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[hawaiianfoodil]

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[plovernacio]

Healthy Meals Delivery Service in Chicago - This article explores the benefits of healthy meal delivery, tips for choosing the right service, and highlights some of the top options available in Chicago.

[grahamsilas]

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[ketarafcplano]

A Taste of the Mediterranean: Mediterranean Catering in Chicago - Are you looking to spice up your next event with unique and delicious cuisine? Look no further than Mediterranean catering in Chicago! With a diverse range of flavors and options, Mediterranean cuisine is the perfect choice for any occasion. From appetizers to entrees, there is something for everyone to enjoy.

[nirvanafcpla]

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[forureventsus]

We understand that when you hire a caterer, there must be many questions that you want to ask the company or the event planner. Here are some questions that you should definitely be clear about with your caterer: https://www.forurevents.com/indian-wedding-caterers/

[btsficsandsuch]

Sorry if this is too specific or a request but I cant get it out my head lol!

How about a Hobi one shot where he has a wife and a daughter about 5 or 6 and he takes them to lollapalooza with him and they meet Becky G for the first time? 😄

Hope this is okay!

Best Daddy in the Whole World

You were exhausted to say the least, the flight to Chicago was tiring, and since you’ve landed you’ve been trying to entertain your six year old daughter Maisy on top of it. You were doing this all while eight months pregnant with your and Hobis second child so it was a lot. He was doing his best to help but with all the last minute preparations he was quite busy himself.

Your daughter didn’t fully understand what you guys were doing. She just knew that daddy had to go on stage for work and you two were there to make him happy. The two of you kept it a secret that Hobi would be performing with Becky G. Your daughter absolutely loves Becky G. Even as a baby she would kick her legs and get excited whenever she heard one of her songs. That’s why Hobi was so happy when he showed her the music video for Chicken noodle Soup. You were impressed how he managed to hide the hurt he felt when his daughter completely disregarded that he was in the video too and only focused on Becky G.

The night of the show you were hanging backstage watching Hobi get ready. You were so thankful that Jimin had also come for support as he was now the one chasing your daughter around giving you a little break. Hobi checked his phone before smiling at you, “She said she’s on her way. Let’s go get Maisy.” You nodded and waited for him to come over and help you up.

You couldn’t stop laughing when you found your daughter. She was making a very convincing argument to Jimin as to why he should definitely get her another cookie from the catering table and he was arguing back about how she already had three and her mom will kill him. You smiled, “Maisy, Jimin is right. Three cookies is enough plus we have a surprise for you. Come with me.” Jimin mouths a thank you before you take Maisy’s hand and walk her back to the dressing room. “Mommy what’s the surprise?”, she asks bouncing up and down. “You’ll see baby. Just have patience.”, you said turning the door knob and pushing open the door. You’d think that by now you’d be used to loud screaming from all the fans that regularly scream for your husband but you winced when you heard your young daughter start screaming at the top of her lungs.

You didn’t even have to introduce her before she was running over and wrapping her little arms around Becky G who had bent down to be eye level with Maisy. Hobi walked over and stood next to you and you both watched your daughter interact with her favorite singer. “She used to be excited like that to see me. Now all I get is a Hi Dad and then she’s on her way.”, he pouted. Resting your head on his arm you smiled, “She’ll always be excited to see you. Just like I am.” He leaned over and gave you a kiss.

Your daughter made you take too many photos of you and Becky. She even agreed to let her dad be in a few of them but only if she got to stand next to Becky. After the three of you said goodbye your heart filled with warmth as you watched your daughter run up and tug on Hobis hand until he picked her up. She wrapped her little arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you Daddy! This was the best surprise ever. You’re the best daddy in the whole world. I love you so much!” The smile on Hobis face was like nothing you’ve ever seen. The closest would probably be your wedding day but you couldn’t have been happier. You walked over and gave Hobi a kiss and wished him luck. Then you took your daughters hand and walked over to Jimin who was waiting to take you over to your seats. You took one last look back at your husband who blew you a kiss before grabbing his microphone ready to put on the show of his life.

[powderblueblood]

I'm sorry. Eddie's 15 year old WHAT now???? 🤯🤯

HAHA YEP! YEP!

things happen when you're 21.

and sometimes things are self-described spiritual iconoclasts like mary lee oliver, the professional groupie. eddie met her at an iron maiden gig in chicago, where she told him he had an incredible aura and then said these fated words...

"do you wanna come backstage?"

basically, what you need to understand is that franklin oliver munson was conceived on an iron maiden tour bus, which sounds cool in theory, so eddie's going to keep speaking about it in theory.

but the fact of the matter is, mary lee disappeared off the face of the earth after that night. until about three years later, when eddie had settled in indianapolis working a shitty job at a dive bar that catered to the college student crowd. he got a phone call from mary lee (who had saved his forest hills number, who had been redirected to his current number by wayne) telling him that she'd be passing through town and did he want to meet his son?

just. like. that. casual as a breeze. do you wanna meet your son? we could get some chinese food or something.

mary lee, just as breezy, batted eddie's pleading to help out with kid with a single hand. she wore this crazy expression as she watched him, who'd help create this little lump of coal with the crazy big brown eyes that eddie carried like a genetic curse. like she didn't really care one way or the other.

"i don't really care, one way or the other," she, in fact, said. "i just felt like... the universe was giving me purpose with this little guy, you know? and you, like, don't really have to be part of that if you don't want to? and i think maybe you shouldn't?"

eddie stopped cooing at the kid, which she'd coincidentally called franklin (his mom's maiden name, any of you guys looking for extra credit), for a half a second. "why not?"

"well, you're a little square, eddie."

square, according to mary lee, included wanting to try and forge a relationship with his son, even if they did live in different states-- eddie, still in indiana and mary lee and franklin, wherever the next tour bus took them.

apparently, franklin's formative years were spent at an ayahuasca retreat that mary lee's boyfriend ran. eddie had, again, pleaded that she just keep in contact so he could see how this kid grew up. and also, "anything you need, anything at all, i need you to let me know. okay? there's nothing i won't do for this little guy, mary lee, i swear."

a couple of sporadic letters came through over the years. a phonecall or two when franklin finally got to grips with forming full sentences, but he always sounded distant and confused whenever eddie spoke to him--because eddie was a ghost. he would have bet that his own son couldn't pick him out of a lineup. eddie never meant for it to be that way. he kept asking mary lee, and later frankie, "so when are you comin' out my way?"

"we don't know, eddie. midwest's a little... well, midwest."

but he'd have flown to wherever that kid needed him, if he asked. and if he had the cash.

fast forward to the cresting finality of 1999.

eddie munson's planning on a wedding.

or, okay, thinking about it. thinking about proposing to lacy doevski finally, for real this time, as it seems they've finally stopped digging out the shrapnel of their pasts from their tender flesh and all that.

in a dilapidated house by a lake, there's a bang on the door at three in the morning. he hears a hammer cock before he even feels lacy uncurl from around him.

"wait, hol' on-- don't get hasty with that thing."

"that's what it's for."

"could be a raccoon or som'n'..."

"in your dreams..."

eddie leans out their bedroom window to see a mop of curly, dark hair atop a lanky frame. identical dark eyes stare up at him from the front step.

"shit. i'd apologize for the unsociable hour, but you don't seem to know how to answer your fuckin' phone, dad."

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Leander Mason, Prince of Chicago

Leander Mason is late. Which is not necessarily unusual, but for the fact that he’s late to his own engagement party. Which consequently has made you late to your own engagement party.

You wouldn’t normally mind, you swear. Honestly, this party wasn’t either of your ideas. It came about three months after Leander’s hurried late-night proposal, after which you’d both sworn to keep the news under wraps from your respective families, at least until you’d ironed out the important details of the wedding. The date, the venue, the catering—these were things you wanted to take care of yourselves, refusing to leave the door open for family interference of any kind. Naturally, though, an eagle-eyed uncle of Leander’s spotted your engagement ring in a photo his too-thoughtful nephew had sent alongside some holiday card or other, and then the entire Mason clan knew, which meant you had to tell your parents, and then the combined force of your two unhinged families became too much to bear and you buckled, both of you, allowing them this one concession in exchange for a (theoretically) peaceful wedding-planning process. So really, you wouldn’t normally mind if you missed a few minutes of this whole ridiculous affair, only it happens that Leander Mason is late because he procrastinated picking up his dry cleaning, neglecting to consider that the dry cleaner is closed on Sundays, and cannot possibly think of a better solution than driving all the hell over Chicago in search of a suit jacket that matches the trousers he plans to wear. He called you from a phone booth an hour ago to let you know. If you’d left an hour ago, you might have been a few minutes early. If you leave right this second, you’ll be twenty minutes late.

It’s not that you’re in any rush to fraternize with your estranged family. On the contrary, you’d rather never see them again. But being that they’ve invaded Chicago like cicadas and are unlikely to leave without torturing you for at least an hour or two, you think you’d better just get it over with.

The crash of a gangly frame through your front door sets you alert, and you’re met with Leander, haloed by the glow of the hallway light, panting from exertion. No suit jacket to be seen.

“Hi, darling,” he breathes, crossing the room to kiss you on the forehead, “I’m sorry, I thought I could make it, but then Saks was closed, and I hit every red light on the way here, and—my god, you’re beautiful.”

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face. You do look stunning, if you do say so yourself. “Next time you send yourself on a wild goose chase to avoid our families, take me with you,” you reply.

“Roger,” he says, smiling apologetically before he bolts into your bedroom. When he comes out, his hair is artfully tousled and his dress shirt is pressed within an inch of its life. “Ready?” He asks, taking your face in his hands and examining it as if for signs of regret or apprehension. Both of which you feel in spades, for the record.

“Ready,” you confirm in spite of yourself, unable to keep the nerves from your voice. Leander kisses you hard.

“No matter what happens tonight,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “we’ve got each other’s backs, deal? You are my priority, Professor.”

“Deal,” you nod. And then you’re in the car, and then you’re in a small hotel ballroom with, like, one million rich Midwesterners and twenty or so of your own confused family members, most of whom (yourself included) have never experienced an opulence of this magnitude.

Leander sticks close to you as you enter the party, long fingers stretched across the small of your back. Where you have complete tunnel vision, he’s scanning the crowd like a hunter in search of game. “Come here,” he mutters suddenly, pulling you gently but firmly toward him with a nasty look over his shoulder. You glance behind you to see which of his family members he’s shielding you from, only to lock eyes with your own father. Jesus, here we go.

You turn fully to face your father, ignoring Leander’s insistent tugging and efforts to pull you away. “Dad,” you say, keeping your voice impressively neutral.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Your father beams, moving as if to hug you. You take a reflexive step back, feeling Leander’s hands on your shoulders as you do. He knows the hell your family has put you through; hell, he’s probably angrier about it than you are at this point. Your father’s smile falters for a split second, and you instinctively fear the rage that will follow if he’s made to look foolish in public. “This the man who’s stolen you away from us?”

“This is Leander,” you say, refusing to indulge his comment which, though delivered with the cadence of a joke, is certainly intended to bite. Cool, calm, collected. Measured and calculated, even.

“How do you do,” comes Leander’s voice, deeper than usual, as he leans into your back to extend a steady hand. Your father shakes it evenly, Pan-Am smile firmly back in place. Before he can say anything though, Leander speaks again. “Love, we’ve got a lot of people to greet, yeah? Let’s do a lap, maybe catch up with Dad later?”

“What are you doing?” You hiss as Leander sweeps you away.

“Trust me, Professor,” he murmurs in response, face carefully neutral as he navigates the crowd, “I know men like him. He’s angry, right? He’s miserable, he’s mean?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Then let him be angry with me,” he says. You’ve reached the corner of the ballroom now, his fingers gently circling your wrist as he attempts to maintain a facade of casualty. “Let him think I’m keeping you from your family, or whatever he wants to tell himself. Better me than you.”

You’re formulating a response, trying to decide whether you want to start an argument or fall into his arms and sob, when a bony, manicured hand lands on Leander’s shoulder. He spins to face the woman trying to get his attention, who you recognize after a moment as his aunt Livia.

“You two are just adorable!” she exclaims in a frankly impressive misreading of the situation.

“Thank you,” Leander replies, exasperated once again. You can see the frustration rising in him, as it so often does when dealing with his family, and suddenly you’re a fish out of water. Actually, you’re a fish in the razor-sharp beak of an eagle, and the eagle is soaring over the city at warp speed, and you knew it would be intense, but you couldn’t have predicted how completely overwhelmed you’d be when it really came down to it. His family and yours. Clueless and cruel, two sides of a really, fantastically stupid coin.

Jesus, girl, you think, you raised yourself better than this. So you roll your shoulders back, inhale (cigarette smoke, whiskey, heat) and exhale (pure unadulterated rage), and enter survival mode. If Jerry Cantrell was born to wail on the guitar and Leander Mason was born to be a (beautiful, wonderful) thorn in your side, then you were born to navigate the psychic minefield of family dysfunction.

The next few hours pass–or maybe they don’t–in a haze of “Good to meet you” and “Yes, we’re very happy” and “Sure, I’ll call more.” You can feel Leander’s anxiety spiking, too preoccupied with your own to do anything about it. And then, like magic, you’re back in his car. His forehead is on the steering wheel, his entire body curled forward in an impressive display of defeat.

“Leander,” you say softly, laying a hand flat on his back. His response is a low, guttural groan that you think wouldn’t be entirely out of place in a medieval torture chamber. “Want to run away to Iceland?” you ask, only half-joking. The poor man has been needled within an inch of his life tonight, by his family and yours alike.

He barks out a surprised half-laugh, righting his posture to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is raw. “But we’re not going to, right?”

“I mean, I don’t see why not.”

“Alright, give me your elevator pitch.”

You grin in spite of yourself. “You, me, and a little apartment on a river. No family to speak of.”

“Well, we don’t exactly need to go all the way to Iceland to have that, do we?” He asks, lifting your hand to his lips from where it rests on the center console. You raise an eyebrow. “If it’s a river you want, we’ve got a perfectly good one right here in Chicago.”

“And our families?”

“Fuck ‘em,” he says, eyes steady on yours, “You and me, my love. We’re more family to each other than all the people in that ballroom combined.”

You lean into your seat, letting your head fall back. “Yeah,” you say softly.

Part of you always sort of wondered if you’d eventually regret cutting off your parents the way you did. But wouldn’t it have happened by now? It’s been almost a decade, and you’re just as angry with them as you were at eighteen. The only person in the world who’s managed to make you feel sane about the entire thing is sitting beside you in the driver’s seat, and if that makes you both assholes then fine, you’ll be assholes together. God, fuck ‘em. You’ve got your family. And you’re definitely fucking eloping.

[hawaiianfoodil]

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[tropes-and-tales]

The Past is Never Past

December 19:  Lights/Holly - Childhood sweetheart (Benny Magalon x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW:  Angst; childhood sweethearts; elitism, I guess?

Word Count:  2207

AN:  Requested by @bport76​!

The Magalon family Christmas party is already in full swing by the time Benny rolls up.  He’s late because of work, which is nothing new, but his childhood home is packed by the time he gets there.

His mom does it up big every year.  Invites friends and family and neighbors.  Has it partially catered, but spends a psychotic amount of time beforehand cooking and baking too.  Decorates the place from top to bottom, inside and out:  there are lights draped outside in the oleander, two trees inside laden with ornaments, and swags of holly in every doorway.

It’s like Christmas puked on his childhood home, and Benny chuckles to see it when he walks into the house.

-----

He finds you exactly where he thought he would.  

When his mom casually (not so casually) mentioned that you would be in town and would be at the party with your mom, Benny could have guessed where he’d find you.  Years since he’s seen you, and some things never change.

He finds you in the hallway where framed family pictures march in haphazard rows on each wall.  There’s a certain picture of him as a kid.  He’s six or seven in it.  He’s got a goofy grin on his face, revealing giant gaps where he had knocked out his teeth a few days earlier.

It was your favorite picture when the two of you dated.  You were unable to walk past it back then without studying it and bursting into gales of laughter.  He used to get so mad, embarrassed enough to ask his mom to take the picture down, but you always just poked him in his sides and said he used to be adorable and what in the hell happened to him?

It’s exactly where he finds you now.

He gets a split second to study you before you turn at the sound of his footsteps.  He tries to think…when was the last time he saw you?  Probably for his younger sister’s wedding.  So ten years.

And before that, the last time he saw you was the summer when you left for college out east.  That was night he broke up with you.  Ancient history.  You had been gracious at his sister’s wedding.  No hard feelings for how he’d broken your heart.  

Hell, you’d even saved a dance for him at the reception, a slow dance with your hands light on his shoulders, the scent of you under his nose.  That had been a tough night, letting you go after the final notes of the song faded away.

You hear him approaching now, and you turn to face him.  When you see it’s him, you grin—a brilliant smile.

“Knew you’d be here,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

“Of course.  Gotta visit the Shrine of the Toothless Boy.”

He’s beside you now, and you turn and offer him a hug in greeting.  Warm as always.  Open, inviting.  It’s been years but it’s so familiar to have you in his arms for even a moment.  You smell different—a new shampoo, new perfume—but you feel just the same.

“It’s good to see you, Ben,” you say as you pat his back gently before releasing him.

He says it’s good to see you too, and it’s the truth.

-----

You end up in his childhood bedroom.  It’s nothing scandalous, just the two of you sitting on the floor, your backs against his bed.  A stack of yearbooks between you as you page through one, snickering or sighing at the memories the pictures raise.

It’s not scandalous, but Benny shuts the door with a quiet click anyway.  It’s greedy.  He wants you to himself.  He doesn’t want his mother or his sisters to come and find you, lure you away with gossip and laughter.  He doesn’t want  your own mother to find you, give him that tight smile that holds no warmth, as she pulls you away under some flimsy pretense.  

He wants to monopolize this time and keep the moment quiet.  Just the two of you sitting together, remembering together.

You tap one page, pointing to a mutual friend.  “What ever happened to Mark?” you ask.  

Benny leans closer—an excuse to bridge the gap between you for a second.  “Moved to Chicago, I think.  Married some girl out there.”

“Hmm.  What about Miguelina?”

“Pretty sure she moved back to the D.R.”

One by one, you go through your friend list from high school.  Benny has a handle on most of them, since he never left:  the ones who did leave, like you; those that stayed and made something of themselves; the unlucky few in prison or the grave.

“What about this guy?” you ask, and he can hear the smile in your voice as you tap his senior photo.  He grimaces at it, the awful haircut, the valiant attempt at a goatee.  The non-smile, which he had thought made him look tough at the time—now with the wisdom of age, he can see that he just looked like a juvenile delinquent.

“Him?  Complete asshole.  Never did anything worth mentioning,” he replies.

“Stop it.”  You lean towards him with the same smile, elbow him in the side.  

But the moment must trigger something in you because he watches as you turn back to the yearbook and your smile fades bit by bit.

“Hey, Ben,” you start to say, and he can tell by your tone what you’re going to say.  Or what you’re going to ask.  You asked the exact same question ten years ago as the two of you danced at his sister’s wedding, and his stomach clenches to answer it again…

“Why did you break up with me?”  You don’t look at him.  You keep paging through the yearbook, reading the captions, but he can feel your body go subtly tense beside him.

He sighs.  “We don’t have to relive that—”

“No, I know.  I just never knew what I did wrong, and it still….I guess it still goads at me, a little.  Even after all this time.  Like I never got closure.”

He shrugs, tells a truth and then a lie.

“We were going to college on opposite ends of the country,” he tells you.  “It couldn’t have worked.”

“I disagree.”  You turn and give him a small smile, but he can see the old pain underneath it.  “I think it could have worked.”

“Maybe.  But I was young and stupid.”  Not a lie.

“I think you were smarter than you realized.”  Always too generous, too willing to see the good in him.

“What kind of life could I have made for you, though?  You, an Ivy Leaguer and me a state school future cop.”

You hum at that, shake your head in disappointment.  You let the moment of silence stretch as Benny settles back into that moment.  All those years ago, that single night when he dumped you.  As long as he lives, he’ll never forget the way you looked:  stunned, incredulous…then so wounded it was like you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.  “I do hold onto the past too much.”  You laugh, a little bitter.  “My therapist is tired of it.  ‘Let’s talk about something more recent,’ he’s always saying.”

“You go to therapy?”

You glance at him, shrug.  “Sure.  Work is stressful, life is stressful.  I can never seem to be satisfied or content with things, let alone happy.”

Benny Magalon isn’t a shrink, but he bets he could school your therapist on the reason behind your dissatisfaction with life.  It’s your awful mother driving all of it.  An only child to a single woman, nothing has ever been good enough—including yourself.  You’re held to an impossible standard, the ideal perfect daughter your mother had in mind when she decided to have a kid on her own.  She and Benny’s mother weren’t quite friends, and much of the coolness between them came from how Benny’s mother thought you were treated.  How you were mistreated, in her eyes.  

Benny, like everything and everyone else, had not been good enough for you.

It’s not like he was a bad kid or especially bad at school—he got mostly B’s, he ran cross-country and finished in the middle of the pack most of the time.  He was average, perfectly mediocre in his high school scholastics, but your mother saw him as a possible stumbling block to your future.

He figures it out years later, but at the time (when he was young and stupid), it had seemed a coincidence.  Him at his summer job working with the parks department, and your mother running into him.  Accidentally.

Accidentally, on purpose.

He remembers the sick feeling in his stomach.  Your mother (“Oh, since I’m here, I thought we could talk…) pulled him aside, not-so-gently and not-so-subtly laid out Benny’s situation with her daughter.  She laid out the obvious—different colleges, time zones apart, too young to make serious decisions.

And she laid out the less obvious.  How you had a full ride to Brown.  How you could set the world on fire with your talents, with your brains.  How all you needed was focus, but how it was wavering that summer.  Because of him.

“She tells me you want to go into law enforcement,” your mother had told him that day.  “It’s a noble pursuit, but can you really see her as a policeman’s wife?  Can you give her the sort of life she really deserves?”

Benny Magalon, young and stupid.  He believe it then, as he believes it now.  But it hurt then, just as it hurts now.

You jostle him out of the memory by snapping the yearbook shut, stacking it on top of the rest.  “I promise I’ll work through it in time for the next time I see you,” you try to joke.  “So in ten years, look out, Benny.  I’ll be ready to talk about the present instead of the past.”

You stand up and he follows.  Maybe that hurts the most now, how you never screamed at him or cut him off or burned his pictures.  Any anger you felt—feel—towards him…you keep it inside.  Ever since that night, after a period of silence, you’ve been nothing but kind to him.  Gracious to him.  Familiar with an air of sadness, the past never quite past enough.

“I’m sorry it hurt you,” he says, his voice low as the two of you stand in his childhood bedroom.  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Oh, don’t even worry about it.  It’s ancient history.”  You wave him off, give him a rueful smile.  “I just get sappy and homesick this time of the year.”

He smiles back at you.  He loved—loves—how sappy you get over things.  You’re sentimental and always have been.  

“I hope those assholes in New York know they stole a good one from us,” he jokes.

You tilt your head, your smile widening.  “I thought the west coast, east coast beef was dead and buried.”

“Nah.  Not ‘til we get you back.”

You roll your eyes playfully, open your mouth to say something, but there’s a knock at the door, then his sister peeking her head in.

“Hey you two,” she said, her voice taking on a sly, insinuating tone.  “Thought I might find you together.”

You gesture at the yearbook pile.  “Just reliving our glory days.”

“Sure.”  His sister says it like she doesn’t believe it (he catches her eyes drifting to the bed, but the comforter is neat and smooth), but then she looks at you and says, “your mom is looking for you.  Says she’s not feeling well and wants you to take her home.”

“Oh, okay.”  You turn to Ben.  He holds out his arms and you step into them:  a light hug, just for a moment, but it’s heavy as lead.  It’ll sit heavy as a stone in his chest later on.

“I fly out on the third,” you tell him once you release him.  “Maybe we could meet up?”

“Yeah, maybe.  Work is busy this time of year though.”  A lie.

Sappy, homesick, trapped in the past:  he watches as your face falls at his noncommittal, his nonchalance at spending time with you.  Then he watches you compose yourself, plaster that smile on your face.

“Well, you know where to find me if you have time,” you tell him, and the false cheer in your voice makes him want to throw up.  

Tell me I’m a piece of shit, he wants to say.  Drop the act and tell me I hurt you so badly that you never want to even think of me again.  Never say my name again.  Burn all my pictures and move on.  Because I can’t move on until you do.

Because he’s never moved on either.  All these years, and not a single girlfriend ever came close.

Your mother, that day in the park when he was young and stupid:  “You’ll forget about her soon enough, and you’ll meet a nice girl.  You’ll get married to her and have kids with her, and my daughter will meet someone else…”

Only he hadn’t, and you hadn’t.  Years and years later, neither of you have moved on.

[grahamsilas]

A Taste of the Mediterranean: Mediterranean Catering in Chicago - Are you looking to spice up your next event with unique and delicious cuisine? Look no further than Mediterranean catering in Chicago! With a diverse range of flavors and options, Mediterranean cuisine is the perfect choice for any occasion. From appetizers to entrees, there is something for everyone to enjoy.

[tiktaalic]

shameless is one of those shows me and my housemates watch to go wow this is just like the time your dad's neighbor convinced him to lend the money for a 3d printer to make guns with and then promptly disappeared and we had to make the money back selling coke cut with my migraine meds lmao but now i want to skip ahead to the gay marriage bit

Chicago freakin city baby !! I’m quite enjoying the gay marriage cut in not even gonna lie. I think the episode is called gallavich. But the preceding parts also quite good. I’m working thru the all gallavich scenes playlist and once I’m done w it I might skip straight to that ep and then call the rewatch quits. But the gay marriage is crazy because they get fucking gay married. On screen! There’s a lovely bit where Ian’s like wait last month we were just going to go down to the courthouse but now we have a guest list and a venue and caterers? And mickey goes yeah well a lot can happen in a month. Like your piece of shit dad threatening to murder you for being gay - again - so you have to throw a wedding that will make that miserable old fuck more miserable. That reminds me I need to hire a videographer so I can duct tape him to a chair and make him watch it fifty fucking times.

[haveyoureadthistransbook]

The Weight of Living by M.A. Hinkle

goodreads

When she arrives in Cherrywood Grove for a working vacation, shy photographer Trisha Ivy expects to kick back and relax, enjoying her last summer of freedom before turning into a real adult with a mortgage and a nine-to-five. After all, her real life is back in Chicago with her best friend Bella, not a sleepy small town. But Trisha keeps running into beautiful, confident Gabi Gonzalez, a caterer working all the same weddings…and she’s the daughter of Trisha’s favorite local TV star. Trisha can’t resist getting to know her. After all, she’s only in town for the summer, and Gabi is straight. What harm could it do? Gabi Gonzalez has spent most of her life trying to escape Cherrywood Grove and find something bigger and better. During an internship in Milwaukee, she thought she’d finally found it. But after her father’s sudden death, she returns home and tries to squeeze back into the same childhood roles: kid sister, cool aunt, tireless worker. She’s just resigned herself to going through the motions when she meets Trisha, someone who finally sees Gabi for her own self instead of putting her in a box. Can Gabi open up to Trisha about what she really wants before Trisha leaves town for good?

Mod opinion: I've heard of this book before and it sounds like a sweet romance, but I'm probably not going to read it myself.

[transbookoftheday]

The Weight of Living by M.A. Hinkle

When she arrives in Cherrywood Grove for a working vacation, shy photographer Trisha Ivy expects to kick back and relax, enjoying her last summer of freedom before turning into a real adult with a mortgage and a nine-to-five. After all, her real life is back in Chicago with her best friend Bella, not a sleepy small town. But Trisha keeps running into beautiful, confident Gabi Gonzalez, a caterer working all the same weddings…and she’s the daughter of Trisha’s favorite local TV star. Trisha can’t resist getting to know her. After all, she’s only in town for the summer, and Gabi is straight. What harm could it do?

Gabi Gonzalez has spent most of her life trying to escape Cherrywood Grove and find something bigger and better. During an internship in Milwaukee, she thought she’d finally found it. But after her father’s sudden death, she returns home and tries to squeeze back into the same childhood roles: kid sister, cool aunt, tireless worker. She’s just resigned herself to going through the motions when she meets Trisha, someone who finally sees Gabi for her own self instead of putting her in a box. Can Gabi open up to Trisha about what she really wants before Trisha leaves town for good?

[sibillascribbles08]

gasp, here i go. 5

oh boy oh boy

5. A Reunion Kiss

Donatello's leg kept bouncing up and down, fingers tapping the back of the cards in his hand. While he tried to focus on the pictures and numbers--a deck of lou jitsu themed cards of course--his gaze kept moving to the side to the digital clock in the kitchen.

"Donnie."

3:04 PM. The plane should have landed four minutes ago, if one assumed that everything at the airport went as scheduled which it never did.

"Don."

And from there one needed to calculate the driving time from the airport to their apartment complex. Roughly forty five minutes with typical traffic, over an hour with bad traffic, and just a measly twenty minutes if somehow the roads were magically clear. But how would he go about calculating the amount of traffic on the road? He could open a search but he was--

"Donnie!" Leo's shout finally register in his brain.

Donatello glanced up from his cards to everyone else sitting at the table. Leo, Mikey, and April all sat in the other chairs, cards in hand.

Just the four of them tonight, not surprising. Cassandra and Raph often had their hands full and their father retired early for a nap on the sofa.

"Hey, are you even in there right now?" Leo waved at him. "Your turn."

"Sorry." Donatello mumbled, glancing at the clock once more. 3:07.

April snorted and put her cards face down on the table. "I'd just give it up Leo. Today's the day Jase gets back from Chicago, right?"

Donatello held the aged playing cards closer to his face to hide his expression. "Indeed. His plane might have just landed."

"Huh? That's today." Leo tilted his head. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Yeah." Mikey chimed. "Why aren't you at your apartment waiting for him? Oooh with some relaxing tea? Or music?" Then he snickered. "Maybe some candles and rose petals?"

Donatello shot him a glare as Leo and April snickered at the idea. "Hilarious, but if I tried doing that today I would have just been pacing around for eight hours waiting for him to get there. Playing some games with you guys seemed like a better use of my time."

"Okay, sure." April shrugged. "Appreciated, but if he's on his way to your apartment now you should..."

"Right." Donatello dropped his cards as he stood. "Apologies for bailing out."

"Nah," Leo waved a hand. "Get home to the boyfriend. Speaking of, when's the wedding proposal already?"

"Yeah." Mikey grinned. "I'm already thinking of a catering menu."

"Wedding proposal is happening at Nunya." He stuck out his tongue and headed for the door.

"You don't want a portal back?" Leo asked.

"Nah, killing the time would do me some good." He gave them one more wave before heading out.

Once outside, Donatello activated his shell, flying through the city at a casual pace. He checked his gauntlet as he moved, looking to see if the plane had indeed landed--it had--and the amount of traffic reported. Normal levels, so forty five minutes. He checked the clock again. 3:25.

Donatello landed on the roof of his apartment complex by 3:31. He slipped inside from the roof door. He only needed to walk down the one set of stairs, living on the top floor gave him easy roof access which he liked. The downside was the long trip to the basement to get to the Hidden City door.

As he entered the hallway he saw Hypno and Warren heading out, just locking their door.

"Evening." Donatello said.

Hypno's ears moved up before he turned, Warren perched on his shoulder like always. "Ah, good evening Donnie. Jase is finally getting back tonight, right?"

"Soon, actually, figured I should be home when he did."

"Hah, good thing we're going out then." Warren winked at him.

Donatello curled his lip. "Scoff. Even if that was in the plan you know how much sound proofing I did to these units when I had this place built. You're welcome."

"Eh, we'll leave you to it." Hypno said and moved his hand up to stop Warren from making another comment. "We'll just say hi to him later tonight. You guys have dinner plans? Warren and I could bring something from our favorite Chinese place."

"That sounds good." Donatello smiled as he opened the door. "But I'll have to ask him. Text you?"

"Sure thing." Both the magician and the anchorman gave him a wave before heading to the stairway.

Donatello stepped into the apartment and shut the door. Quiet, so quiet, too quiet, part of the reason he hated hanging around here when Jase wasn't home. His boyfriend--now in charge of running the surface branch of VHHB--sometimes went out of town for big tech conventions with a handful of staff. Donatello was glad for it, knew their tech sales never would have gotten off the ground otherwise without it but...

It was so quiet.

Donatello at least took some of Mikey's advice and flipped on the TV so it could start playing music from his and Jase's shared playlist. The ambience helped, but he still found himself pacing. Nothing to clean or put away. He didn't bother making any tea but did decide to put together a light mixed drink.

He moved to check the clock again, didn't get the chance. The door clicked.

Donatello scrambled out of the kitchen and stared, watching the door open.

Jase stood there, suitcase behind him. He looked tired--always did after flying--but at least his eyes lit up when he saw Donatello.

"Hey Don--"

He didn't get to finish that statement. Donatello rushed forward, picking him up off the ground, almost taking the bag with him if Jase hadn't let go of it.

"Wh--hey." Jase glared at him. "Come on, I just got home and you're already--"

"Yes." Donatello kissed him on the cheek. "I missed you."

Jase sighed, not protesting as his face was peppered with more kisses. "Yeah, I missed you too. I also miss my feet staying on the floor."

"If you missed me then where's my 'I missed you' kiss?" Donatello pressed their foreheads together, smirking.

Jase rolled his eyes, but smiled before he grabbed Donatello's face and tugged him into a firm kiss.

Donatello sighed, ignoring the urge to adjust his grip and dip Jase toward the floor.

"So good to be back." Jase sighed. "Now seriously, I've already been high in the air today I would like to come down."

Donatello set him on the floor, but snatched up the luggage before his boyfriend could do it. "Go sit down. Made you a drink in the kitchen if you want it. Movie night? Reading night?"

"Reading. Movie won't help my incoming headache." He sighed. "What's dinner?"

"Hypno offered to grab Chinese, if you're up for socializing with them for a bit."

"Yeah, that's fine." Jase stretched his back. "But they better not stay late." He reached up, finger tapping against the top of Donatello's plastron before trailing down the sleeve of his jacket. Then it paused. He tilted his head before his fingers slid under the hem and snatched out a playing card.

He raised an eyebrow. "What is this?"

"Oh, woops." Donatello bit his lip. "Was trying to beat Leo at his own game."

"Donnie." Jase tapped the card against Donatello's nose. "Were you cheating?"

He glanced to the side. "Maybe."

Jase hummed. "Okay, get down here and kiss me again."