common look it was in the world, feasting on bodies, drinking the fear. I tried so hard to not be at home when my mom went to buy groceries. As soon as she stepped out, a game of cat and mouse would ensue. I would run through the rooms, the corridors, trying to make it out of the house and to the terrace. Most times I failed. His stealth always surprised me; his otherwise lazy attitude would disappear and in its place an irresistible urge would build up. My clothes have torn, and he has had me quickly change in the 20 minutes it took mom to come back. I would make up a reason for the new dress, or a scar or two. She always believed me. I saw him again, when I thought I far from him. And what are the odds, he walked straight into my grandpa’s house in Erode. This was supposed to be a safe place, where my mom grew up. If he would come and go as he wished, could they even be trusted? What have we been doing believing them all our lives? My mom had many thoughts at that moment, but I watched her keep her calm and did the same. Inside I was disappearing. My aunt rushed my mom and me into a room and locked us on the outside. When I heard his voice, I wished I was mistaken. That same raspy, half croaky voice. Saying that he wants to see me again, that my mom was wrong to deny seeing his own daughter. There. I heard it. Half of me despite it all, wanted to go see him. I wanted to walk across the corridor, down the steps and up again into the patio. I would be shaking all over, cold and numb, but I wanted to see his face as he said that again. This time in front me, his daughter who had grown almost to his height. But I was locked in and that was that. He spoke, he left. The door was unlocked, and we blocked out the only family we had for turning on us dead wrong. That night, I saw my mom breakdown. She yelled in the middle of the house and demanded answers. A lot of things surfaced. The fact that she wanted her parents to take care of me and not my father was new. I heard it and a little joy bloomed within. Distant relatives came from all over, all hosting their own panchayat. They wanted her to make it work again with my father, the situation was that of family honor now. My mom grabbed me from the corner in the middle of all this and said

“If you think I married to lay with him one night then let it be. This life in my hands, this little girl is the only good thing out of this marriage and I cannot give any more to him.” How powerful. That made sense. In fact, that’s the possible the only way to look at it. Why they got her married to a man like him, against the wishes of the entire town, we will never know. Why my mom didn’t listen to her litter sister and take the bag she had packed to run away before the marriage, we will never know. It was mom and me again, just like it had been in the US. We were fools to think years changed anything at all. I think that’s why when I caught my mom giving her life a second thought, I brought up divorce. It was all for the good. That’s why, when we came to India for good we picked Bangalore and not Chennai. That’s why, in almost every relationship, I ended up imagining my father when in bed. I couldn’t shake it off. I went to therapy like my mom advised. I switched therapists because the minute I unraveled my tale and brought to life every incident with horrific detail (what’s here is the surface) they needed a day or two off before they could see me. I broke the news to my mom at 19 on the insistence of my permanent therapist. My mom broke down and couldn’t look at me the same. She swore on all her family gods. Then I started healing in ways that were too painful. My then boyfriend cheated on me because I couldn’t ‘just do it’. I learned I was more than my body, and freezing up was okay. I started mingling with boys at school only after I knew I could defend myself and throw a few punches if it came to that. Little by little, I watched movie movies with scenes from an abuse. I accepted, I processed, I hugged myself and promised never to let it go through something like that again. I learned that there was no point seeking the love of a father because in this life I was gifted with a monster. When I think of the times in kindergarten in India, I remember the way other kids babbled about their fathers. How they got gifts, and how they went to the movies. I made up stories to stay in loop and imagined a father so pristine. I did that for most of my life actually. He would walk two steps behind me, and push a stubborn lock of hair behind my ear. He would buy me cotton candy, and advise me on dating boys. He would say I looked the prettiest in white, and hated it when I wore dark lipstick. Half of this was Pradeesh Uncle, and the other half my mom fulfilled. She became my father and mother and tried so very hard to not make me miss a father figure in my life. That’s the only problem with her. She believes that’s possible for me to do. Accept her as a double parent and never want for anything at all. And that’s where she goes wrong. As strong as a woman she maybe, and as well as a father she may play, some things just don’t become right with a lot of good. The cigarette he ashed on the left side of my neck when I refused to undo his belt. That I pass off as a birthmark to those who ask. His picture taking when I was old enough to take bath. I still can’t bring myself to look at the mirror in my bathroom. Any tall, skinny man; the restlessness that brews inside I just can't deny. It doesn’t matter if my mom is around me. If I know I can take down that man. The mind is used to forgetting, the heart used to forgiving, but the body remembers. Father: a wish I wasn’t granted.

#nanowrimo #nano 2018 #nano writing #life story #lifestruggles #life stories #child abuse #anecdote #writedaily #loveforwriting #writing #wrimo #truthsdiary #day15

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wineanddinosaur · 4 years ago

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We Asked 11 Beer Pros: What’s the Best New Beer You’ve Had This Summer?

In case you missed it, summer 2020 came in the middle of a global pandemic. In a period that has required following safety measures, including mask wearing and social distancing, many of the season’s pastimes that so often accompany beer — barbecues, beach days, ballgames — have looked different or been abandoned altogether.

The custom of beating the summer heat with a refreshing drink, too, has taken on unconventional forms amid the coronavirus pandemic, as most states have temporarily loosened laws around takeout and delivery alcohol, a small lifeline for a handicapped food-and-beverage industry struggling to survive.

Craft brewers, for instance, have been battered by evaporated on-premises sales at taprooms, bars, and restaurants. In a survey of its members conducted by the Brewers Association in April, the majority did not believe they could stay in business for three months if current conditions continued. And, as a cost-cutting measure, data shows innovation has slowed: Almost half as many new beer releases, themselves an earmark of small, independent American breweries, are being registered compared to the same period last year due to Covid-19.

Still, producers are pushing through the crisis — for one, they’re adopting creative ways of packaging and selling in a constantly changing regulatory landscape. And, as we share below, many brewers are still releasing new offerings, helping beer lovers salvage the sublime joy of summer imbibing.

So, with this far-from-normal summer nearing its end, we asked brewers across the country to tell us about the beers that impressed them the most so far.

“Let’s be honest: Summers in Phoenix are BRUTALLY hot. Like, working the deep fryer inside of a food truck parked at the gates of Hell hot. It’s a type of heat that’s so intense, only those who experience it know how truly awful it is — and why liquid solace is needed. For me this summer it came from Humble Seas’ West Coast-leaning pilsner, Beverly Krills 90210. Dry-hopped with a nice blend of American and noble varieties, it’s a great example of what a contemporary American pilsner can be: Dry, sessionable, with subtle fruity hop aromatics, and the perfect amount of balanced maltiness. The head retention absolutely begs for a slow pour so you can build those nice frothy, aromatic peaks, almost like Arizona’s mountainous landscape.” — Kyle Kreig, Taproom Manager, Wren House Brewing Co., Phoenix

“With everything that’s been going on, it’s been incredibly important to find joy in the little things. I definitely found a bit of joy this summer in Tripping Animals’ joint can release, Am I A Cat? and Am I A Dog? It’s ‘90s cartoon nostalgia meets experimental beer cuvée, where both are designed to stand alone and also be mixed. Both titles had the same sour base and coconut additions. But the Cat was conditioned on blueberry and pomegranate, and the Dog pineapple and key lime. Once you combined them, it was like a perfectly tart key lime pie with a berry reduction on top! Changing the ratios of the cuvée made each drink exciting, playful, and unique. I had a lot of fun drinking something so interactive and flavorful!” — Susie Bennett, Quality Assurance Analyst, Motorworks Brewing, Bradenton, Fla.

“To support the Black Lives Matter movement, several brewers have stepped up and launched initiatives to speak about and work toward combating the racial injustice we face. Weathered Souls’ Black Is Beautiful ignited this large-scale industry support and it has been astronomical, while more recent efforts such as the ongoing, open-source project BREATHING : CONVERSATIONS from Finback in New York will go deeper into the route of problems, and further push necessary change. Knowing the people at Finback, it isn’t a brewery to make a beer to appease BIPOC and not seem racist, or to follow ‘woke’ trends, but to effectively bring forward conversations and ideas that aren’t comfortable, but need to be had.” — James Higgs, Brand Ambassador, Forager Brewery, Rochester, Minn.

“Saaz Off Shotgun, a Czech-style pilsner from Radicle Effect Brewerks, was my go-to summer beer. Radicle is a nanobrewery, so it doesn’t put out too many lagers. But luckily for some small brewers, Covid-19 allowed them to have extra time to lager. Saaz Off was released right when patios started to open back up here, and it was the perfect way to bring some normalcy back. Crispy, and all of the character from the Saaz hops shine.” — Glenn Cole, Brand Ambassador, Midwest Ale Works, East Moline, Ill.

“Weathered Souls’ Black Is Beautiful initiative unified over 1,000 breweries this summer to take a stance and bring awareness to the systemic issues that challenge communities of color. This led to an incredible lineup of varying stout recipes, like ours, in tandem with Trillium Brewing, aged on a bed of Papua New Guinea vanilla beans. Aside from our deliciousness, one Black Is Beautiful stout that really stood out was from two other Massachusetts beer makers, Vitamin Sea and Brockton. They put an extra twist on their version and went with a blackberry sour that had a complex yet subtle layering of marshmallow and chocolate whirled into a deep dark color bursting with blackberry flavor. Well balanced and absolutely a memorable beer.” — Ray Berry, Founder and President, White Lion Brewing, Springfield, Mass.

“Key Brewing’s Semi Charmed takes me back to the time when pale ales and Northwest hops ruled the beer land. Light amber in color, with distinct maltiness and assertive bitterness presented harmoniously. The Baltimore tie-in to ‘Charm City’ also tells a great story.” — Rob Day, Senior Director of Marketing, Jack’s Abby Craft Lagers and Springdale Beer Co., Framingham, Mass.

“At the start of summer, my girlfriend and I drove up from Texas to a cabin nestled on a lake in the Adirondacks. On the way, we spent the night at my old stomping grounds, in northern Virginia, to stay with a friend. To my delight, she had a case of Aslin beers waiting for me. Aslin’s That’s Facts, a pilsner dry-hopped with Waimea and Motueka hops, became my go-to adventure beer. Though everything we drank during that time tasted better thanks to the setting and company, That’s Facts was the one I kept reaching for when hiking or kayaking, or when sunset was involved. And just like our time quarantining on the lake, my 4-pack of this crispy pilsner was thoroughly enjoyed, finished way too soon, and left me craving more. And that’s facts.” — Eli Traks, Photography and Social Media Manager, Turning Point Beer, Bedford, Tex.

“My pick is the Big Ditch and Ommegang collaboration, Superior Helles. Of course, any well-crafted helles is a sublime summer crusher, but these two Upstate New York brewers took it to the next level with the deft addition of Hallertau Blanc and Bavaria Mandarina hops, which together layer a delicate aroma of noble hops and tropical fruit atop a sound, cracker-y malt base which adds a soft sweetness. The beer is a perfect accompaniment to a sweltering day, yet also holds its own in a food-pairing situation with lighter summer fare such as a salad or pasta primavera. Prost!” — Ethan Cox, Founder, Community Beer Works, Buffalo, N.Y.

“As a brewer who likes to spend their spare time hiking and camping, I like to reach for beers that I can pack easily and are the ones I’ll wanna drink when I get to a lake or summit. That beer for me this summer is Kolsch 4.5, by Logsdon Farmhouse Ales. I’ve had an admiration for Logsdon since getting into craft beer, with its ability to produce beautiful saisons and mixed-culture beers. The Washington [State] brewery moved facilities and has expanded to brewing styles like IPAs and lagers. Kolsch 4.5 is a perfect example of the team’s rounded ability to make a delicate, crisp, and refreshing German-style ale that can be taken with you on any adventure. And yes, it’s really 4.5 percent ABV. And no, it doesn’t come with Zig-Zags.” — Anne Aviles, Brewer, Breakside Brewery, Portland, Ore.

“My pick is from Nashville’s one-man operation, Barrique Brewing and Blending. Joel Stickrod’s BBA [bourbon-barrel aged] Freeman Red is a traditional Flanders red initially aged on red muscadine grapes, then finished for an additional six months in a Wild Turkey barrel. The extended bourbon-barrel-aging adds some wonderful vanilla, char, and whiskey character to a style that is oft overstated and can tiptoe the line of aggression.” — Dylan Field, Operations, Southern Grist Brewing Company, Nashville

“White Sangria Hut, from Half Acre’s Wyld program. This open-fermented, oak-aged saison was racked onto Michigan peaches and Pinot Gris must, and then introduced to Cara Cara orange peels. It offers tons of bright, exotic, tropical flavors — kiwi, peach, coconut, citrus — and truly makes you feel like you are sitting beachside somewhere on the coast of Spain. It has definitely provided the greatest degree of escape from the confines of summer quarantine in Chicago. It’s hard to tell while sipping, but this beer also packs a hefty 10 percent ABV. And though that is typically a bit higher alcohol than I like in my day-to-day beer, it’s exactly what I want when I‘m pretending to lounge around on a faraway beach.” — Averie Swanson, Founder and Brewer, Keeping Together, Chicago

The article We Asked 11 Beer Pros: What’s the Best New Beer You’ve Had This Summer? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/beer-pros-new-summer-beer-2020/

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isaiahrippinus · 4 years ago

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We Asked 11 Beer Pros: What’s the Best New Beer You’ve Had This Summer?

So, with this far-from-normal summer nearing its end, we asked brewers across the country to tell us about the beers that impressed them the most so far.

The article We Asked 11 Beer Pros: What’s the Best New Beer You’ve Had This Summer? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/beer-pros-new-summer-beer-2020/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/627708682284793856

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johnboothus · 4 years ago

Text

We Asked 11 Beer Pros: Whats the Best New Beer Youve Had This Summer?

So, with this far-from-normal summer nearing its end, we asked brewers across the country to tell us about the beers that impressed them the most so far.

The article We Asked 11 Beer Pros: What’s the Best New Beer You’ve Had This Summer? appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/beer-pros-new-summer-beer-2020/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/we-asked-11-beer-pros-whats-the-best-new-beer-youve-had-this-summer

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swiftsadprose · 7 years ago

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Nashville : June 2017

This recent trip to Nashville was easily one of the top two vacations of my life. Since there are so many memories I want to hold on to, I decided to write them all down.. Early morning on Tuesday June 13th we headed out of Columbus. On our way down we stopped by Chik-fil-A, of course, and then at Dinosaur World in Kentucky. They have 150 dinosaur statues set up throughout their wooded park and allow dogs. It was the perfect place to stretch our legs for a bit before the final leg to Nashville. We got into Nashville around noon. It was too early to check into our airbnb so we headed downtown to the farmers market and bicentennial park. We let Samson cool his feet in the Rivers of Tennessee fountain park while we waited for our Bella Nova pizza. Then sat in the shade and ate lunch. After that we walked around the park seeing the Court of 3 Stars and Bell Carillon. We walked down the Pathway of History stopping to see their World War II Memorial and Statehood Memorial over the McNarry Spring. Next we killed time by driving around the east side, locating some spots we knew we'd be visiting and finding some iconic Nashville murals. We also stopped into Project 615, a clothing store in the Fatherland District. We bought each other a Nashville tee, since the traditional two year wedding anniversary gift is cotton. The girl working in the shop was so nice. She gave Samson treats and gave us 615 stickers. She also suggested we check out the pet shop a few doors down so we did. Samson had his fill of treat samples and we purchased him the most adorable rain poncho (even though it never ended up raining when he was out of the house, haha). Our airbnb was so cute. It's was a remodeled upstairs loft space near Eastwood. It was so close to everywhere we were going. My favorite feature was that we were able to leave Samson home alone when we went out to dinner or a show. (most dog friendly hotels won't let you leave dogs unattended in rooms FYI). Once we settled into the house we decided to just run out real quick and bring some dinner back to the loft. We decided on Dino's which was just 5 mins from us. Dino's is a serious hole in the wall but Chelsea Lankes swears by their burgers. Jerry and I agree, they were so good! Wednesday morning we woke up at the crack of dawn ready to start exploring the city. Our first stop was in the Gulch to find the #WhatLiftsYou wings. We then got some refreshing drinks from Starbucks to try and combat the already sweltering heat. We parked in Hillsboro and got some pastries from Provence Breads & Cafe. Everything we tried from there was delicious. They even gave us a free pastry for choosing them over a chain bakery. Hillsboro is such a great area full of local restaurants and cute shops. From there we walked over the Fannie Mae Dees Park in hopes of seeing the Dragon Statue but it was currently being repainted. But we carried on and traveled over to Love Circle. It's a large hill that has great views of downtown and the surrounding hills. At this point we were really second guessing our choice of this trek on such a hot day but since we were halfway through we carried on. We made our way up to Centennial Park. There was a great fountain right where near we entered which Samson loved walking through. Then we took a nice long rest on a bench swing in the shade. As we walked towards the Parthenon I bought some lemonade from the cutest little boy collecting donations for his friend at Children's. It was so refreshing on such a hot day. After Centennial we crossed through Vanderbilt campus to get back to Hillsboro. While passing by the football stadium we noticed the tunnel was actually open so Jerry walked onto the field. Once back in Hillsboro we got a patio table at Fido and had some delicious sandwiches for lunch. That evening, if you can believe it, Jerry and I got the amazing opportunity to meet and hang out with THE Chelsea Lankes. We've been such fans of her music for years. It's was indescribable to chat her up like a friend. We met at Barista Parlor in the Gulch and she bought us all a round of iced coffees. Chelsea and I had a bourbon vanilla iced coffee while Jerry had a caramel whiskey. We talked about mine and Jerry's trips to Nashville, Chelsea's time in LA, relationships, our jobs, dogs, how people don't know how to pronounce Lankes, true crime pod casts, long term goals, family and Chelsea's new music. At one point Chelsea checked her phone and said "it's 6:15" and Jerry and I both died, haha. She invited us out to her car to listen to some demos of some of her new songs which was seriously amazing. Every one she played for us was bangin', we can't wait for her to release the singles this summer. While listening, Julian pulled up. They're seriously so cute together. She got out of the car and they started dancing in the street. Jules climbed in the backseat with me and when Chelsea skipped to the next song he said "why'd you turn that off? it's about us cuddling". So cute. We snapped a quick photo together and had Chelsea sign our vinyls before she had to run off to hot yoga. At her suggestion, Jerry and I quickly checked out a roof bar at a nearby hotel and caught some great sunset views of downtown Nashville. After that Jerry and I being true tourists hit South Broadway. We grabbed a quick bite of hotdogs from a street vendor while we meandered through souvenir shops and listened to live music. We of course had to stop at Savannah's Candy Kitchen to load up on chocolate covered marsh mellows, rice krispy treats, candied apples and fudge. We stopped by Luigi's for a drink at the bar and a pizza to go. On the way back to the car we passed by the Country Music Hall of Fame to take a pic with the TS Education sign bc Taylor Swift owns my ass. So then we went back to our loft for the night. It was much later/darker than it had been the night before when we took Samson for his walk. The alley behind our house was basically pitch black. But honestly it was alright because as we were also smoking up ya feel. So we're walking and we turn up onto a main street. It was a little more lit but still pretty dark and we, ourselves, were feeling pretty lit. As we're walking up the street I see something just sitting there. At first I thought it was a rabbit because it wasn't moving. Then as we got closer I could tell it was just staring at us even though I couldn't see it's face, which is always a freaky feeling. For a second I thought it might be an opossum or a raccoon, both which would have freaked me the fuck out. As we got a little closer we realized it was just a cat and literally as we were realizing this we hear the nastiest low gurgling growl coming from a yard to our right. We look over and the whole yard and house are pitch black. We can only see a small white picket fence and hear this dog that sounds like it wants to kill us. So we're fucked up, already a little freaked out from the cat and now pretty sure some beefy dog is gonna lunge over this small ass fence and try to eat us. We power walked our asses out of that street as fast as we could! It was seriously the craziest experience! To update, we drove by that house like three more times trying to find out what breed of dog that was and how it was secured in that yard but never saw a dog there. Thursday morning, our anniversary, we woke up and took Samson with us to South Broadway to walk the John Seigenthaler pedestrian bridge, which Samson shit on haha. We saw some great views of the Titan's stadium and of the downtown skyline. Afterwards Jerry and I went out to breakfast at Fenwick's 300. Chelsea had recommended it because Julian works the bar there. It was a very cool restaurant. Their bar top was made from a lane from a bowling alley that had previously been in that location. The food was amazing. We toasted to our anniversary with some mimosas. Jerry got breakfast stir fry while I went with basic eggs, bacon and toast. We also shared the amazing french toast. It was great to chat up Julian. We mostly talked about dogs. I tried to talk him out of wanting a husky but I don't think it took. We were showing him a picture of Samson when another server brought our food. Julian elbowed her, "look that's Samson" and after briefly looking she responded, "uh huh, want some hot sauce?" Jerry and I thought it was too funny. We had planned to walk around 12 South for a bit after breakfast but 1) we'd misjudged our time and had a standing appointment at noon and 2) it had started raining. We decided to just drive through 12S to see if Amelia's flower truck was still there or if they'd left due to the downpour. Luckily, they were! We figured we better buy some flowers now rather than track them down again later. By this time the rain was really coming down. We maneuvered around swept away garbage cans to park on a side street. Jerry had to jump over a 3+ foot river flowing down the gutter to bring the umbrella around for me. Even with that, we were soaked through by the time we made it up to the truck. But I didn't mind. The flowers were so lovely. They traveled well and they're still giving off an amazing perfume in our bedroom. At noon we had an appointment at Gold Club Electric to get our matching 615 tattoos. It was so special to us to get the tats on 615 in the 615. The guys at the shop were so nice. Our artist chatted us up about Columbus, he used to live in Cleveland. The tattoos went so easy and quick. Once done the employees even helped us take an awesome pic of Jerry and I holding hands while showing off our matching tats. We then went just around the corner to Soda Parlor, probably one of the cutest places in town. They're known for their killer floats made from craft sodas and local ice cream. They're all topped with whipped cream and sprinkles and served in a Mason jar. I ordered the Freakin' Fosters which was a mix of Mike's vanilla ice cream and Sprecher's Orange Dream soda. Jerry got the All Hail Starstream with vanilla ice cream and Maine Root Mexicane Cola. They were both so delicious. Another very cool feature about the Soda Parlor is that they have a free arcade. I had to play TMNT. I just wish the game let me play as Michelangelo instead of Leonardo, haha, but I still kicked ass. Since the rain had stopped and we had some time to kill we decided to head back to 12 South and actually walk around. (We stopped by the airbnb to pick up Samson and change since we were still a little damp and the temp had dropped. When we walked in the house I asked Samson if he wanted to smell my Amelia's flowers. He did... and then tried to eat them. Haha, still laughing about that.) Walking around 12 South we mostly window shopped. But we did find the I Believe in Nashville mural as well as a few others. We never did find the "make music, not war" mural but that just means we'll have to go back. We also stopped into Five Daughter's Bakery. The donuts are expensive but seriously worth it. What I would give for a chocolate sea salt donut right now ladies. Later that evening we had tickets for the Bluebird Cafe. It's an iconic listening room in Nashville. Artists such as Garth Brooks and Taylor Swift were discovered there. We were ecstatic to get tickets since there are only about 60 seats able to be reserved. Luckily I was able get two tickets are soon as they went on sale. As for the show, I wish I could put into words how amazing it was. The artists, David Seger, JP Williams, Darryl Macquarrie, and Jeremy Busser were so personable. They joked with the crowd, told the stories that influenced their songs and played an amazing set. It's honestly a surreal experience and I'd recommend it to everyone. Friday was our last morning in Nashville. We didn't have to check out until noon so we decided to hit Shelby Park, a metro park right near our airbnb. We decided to walk around Sevier Lake. When we pulled up the parking lot was full of sleeping ducks and geese. I got out of the car and they literally came rushing over quacking and honking. Honestly, so sad I didn't have any duck feed on me. Walking around the lake we saw a man feeding the squirrels, lots of turtles and water birds. It was such a chill area of people just hanging out and fishing. My favorite part was a huge willow on the south end of the lake, so dreamy. We also hopped over to the Shelby Dog Park so Samson could run loose for a bit. After that we packed up the car to head home. Our last stop on our way out of Nashville was Consider the WLDFLWRS, a jewelry store that's owned by Emily (the wife of Ben who is the musical talents behind My Red + Blue). I've been following the shop's instagram and I love their pieces. Jerry bought me a small pendant with an H stamped into it. I adore it. The girl working the shop, Hannah, was so sweet. She loved meeting Samson and told us about her new pup Dolly. We got to chatting about how I knew about the store. Hannah mentioned that if I liked Ben's music I should check out Yøuth (aka Chelsea's boyfriend Julian). Turns out Julian was in Hannah's wedding and Chelsea is one of her very good friends! Nashville is such an amazing city, it's really like a big town. I cannot wait to go back xxx

#nashville #tourist #vacation #story #chelsea lankes

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eminperu · 7 years ago

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I Came All the Way to Peru to Battle Midwestern Racists: The characters you meet as an American girl working at an English Pub in Peru

A lot has happened since my last post, so I’ll briefly give you the life updates and then get into my pub profiling.

1) My computer is fixed, and it was fixed FO FREE. Apparently some dust or something had gotten in it.

2) I have a new apartment! On Thursday, I moved into a cute little apartment in Barranco, the hipster district where I work. I’m living with a 28-year-old Peruvian girl and a nice, quiet, engineer dude that looks to be about the same age. My flat is on the third floor of a tall white building—actually, it IS the third floor. We have a little patio, an open kitchen/living room, and a little cat! Milagros, my roommate, is short and cute, with a couple flower and feather tattoos and long, straight black hair. She speaks some English and wants to practice even more, and she is by far one of the easiest people for me to communicate with in Peru. I got to drink with her friends last night and we had so much fun! Most of her friends are from university, seem to be some sort of engineers, and travel a lot for their jobs (so does she).

3) I finally started teaching online English! It’s actually so fun. The kids are adorable, the parents revere teachers, and it takes 0 planning time. To be fair, I did have to invest in a Mr. Potato Head and a creepy stuffed squirrel I found in a little tienda on the street. I actually really did miss teaching and am happy to get to interact with kids again, even at obscenely early hours of the morning and only via webcam. Fortunately, I am making American money while living in Peru, which is pretty much the best loophole I’ve come across.

4) I also worked every night at the pub last week. “Working” at Wick’s (honestly, I mostly just drink) has been a highlight of my time here, and has also introduced me to different Lima visitors every night. Though a much more… relaxed… service culture means less tips (boo), it also means much more time to chat with patrons. Hearing everyone’s stories not only helps me to practice my Spanish (sometimes—about 50% of the patrons speak English, and that number climbs to about 80% when you’re looking at those who choose to sit at the bar and shoot the shit with me). Here are some of the all-stars: - Retired British Air Force Pilot: RBAFP is definitely my favorite customer, and probably one of my favorite people. Unclear how I keep collecting elderly retired pilot friends (just kidding, it’s because my brother is in the Air Force and they all want to know him/be him). RBAFP comes in several times a week and can talk to just about anybody. He’s been divorced a couple times, is currently married to a hot Peruvian lady, and used to fly for Delta airlines. He loves to take the piss out of the other regulars—note my impeccable use of British slang—and I like to listen. Often times he’s accompanied by other pilots or air controllers, or a couple of times he’s come in with some young Columbian and Peruvian businessmen (that he may or may not have been trying to set me up with).

- Revolving Door of Finance Guys: I don’t know what it is, but a lot of investment bankers, finance, and IT guys show up at this pub. They sit at the bar, order a whiskey, and talk about what they do. RDFGs usually don suits and short-cropped hair. Quick to drop you their card, I like that I sometimes get to feel like a mover-and-shaker talking to these guys, like I could be making a connection I’ll need down the line. I talked with a guy who worked at some IT firm in DC who wanted to help me out with my grant proposal I’ve started writing, which was encouraging and exciting.

- Racist Midwesterner: Ugh. RM came in one of my first nights of work and I thought he was CUTE. He ended up leaving because we didn’t have the beer he wanted (cask ales kind of suck anyway) or a food special for the night. He came back a few nights later and proceeded to get pretty drunk at the bar. I was actually super excited: we had witty repertoire, he was planning on staying in Peru for the foreseeable future, he had really good teeth—let’s not judge my standards here. At some point in any conversation one has here, someone will ask your “coming to Peru” story. He came for Ayahuasca. Incidentally, he also is staying (eight months past his visa expiration) for Ayahuasca. Okay, probably another red flag. As I’m asking him about his experience, he tells me it’s not a drug, it’s not like any other drugs. I ask him what drugs he’s done to compare it to. At this point, I guess I’m showing my basic level of critical thinking and he does not like the challenge. You can see him pulling out his LIBERAL card and about to throw it down.

Somehow, he transitions to to gun control—maybe a conservative litmus test? He tells me if some “sketchy looking dudes” are coming at your jewelry store, you definitely have a right to shoot and kill them. Again, my bleeding heart can’t help but ask a thought-provoking question: What makes someone sketchy? [God, I’m so clearly pushing my beliefs so hard right now]. He replies, “When they are running around your store.. and they’re black.” [I don’t know what to type here, so please just imagine a picture of my face that I’m not tech-savvy enough to include on here]. Not just a red flag, a giant red matador flag in front of a bright red sunset sky. At this point, I begin to wonder if Socrates/Ben Franklin style of gentle prodding is not the answer. After gauging the stunned look on my face, he says, “Oh, I can tell you’re a humanitarian [read: not a racist]. Well I’m just being honest. Look at the statistics.” I can go on and on about how ridiculous he got and how much I really tried to keep my composure and listen before responding, but eventually he was just shouting at me. High(low)lights include, but are not limited to: “I’m not going to apologize for the white man,” “I already know what I believe, I’m set in it, I’m not going to change my mind,” “I would probably be in the same position if I was born in a black, poor, community but that’s not my problem.” My manager stepped in and told him he was a total twat and eventually he got uncomfortable and left, reportedly asking my manager afterwards if he had “been okay in there.” Jimmy replied, “Abso-fucking-lutely not. You were not okay. You were a racist and you were shouting at her for not being a racist.”

- Remotely Working Tech Guys: Graphic designers, software engineers, anyone who can do their job on the computer. In fact, RM was one of these remote software type guys. Generally speaking, thought, I like the other ones better. They come in almost nightly, ordering cask ales and being cheeky with the staff. RWTG can be schmoozers or a bit shy, but usually have an affinity for uppers and talking about whatever they’re currently working on. Getting paid American money here is really the way to go, so it makes sense that people who can work from their laptop choose to do so in Lima.

- Bill: Bill does a lot of cocaine and shouts and gets physically weird with dudes at the bar. A LOT of cocaine. And yells VERY loud. He might be American? He is definitely loud. I’ve heard he’s actually an okay guy, but I’ve also been generally successful at darting my eyes, slinking around, and generally avoiding engaging with him at all. Bill does not get an acronym. I think he also works in mining? Yeah, Peru has mines. Also cocaine. Do less cocaine, Bill.

- Fun Groups of Peruvian Youths: I like Peruvians. They drink, but they drink slowly and they love playing games (I’ve almost had to break up fights over Jenga). Generally, they are super friendly and low-key, and are patient with me if I have some Spanish translation issues. These groups are especially fun on football nights.

- Cool Barranco Lesbian Hipsters: Barranco is a v. hip neighborhood. While retaining some of the essential elements of Lima culture, Barranco’s streets have evolved into a collection cool art museums, quaint cafes, a microtheater, and who knows what else—like most good things, the treasures of Barranco are escondidos. We have several ladies who come into the bar pretty regularly and often play live music or talk about playing live music. They also tend to have trendy jobs as graphic designers/PR folks, as well as bit of their own drama that I’m definitely a little bit here for.

- Kitchen Staff: Okay, so they aren’t bar patrons but I love the boys who work in the kitchen. There are three of them from ages 20-25, they are Peruvian, adorable, and (2/3) speak impeccable English. Neither of them have had any formal schooling in English, which makes me feel like shit that they have been able to pick it up so quickly and I still spend 10-20% of my time with a dumbfounded look on my face when someone comes at me with Spanish. They teach me cool Spanish words to make me sound Peruvian (which I always confirm with Milagros to make sure I’m not saying dirty stuff), I get buzzed and flirt mercilessly with them in exchange.

Happies: Pretty much everything right now! I love my new room, it’s super close to the gorgeous beach and the swank downtown area (Miraflores). I’m finally getting used to waking up early to teach (prime hours are from 6am-9am) and have been trying to make what remains of my morning productive, instead of opting for a drooling, facedown Netflix nap. I’m exercising quite a bit (I’m too cheap to use Uber regularly and too lazy to figure out most busses, which means most places I go… I’m running! [if you didn’t get the Forrest Gump reference, gtfo]. I feel like my Spanish has improved a lot, especially when talking to someone I am familiar with. Feras is coming to visit me at the end of November and we’ve almost got our whole Cuzco/Machu Picchu trip booked! The Lima portion of our trip includes reservations at the NUMBER 8 RESTAURANT IN THE WORLD, which happens to be in Lima and Japanese-Peruvian fusion. Also, in all honesty, I need to explore the historical center/sites of Lima.

Scrappies: Meygan got robbed in a taxi yesterday! But, she also jumped out of the cab, chased the dude in flip-flops, punched him so he lost his balance, and recovered most of her stuff. Sploosh. Also, I am not getting VIP Kid bookings quite as consistently as I would like, which is causing me to continually recalibrate just how broke I am willing to be when/if I come home. Finally, traveling around South America is pretty expensive :(. Flights are not like in Europe or Asia.

Goals: I just applied to a freelance writing job, so I’m hoping that could pan out for some extra cash. It looks like it would mainly be blogging and videos, so right up my alley. I also responded to a family who reached out to me to be their kids’ personal tutor/nanny? They own communal living spaces in Madrid (and sometimes Thailand and France) and want to move to Stinson beach to put their three young kids in a small public school system that is demographically diverse, near an urban center, and open to parent involvement. Essentially, they want me to coparent with them, focusing specifically on their kids’ educational development. It could be really cool, it could be a cult. They’re looking for someone to start in January, though, so I’m not sure I’ll be ready to be stateside again by then.

Cry Count: 2 (I booked an Uber then ran out of phone credit on my way to work. I cried in the street and the taxi drivers took pity on me and gave me a good rate and a ride to work).

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