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pixieungerstories · 5 years

Text

Housemates - 2

(Pictures are on Patreon since Tumblr won’t let me) In which we learn many things about the guys. Including Bazur’s absentmindedness about pants.

“This is ridiculous,” Kevin declared. He was currently a shadow humanoid wearing a wooden box as shorts. “No one wants to work for us, guys. The only reason we are getting applications is that Bazur said ‘diverse’ instead of ‘monstrous’ and it only takes one of us answering the doorbell to figure that out.”

Thea shrugged, “It got better once Bazur stopped answering the door in a leather jock strap.”

Kogan laughed. “But then he has to wear pants all the time.”

Derick rolled his eyes, “Dude! Pants! It’s a thing! It should be the minimum level of clothing here anyway! I don’t want to head into the kitchen for a snack and find someone running around with their ass hanging out.” He turned to Bazur, “You just aren’t that cute.”

Bazur frowned, “This is my house! And anyway, Thea and Dren don’t have to wear pants.”

Dren looked up from the bowl of soup he was slowly absorbing. “I can wear pants. I do at work.”

Tristan considered all of this. “She can’t be any worse than the last one.”

Kevin grinned, showing off a mouthful of needle-like teeth, “The last one was really into you.”

“The last one was objectifying me.”

Kogan cleared his throat. “You know we aren’t paying enough for this to be a full time job, right? We can’t all just keep being slobs. Whoever we get will be here to help, not do all the work for us. No leaving soup out when you are done with it Dren. We just got rid of the ants.”

Dren shrugged, “I never leave my dirty dishes out.”

Bazur nodded, Dren never did. Derick never did, he couldn’t stand the smell. Kogan kept his space military level clean. No, that was a not so subtle dig at him, Thea and Kevin.

But mostly Kevin.

The tenants weren’t exactly clear what Kevin did for a living. He kept odd hours. He never talked about it, and he always paid in cash with small bills. At one point Dren and Tristan had gotten drunk and speculated on Kevin being some sort of stripper. Kogan had laughed his great booming laugh and put five dollars on Kevin being a smuggler.

It didn’t matter. No one had been able to find out.

Bazur knew, but he wasn’t talking.

In the end, they cleaned before the interview. No point in scaring her off too soon. Bazur made sure to book the interview when the boys would be out. He was dressed and ready to go an hour before she was due to show up. He spent his time pacing.

The problem was the house was huge. The maid services he had contacted had all quoted hundreds of dollars a week and that didn’t include cooking or menu planning, a task that was universally despised in the house. It hadn’t been easy to clear the junk out of the attic, but including room and board was their best chance at getting someone. Humans didn’t eat much, and the campus was mostly human.

Hell, the whole town was mostly human. Dren was the only gelatinous Bazur had ever seen in town, and he had been hired specifically to work with autistic kids. The man was practically a living stim toy.

Bazur jumped when the doorbell rang. He was shocked when he opened the door. So was she, but she recovered first. He knew that Vincensia was a fourth year biochem major at the U. He knew she had won a scholarship to pay for her tuition. He wasn’t expecting her to be beautiful. And outgoing and friendly in a way that went beyond what most people brought to the table when talking to not humans. Bazur managed to fumble through most of the house tour on auto pilot after having done it so many times before.

He was doing fine until she asked about porn.

At that point he was sure it was over.

He was shocked that she agreed to come to dinner.

Oh hell! She was coming to dinner! What were they going to feed her?

-----

That night it was pizza take out. Three pepperoni, one ham and pineapple, one vegetarian, and (because KEVIN) one pineapple and sardines.

Bazur was surprised. No one asked. Finally after this third beer, Kogan belched and asked, “Did this one even make it through the door?”

“Yeah, she did,” Derick said. “I could smell her in my room when I got home.

“She’s coming for dinner on Friday.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

The room erupted in sound. Everyone started yelling. Tristan wanted to know what she thought of the tour. Krogran wanted to know what species she was. Dren wanted to know what she looked like. Thea wanted to know if she was freaked out by his room.

Bazur waited for them to run down. “Human, gorgeous, Italian - so you know her cooking will be amazing, lives with her parents, didn’t freak out about there being a drider or a mimic, but she wants her mom’s approval before she takes the job. And I’m pretty she if we let either her or her mom sit on Kevin, all bets are off.”

They all went quiet at that.

“Um… “ Tristan started, “When you say gorgeous...”

“Long dark hair, huge dark eyes, creamy skin, Sophia Loren’s curves,” Kevin answered. “I can’t believe she’s coming back to meet us losers. She could make five bills in five minutes at a strip club.”

“She has concerns about the workload. She made a fair point, we advertised as a good job for a student, but if she needs to spend all of her out of class time cleaning up after us, she won’t have time to study. She estimated that cooking supper and washing up was a ninety minute job all on her own. I said we would organize taking care of the washing up if she needed. She was worried that-”

“Holy shit!” Kogan interrupted, “If she is planning on taking an hour to make dinner, she is cooking from scratch!”

They all stopped to consider this,

Dren nodded slowly, “It only takes 15 minutes to throw a frozen pizza in the oven.”

Thea blinked, it was impressive. “We can’t fuck this one up guys.”

They all looked at Kevin. He was currently human shaped, if humans came in wood grain and had a lock set over his groin.

“What?”

----

They cleaned the kitchen. They had twelve place settings. Each of the guys had two and using someone else’s was a hanging offense. Each of them had his own pattern on his dishes. Dren had plain white from Ikea. Thea’s were black and square. Kogan’s were beige stoneware. Derick’s were stainless steel. Tristan’s were blue enamelled and came from a camping store. Bazur’s were Belleek. The Claddagh pattern.

Kevin…. Well Kevin’s were vintage novelty plates from Las Vegas featuring pin up girls.

Everyone knew that. They had just never really considered how that would look to an outsider.

“What?” Kevin demanded. “Hey, they aren’t the ones where the girls clothes fall off when the plates get warm.”

Dren looked horrified, “Is that a thing?”

“Yes,” chorused Kevin, Tristan and Kogan.

Bazur shook his head. “She can use my other set. I guess if she moves in, I’ll buy more dishes.”

They had decided to order in take away. Derick was out collecting a car full of Chinese food. Kogan wandered over to the fridge. It was full of beer. There were also pickles, ketchup and mustard and an elderly jar of mayo. “We are going to need to get her a separate fridge for cooking.”

Dren yelled from the dining room, “Does anyone even know if the stove works?”

“It works just fine!” Bazur yelled back.

Kogan raised an eyebrow. Bazur came over and tried turning on the burners. They all lit. Both men breathed a sigh of relief. Kogan opened the drawer under the oven. It was full of dust, mouse shit and cheap tin pots from the fifties. He looked at Bazur, “You buy her a fridge and I’ll buy her new pots, mixing bowls and plates. Deal?”

Bazur nodded slowly.

“I’ll pitch in for a stand mixer,” Thea said from the ceiling, making the other two jump. Once they were looking up at him, he added, “And Kogan is getting the short end of the stick. Outfitting a kitchen costs way more than a fridge.”

“She’s here!” Dren called.

Thea ran across the ceiling and down a wall, beating them all to the door. He wrenched it open and froze.

The girl’s eyes went wide then she blinked and blushed and said, “Wow! Um, sorry! I’ve just never met a drider before. Or, you know, um seen one. Argh! I’m being rude!” She held out a hand, took a deep breath and said, “Hi! I’m Vinny!”

Thea ran up a wall, across the ceiling and up the side of the the staircase.

Vinny looked a Bazur. “Sorry. Um. I’m not exactly off to a good start. But I brought cannoli for dessert.”

Derick was walking up the walk with a huge box of dinner, “Wow! Homemade cannoli?”

“Uh, yeah, like an audition.”

“You’re hired!” he announced. “Hell, forget the job, will you marry me?”

Vinny blinked, “No. But I will have an eggroll if you brought any.”

“OK.” he said easily as he walked past her. “Clear a path, food coming through!”

Kogan and Dren headed to the dining room. Derick followed with the box of food. Vinny was still standing on the step. Bazur smiled, “Come on in. They are all really excited to meet you.”

Vinny gave him a funny look.

“What?”

“I scared off your drider and you aren’t wearing pants.”

“Oh! Shit! Um. I’ll go get pants. I’m sure Thea just went to get Tristan.”

Vinny still didn’t come in. “Is the no pants thing going to be a thing?”

“NO! Um… maybe? I’ll get better at it, I promise.”

“Uh-huh.” Now she came in. She hung her coat on the hall tree and headed into the dining room.

(Sticker promotion runs until Feb 2, 2019, see Patreon for details)

#mimic #gargoyle #orc #werewolf #slime #minotaur #drider #monster boyfriend #poly #terato #exophilia

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vowel-in-thug · 6 years

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What vivid imaginations do you have about Silver and Flint grocery shopping?

sigh. i knew someone would call me out about that comment. I KNEW IT.

“Why the fuck are these places always so cold?” Even as he says it, Silver starts lowering the zipper on his hoodie. He’s only got a thin t-shirt underneath, but at least he has his hair curling around his neck to keep himself a little warmer.

Flint tugs him further inward so the automatic doors can close. “Because of all the food,” he says, like he’s explaining to a child. “I told you to wear one of my sweatshirts. I’m very comfortable in mine.”

“What, and trip over one of your sleeves?” Silver says. “I’ll pass.” He’s a liar, of course. He only likes to wear Flint’s sweatshirts in bed.

Besides, he’s excellent at tripping. They used to go to another grocery store, closer to their apartment. Silver had slipped in a puddle of dish soap there and had threatened to sue if they didn’t get free groceries for life. The store manager, upon seeing Silver’s prosthetic leg and Flint’s cell phone recording the confrontation, agreed. They were able to keep that up for awhile before the manager reviewed the security tapes and saw that Silver had been the one who had spilt the soap in the first place.

Silver wanders over to a big display by the door – a mountain of Coca-Cola bottles that faintly resembled Darth Vader, if one was drunk and had the eyesight of a Picasso painting. He starts poking at the figure, tall enough to reach the ceiling and held up by some thin wires, while Flint grabs the trolley.

“C’mon,” he says, pulling Silver away again. “I don’t want to be here all day.”

They always start in the fruits and vegetables section, when they still feel ambitious about eating healthily, and haven’t seen any of the good stuff yet.

“Can you put that down?” Flint says for the second time. “Yes, I – I know what it looks like. You’re hilarious. Please put it down.”

Silver pouts, the cucumber in his hand wilting. “I wanted to get it.”

“You hate cucumber.”

“I don’t –”

“You like zucchini.”

“I –” Silver looks at what he’s holding. “Which is this?”

“A cucumber.” Flint takes it off him. Every time, Silver picks it up for the same joke, remembers at home he hates cucumber, and it rots in the cupboard for two months.

“Cucumbers are just pickles no one loves,” Silver says sourly, shoveling a handful of tomatoes into the cart without a plastic bag. “Like hell I’m putting one of those in me.”

Silver waits.

He keeps waiting.

Flint inspects an avocado thoroughly.

“In me, like to eat but –”

“I know.” Flint chucks the avocado at Silver, who catches it easily. “Shut up and tell me if this is ripe. I’m going to make guacamole tonight.” Which is shorthand for: I don’t have the energy to do anything but mash up a couple vegetables and eat a whole bag of tortilla chips, do you think I have the strength to deal with you right now? Do you really?

Silver flicks the brown nub at the end of the avocado, careless as to where it flies. He raises it to eye level. “Looks good to me.”

Flint’s eyeing the row of popcorn when Silver shuffles over with his arms full of chips. He tosses them into their trolley as Flint deliberates between Extra Butter and Movie Lovers.

He’s going for the latter when Silver says, “I used to work at a movie theater. The butter they put on the popcorn is just orange juice and soap.”

“That’s my favorite flavor,” Flint says, grabbing two more boxes.

“What film are we watching tonight?” Silver says, sticking a couple of the tomatoes he’d picked up earlier behind the stacks of pretzels.

“Guess,” says Flint, moving further down the aisle. They sidestep a tired-looking employee unloading a giant crate of Pringles.

“It’s your turn to pick.”

“I know.” Flint had read about this trick on the internet and Silver had yet to figure it out. “I’m just telling you to guess. You’ll never get it right.”

Silver hums, thinking about it, which thankfully distracts him from noticing the pasta aisle, or else they’d be there all night.

Finally, Silver asks, “Young Frankenstein?”

Flint barely manages to stop himself from wincing. He enjoys the movie, of course, but Silver never wants to make-out when a Mel Brooks movie is on.

“Damn,” says Flint. “How do you always know?”

“I can read your mind,” Silver says, and smiles.

“Can you please hurry up?” Silver has draped himself over the cart like he’s been waiting five days, not five minutes.

Flint doesn’t stop looking at the rows of multicolored bottles. “No.”

Silver sighs, slouching lower, the slick end of his prosthetic twisting on the linoleum. He sullenly sticks a bag of chips back on the shelf behind the shaving cream. “Flint. You’re bald.”

Flint picks up a bottle of shampoo to closer inspect the label, but puts it down when he reads Keratin-smooth. He doesn’t bother responding to Silver.

“Can’t I just use the kind that’s like… shampoo, conditioner, and body wash all in one?” Silver begs. “That’s what all my friends use.”

“Your friends are heathens,” Flint says. “And they all smell terrible.”

The last brand Silver had used had made his hair dull. Flint wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Silver sighs again, harder. He straightens up. “Fine. I’m going to look at the pasta.” He wheels the cart away.

“No – wait! Damn it.” Flint grabs two bottles that promise full bounce! and chases after him.

The cereal aisle is incredibly organized. Every box is aligned perfectly, each one half an inch from the edge of the shelf. Nothing backwards, nothing crumped. No gaps, no brand toppled like dominos. The sugary kids cereals line the bottom to tempt small fists, while the brans and the whole wheats loom on the top to shame passing adults into buying. This is a newly reshelved aisle, untouched yet by grubby human hands. Nothing in Flint’s life has ever been this well arranged.

Without a word, Silver grabs a box of Frosted Flakes and tosses it into the cart. They move on to the next aisle.

Silver shivers a little more in the frozen food aisle. His hoodie is zipped up a little higher now, but still not all the way.

“Can you just once,” he says, “please, just once – let me live?”

“I’m trying.” Flint shoves the red bag of frozen chicken nuggets back into the freezer, as Silver turns away with a huff. “This stuff will kill you. You want to eat hormonal shoe-leather wrapped in frozen breadcrumbs, and – and pieces of diseased cows no one should ever consumed, ground up and shoved into those disgusting – pocket things and –”

“‘Pocket things?’” Silver is laughing at him now. “Why are you acting like you just landed on this planet?”

“Why don’t you want real meat?”

“Oh, I eat plenty of real meat,” Silver says, smirking and leaning in close. Close enough to Flint to wrap on hand around the freezer door handle behind him. “I love eating your meat.”

“Stop.” Because Flint likes Silver close, but his hatred of processed meats is stronger. He nudges Silver away, so he can open the freezer door again. He sticks the remaining back of chips from their cart next to the chicken nuggets, saying, “I can make you a real chicken dinner, you know that.”

“God, that sounds exhausting,” Silver grumbles, rolling the cart back and forth petulantly.

Now it’s Flint’s turn to lean in close. “But I like making you a real chicken dinner.” And Silver ducks his head a little bit, ears pink, but he finally moves away from the fucking chicken nuggets.

There’s only one cashier at this time, and she looks incredibly bored.

She looks even more bored when they roll up with their cart, which has been emptied of everything except a single carton of milk.

“How do you bare with this chill?” Silver asks her, teeth chattering. His hoodie is zipped up all the way to his neck now. “I can’t take it.”

She says nothing at all, so Flint says to him, “Go wait outside, then. This’ll only take a second.”

Silver heads to the automatic doors without a word. The cashier says, “Debit or credit?”

Before Flint can respond, a thunderous crash resounds throughout the supermarket. Both Flint and the girl look over to the front entrance, where the giant Darth Vader Coca-Cola statue has toppled to the ground. The individual bottles all take some time fall, each thud loud and reverberating on top of one another. The noise is so tumultuous, the chaos so sudden, that no one notices when the alarm goes off as Silver walks out the door.

All the bottles, now on the ground, start to fizzle like dynamite, which is finally what gets the few supermarket employees working this time of night to stop staring at the carnage in disbelief and start running towards it.

The cashier stares blankly at it, mouth hanging open. Flint says, “Cash, please” slaps a couple bills on the counter, puts his milk carton into a plastic bag, and says, “Have a nice night.”

He heads towards the door, sidestepping the two-liter bottles now whizzing across the floor like rockets, soda creeping out onto the tile like an oil spill. Bottles are tumbling out the sliding doors with him, so no one bothers him when he walks out to the sound of alarms, too. Outside, a dog is tied to a nearby bicycle rack, and is helpfully barking at all the noise coming from inside, perfecting the din.

Silver is waiting by the car, removing the last item from his jacket – the cereal. Everything else is lined up on the roof of the car: tortilla chips, bread, a package of cheese, four different types of pasta, a can of grated parmesan, two brands of cookies, a guacamole seasoning mix, a fucking cucumber, and a fucking bag of frozen chicken nuggets.

“You have the keys,” Silver says, taking the bag of milk off Flint.

Flint opens the trunk and they put everything inside, along with the bottles of shampoo and conditioner, avocados, popcorn, tomatoes, onions, zucchini, a few tins of cat food, two chocolate bars, three packets of gum, a couple cans of soup, and a magazine Silver likes, that Flint had fit into his sweatshirt.

“Was it a big mess?” Silver asks. “I feel kind of bad.”

“It gave them something to do,” Flint says. “You can send them an apology note if you want.”

Silver grabs a pack of gum before shutting the trunk. “I’m driving,” he says, snatching the keys and moving around to the driver’s side. Flint doesn’t argue. Even with only one leg, Silver’s a better driver. He’s afraid to drive on the highway, never uses his turn signal, and has never parked inside the lines once in his entire goddamn life, but at least he doesn’t regularly endanger their lives.

Flint understands the need for speed limits, but feels they’re more for people who just can’t handle it.

When he slides into the passenger seat, he waits for Silver to turn on the car so he can slide the window open. The night air is cool on his face as Silver slowly backs out of the space, the smell of spearmint coming strong from Silver’s mouth. He can’t hear any sirens, any calls for them to come back right now. Only the faint sound of a dog continuing to bark fills the air.

Flint closes his eyes and smiles. “Werewolf.”

It only takes a second for Silver to respond, his voice lower. “There.”

“What?”

“There wolf,” says Silver, easing them out of the grocery store parking lot. He places his hand on Flint’s thigh. “There castle.”

#black sails #silverflint #black sails fic #silverflint fic #guys this is the only MODERN ERA fic i've ever written #exhibit a why i can't write a modern au: i want to make them petty thieves but i don't know how to commit crimes #:/#also they're quoting Young Frankenstein at the end there #if you haven't seen stop reading fic and go watch it #i shoulda been in bed hoursss ago #hey look it's my suffering #here's this thing #Anonymous #petty crook au

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tothestanders · 3 years

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Friendly Bite

The saga continues! Warning for (surprisingly sweet & fluffy) cannibalism

Read on AO3 here

Yes, it was true. Facts were facts, no matter how many alternative facts Janus may provide in his boundless generosity. And the facts were that there was no other way to put it but this: Thomas was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

His latest tweet got barely any engagement. His favorite show got taken off Netflix. A friend he hadn’t seen in forever had to cancel their plans. And throughout it all, four separate mosquitos tried to exsanguinate him.

Was it any wonder that Thomas was sad? Sadder than sad. Feeling badder than bad. Mouth at maximum frowniness. At times like this, there was only one thing to do.

Thomas flopped off the couch and onto the floor – too bundled in blankets to walk – and shimmied his way into the kitchen like a slug. But like, a sexy slug, because Thomas was focusing on positive self-talk lately.

Oh yes, Thomas had a plan, a plan that would turn his dreadful day inside out like an inverted bean bag with all the rice spilling out, if that rice were joy and Thomas were a bean bag that his little brother unzipped as a prank not realizing it was Thomas’s favorite bean bag and that their dog would eat all the rice and their parents wouldn’t buy enough rice to refill it so it would be droopy and uncomfortable for the rest of its sad existence until Thomas eventually tearfully threw it away –

Yeah, it’d be just like that! Except maybe totally different, actually, because that was a traumatic formative experience for Thomas that he didn’t wish to repeat in any way, shape, or form.

So you can imagine his betrayal when he finally arrived at the kitchen after only seven minutes of blanket shimmies, hauled himself to his feet, reached into the pantry and – nothing! No cookies, no cupcakes, not even a measly Pop-Tart! No joy in that horrible pit in his wall. Only suffering.

Which merely exacerbated his existing despondency. That is, until it gave him an idea.

Now, Thomas was not always the quickest to troubleshoot problems, nor the quickest to brainstorm solutions. So it was rather surprising on all counts when he thought of something clever right off the bat.

“Off the bat? More like on the bat – of love that I’m about to swing right into your heart!” Patton cheered from where he’d just popped up. “Oof, that was a little violent, sorry kiddo. But you know what they say, love is a battlefield and all that!”

“Patton, that’s not what that mea – you know what, whatever. I’m just so happy to see you!” Thomas said, clasping his hands together in excitement.

Patton beamed back. His job could be pretty tough something, but these sorts of moments made it all worth it. Helping out his bestest friend in the whole wide world and seeing his face light up with the sweetest smile in the whole wide world! Patton was just so lucky he could hardly stand it!

He and Thomas weren’t just best friends, though, they were even closer, so Patton didn’t need to ask what was wrong before padding over to the blanket burrito. He spent a few moments cooing over Thomas, wiping tear tracks from his face and brushing sweaty hair back from his forehead (the blanket was cozy, but in Florida, at what cost?).

Thomas felt figuratively warm all over, too, at being taken care of like this. The way Patton began to comfort him without hesitation, like of course Thomas was someone to be cared for. Someone to be loved. His eyes were brimming with a different sort of tears when Patton gave his cheeks one last pat, and Thomas leaned forward, eyes drifting shut, lips parting softly, pressing his mouth to the soft skin of Patton’s wrist – and bit.

And chewed.

Thomas didn’t really mind the crunchiness, never did. Sure, the first – oh, five or so times he’d eaten parts of Patton, the bones had really thrown him off. But he was determined to learn to love all parts of Patton’s arm structure equally, so he did. Patton deserved it for being such a good friend.

Even as Thomas munched away, Patton petted his hair sweetly, humming a lullaby from their childhood under his breath. The whole experience was more comforting than Thomas could’ve dreamed. He was just so lucky, wasn’t he?

Today had been particularly terrible, horrible, no good, and very bad, so Thomas took his time with things. Besides, he wanted to savor the moment, the way his bond with his Side felt stronger than ever when they were like this, side by side, arm in mouth. Fused mentally and physically, like the person and part of that person they were.

Then Logan rose up.

“Excuse me. What exactly do we have here?” he asked.

Thomas froze mid-chew and slowly raised his eyes, flinching when they met Logan’s disapproving stare. “Uh, bonding time?” he replied, though the words were muffled by the fact his mouth was still wrapped around Patton’s arm. He figured that as long as he stayed perfectly still, Logan wouldn’t notice what was going on.

Sadly, against all odds, Logan was not fooled. One unimpressed eyebrow lifted. “And would this ‘bonding’ involve your consuming Patton’s imaginary form?”

“No?”

“Mm-hm. Thomas, we’ve discussed this. Eating your feelings is not a healthy coping mechanism.”

“But it works! And Patton’s happy to help, right?” Thomas said, finally pulling back from Patton’s arm and turning to look at him. A few pieces of skin dangled from Thomas’s teeth, which just made Logan even more irritated by the whole situation – food in one’s teeth was a surefire recipe for cavities.

Now, Patton was in a bit of a pickle. He loved both Logan and Thomas so much – to the moon and back ten whole times or more! – so he really didn’t want to pick a side (or a Side, hehe). But he couldn’t help feeling like Logan’s objections were those of a silly goose. Not the average goose who’s evil and will viciously peck out all your organs, please don't get him wrong. Most geese are terrifying and Patton would never compare any of his famILY to one of those, that would just be mean. No, Patton was specifically referring to the silly sort of goose who loved his friends but sometimes went a little overboard in trying to look after them, which his friends appreciated but really wasn’t necessary all the time and sometimes was best to set aside. A silly sweetie goose!

“Of course I don’t mind, Thomas. Anything for you!” Logan looked like he was about to object, so Patton quickly continued. “I know that splurging on junk food isn’t a great way to fix a bad mood, but I’m imaginary. Surely it’s not hurting anybody if Thomas wants to pop his Pop’s limb into his belly every now and then?” Patton looked at Logan with the biggest, most hopeful puppy dog eyes he could muster, which were very big and hopeful indeed.

A long moment passed as Logan took in the scene before him with pursed lips: Thomas staring equally hopefully with flaps of skin stuck in his teeth, Patton with his arm chewed off to the elbow, the both of them practically on top of each other in a snuggly embrace. The pause was a cute gesture, but everyone knew Logan was as weak for puppy dog eyes as Patton was for puppies. Finally, he sighed.

“Very well,” Logan acquiesced, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Seeing as there do not appear to be any substantial negative consequences to these rendezvous, I can pose no objection. However, Thomas, it is still important that you seek to locate and address the root source of your distress when it arises, rather than simply using Patton as a figurative crutch.”

Thomas and Patton both broke out into smiles brighter than fresh dandelions before a lame middle-aged adult with a misguided concept of ‘weeds’ sprays them with herbicide, killing the perfectly pretty flowers in a tragedy in microcosm.

“Hooray! You know Logan, you’re welcome to join if you want. You’ve seemed a little stressed lately what with so many deadlines coming up,” Patton offered.

Another sigh, another long moment of staring. Then, “Oh, all right,” and Logan walked over to Patton’s other side. Soon the sounds of dual munching filled the room, while Patton smiled, feeling vibrantly happy that he got to spend a peaceful day with his family.

#sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #c!thomas #ts logan #ts patton #sanders sides fanfiction #my writing

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lauren-nabors · 7 years

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To the woman who ruined my Saturday:

The day was already rough – we were short-staffed and our internet provider having an area-wide outage was causing major disruptions in our credit card processing. We were very busy and needed all hands on deck. Of course you could not have known these factors when you came in. You approached our counter and said you had a group of 20 and could we help you push tables together? We accommodated you, even though it meant us moving tables from across the dining room to get your large group all in the same spot. The next thing I knew you were putting bright purple tablecloths over all the tables and setting up cupcakes and a cake from another bakery. You had taken up so many tables that our paying customers who had food in their hands were having trouble finding a place to sit. I walked by and asked if everyone in your group would be eating with us. You said “we’ll probably get some drinks but I’m not sure if anyone will be eating.” I politely and calmly said that as a courtesy to us for using a large portion of our space we would ask that everyone in the group eat something with us. You gave me an ugly look but I just walked away. The next thing I know you are ripping off the tablecloths and packing up your baked goods (that you did not purchase from us) and making a huge scene. You marched up to me while I was in the middle of the dining room within ear shot of probably half of our customers and told me in no uncertain terms that you were leaving, that you would never be back, that you had never been treated so unfairly, and (the best part) that “you were not told that it would be this busy in here at this time” as if I can predict how many people will be in my restaurant at a specific time and day. I asked you to stay but you had already made up your mind. You walked out as your mother walked up to me and proceeded to bitch me out for a solid 7 minutes. I have never been chewed out like that before in my life. In front of all of my customers, I stood there and took it on the chin while your mother told me this was the worst place with the worst people and how dare I and why didn’t we have your table of 20 ready for you and “roped off” (even though they didn’t have a reservation and we don’t rope tables off during lunch anyway - never mind the actual facts. I’m sure these people voted for Trump). She told me she would tell everyone she knew to leave us bad reviews on social media and it shouldn’t matter if they brought in outside food because they were customers and it was my job to make them happy. When I tried to finally say something at the end to defend myself she literally said “I understand you’re angry and you want to give me your point of view but it doesn’t matter because I’m the customer.”

At this point I walked away, went into our walk-in cooler, sat on a pickle bucket and bawled like a baby for about 15 minutes. When I gathered myself I came out to find Clif on the phone with none other than the original women who was the host of this failed party. She stayed on the phone with Clif for almost 10 minutes, telling him how awful I was to tell them they had to eat and how she was so embarrassed that she had been kicked out (she hadn’t). She mentioned multiple times that she worked with victimized kids in her job (no obvious need to mention this other than that I presume she uses her non-profit work as an excuse to be horrible to other people). Clif, much like I had just done minutes earlier from this woman’s mother, took it on the chin and let this woman tell us what horrible people we are. Clif kept apologizing and at the end of the conversation asked her “how can we make this right for you?” because my husband is an amazing person who can deal graciously with people and even though I don’t think we owed this woman a damn thing, we do care about giving good customer service and making things right if and when the customer feels like they’ve been wronged. The woman didn’t really give an answer and we felt like finally the situation had been diffused enough and we could move on with our lives.

Two days later Clif received a Facebook message from this woman. I could copy and paste the whole thing here but i won’t because I’m going to try and be more of a decent human being than this woman is. The gist of the message was that she was reminding us that we were wrong and that we are bad people and that her mother had every right to gripe me out and we should feel lucky that she didn’t gripe me out more AND (her grand finale) she says “you asked me how you could make this right for me and I’ve been thinking about it all weekend. I work with victimized children and my work is really important so I would ask that you make a donation to one of the many organizations in our area that are doing charitable work. I do not need a reply to this message.” A lovely and passive aggressive way of saying that what we have to say does not matter as much as what she has to say.

Lady, you just reached full-on bitch status. As a woman, I really hate the word bitch, especially when it’s one woman referring to another. I think all women deserve better. But, really? Let’s break this whole thing down:

1. You came into my bakery with bakery products from somewhere else. This is considered pretty bad form, no matter where you live. Maybe you have been living under a rock for the past 30 years though, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt.

2. You took up 20 seats in my restaurant during a busy Saturday lunch and expected not to have to dine with us. I’m sorry but “we might order some drinks” does not make this situation ok. Our drinks cost $1.80 so unless you’d like to purchase 100 cokes, you do not get a free pass. We are a restaurant, not an event-space.

3. You had the audacity to tell me our customer service was bad after you pulled the stunt that you did. Sure, lets play that out: customer service implies I’m giving service (whether good or bad) to someone that’s my customer. What does customer mean? Someone who’s doing business with me. You bringing in outside bakery products and then expecting to not have to buy much of anything from us does not make you my customer. It actually makes you a squatter.

4. You said you were embarrassed by me asking you to eat with us. I’m truly sorry if I made you feel embarrassed. It is never our intention to make our customers feel badly about something. However, in this situation ma'am, you should feel a little embarrassed. What you did was actually quite rude and in bad taste.

5. Using your non-profit job as some kind of cloak to hide behind so that you can gripe, complain, make other people feel like shit, or shame them into giving some financial contribution is just downright shameful. You should feel horrible about this and I hope you don’t sleep well at night.

6. Suggesting that we make some kind of donation in order to make this situation right for you is incredibly haughty and down right ridiculous. First of all, let me make it clear, you were in the wrong. We were the bigger persons and apologized and offered to make it right for you, even when didn’t have to. We could’ve just said “screw you and don’t come back to our restaurant anyway.” You clearly have a false sense of reality and a complete and utter lack of awareness about how you come across to other people. But beside that, your suggestion to make a charitable donation is on par with some major company who’s made a public gaffe or illegal business deal making a charitable donation in order to save face and fix their public image. Are you suggesting we screwed up so royally that we have some kind of PR issue on our hands? (You’re insane). Secondly, you’re also making the assumption that we don’t give charitably otherwise and/or that we’re just some kind of greedy business owners who only care about ourselves. You don’t know a damn thing about us or our business or about the numerous local organizations we support throughout the year. You probably don’t know that we donate all kinds of breads and day-old products to two local missions every single week. You probably don’t know that we’ve hosted multiple donation drives for Ozarks Food Harvest, Care to Learn and American Cancer Society. You probably don’t know about all the nights we’ve hosted elementary schools in low-income neighborhoods for fundraiser nights and donated the profits to them or the (literally hundreds of) smaller donations we’ve made to support our community be it food, gift cards for giveaways or the likes.

And of course, why would you know any of this? You are a selfish, entitled person who’s probably miserable on the inside and you don’t look beyond yourself to see that maybe you made a decision that wasn’t smart or might have been hurtful to someone else. You just shifted the blame to us, you ruined my entire weekend, you made me ugly cry, and now you expect us to give money just to make it right for you. I’m sorry, lady, but screw you. And yes, please do not ever come back to my restaurant again.

PS. I used to work for a non-profit too and I never pulled the shit that you’ve just pulled. Shame on you.

#worst customer ever

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vintageeskimos · 7 years

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Wow. What a time with wine, friends, and traveling.

A few months ago, in November, I traveled to Bologna and Florence, Italy with some of my closest friends from Philadelphia.

To make things easier to understand, I will explain each one of my friends in a short description so you can get an idea.

So there is….

Ashley– Ashley and i go wayyyy back. Out of all the girls, she is the one I have known the longest. She is the one who I studied abroad with then traveled to Sorrento for the summer afterwards which led me to meeting Luigi, my boyfriend, and the rest is history. Without her, I wouldn’t be where I am today. She is super sweet and incredibly friendly. She is literally so nice that she is able to always look for the good in people and become friends with practically anyone. Her laugh is so contagious. Straight out of Philly suburbs.

Rachel– Rachel is one of the three girls on this trip that I met through rooming at Temple University. We are known as the “Boobier bitches” long story short, it is a play off of the name of the street our house was on and the fact there was six of us girls living in this giant house during the time. Rachel is crazy in the funniest way. She brings out the weirdness in me and I love it. She also can be fairly organized so that was a huge help on this trip. She looks the most Italian out of all of us but she is actually Jewish. We have both pointed out that Israeli culture and Italian culture actually have a lot of similarities. New York born and raised.

Emily D.– Emily D. is the second girl I lived with at Temple University as part of the “Boobier bitches”. She is this funny sarcastic girl who just goes with the flow of things. From experience, I know she hates to clean things and can be very disorganized, but that is just what makes her so funny. Sometimes she will say the most wittiest comments and I have to give myself a second to wonder how the hell she comes up with them. She has never been to Europe before, but I can tell she wants to come back ASAP after this trip. From suburbs of Philly.

Emily Mac.- Emily Mac. is the final girl out of the 3 of the six that all lived in the “Boobier” house. She is this tiny little ball of energy who is down to do anything at any moment especially when it comes to spontaneous traveling. She is the one who got me to go on this trip. Originally Ashley wanted to surprise me (again), but it would have been too tough to organize it that way. She studied abroad through Temple University’s London campus while Ashley, Megan, and I were studying in Rome at the time. She is also the girl that traveled to Lisbon and Barcelona with us for our spring break. From suburbs of Philly like the most of us.

Mallory– I first met Mallory on this trip. She is a friend of a friend of Ashley’s from work. Ashley invited her to join us on this trip because she has never been to Europe before. She seemed a bit shy at first but she is very kind and understanding about our craziness. Although I have only known her for a short amount of time, she is really sweet. It is always hard to travel with a group of girls whom have known each other for so long, but it all worked out in the end. Originally from Lancaster, PA.

Megan– Megan is this tall beautiful blonde with bright, hypnotizing blue eyes. Everywhere we go Italian men are literally ALLL over her. But she is so sick and tired of it. Even though she is strikingly beautiful, she is a simple humble girl who doesn’t want to be drooled on. I met Megan through Ashley because they roomed together at Temple University’s Rome campus. She then actually fell in love with an Italian boy and transferred to John Cabot University in Rome. Unfortunately things didn’t work out with the boy but she fell in love with someone else: Rome. It is nice that I have a friend from home living in Italy with me and only an hour train ride away. Raised in the Philly suburbs.

This group of girls are some of my best friends and they all decided to plan a Europe adventure together. Their first stop was in London then onto Paris, and on the last leg of the tour, we all met up in Bologna and Florence, Italy (Except for Megan- since she lives in Rome, she planned to meet us in Florence).

Although the girls were in Europe for a week, we decided to spend two nights in Bologna, and two nights in Florence. So this is where I’m going to write about Bologna with my second article about my Florence experience. Enjoy!

Bologna, Italy:

In short, things I would recommend:

Impero (Caffe bar, pastries, aperitivo)

Trattoria da me (My favorite restaurant)

Via San Felice (street w/ Artisan/local shopping/authentic restaurants/bars)

Piazza Maggiore (Big central square with Churches/Palazzi/shops)

Basilica di San Petronio (Beautiful gothic church)

Via Pescherie Vecchie (street w/ local market/shops/bars)

Camera a Sud (super hipster/stylish bar/cafe)

Le Stanze (elegant classy bar great for date night)

Va Mo Là (amazing local food/atmosphere/service)

Bar L’una (nice pitstop bar with the coolest couple)

Most of us girls have never been to Bologna including myself. Bologna, Italy is a small city filled with an alternative-homey culture. From what I saw, it reminds me of a city where the habitants are a mix of college students, graduates, and young families. The reason behind that is that University of Bologna is located right on the outskirts of the city. Since us girls were only staying two nights and we had to catch a train to Florence afterwards, we decided to book an Airbnb located close to Bologna’s train station. I found an adorable apartment called MyG*flat with an even more adorable host, Monica. I arrived in Bologna in the early afternoon by train and Monica was right there waiting for me. She was extremely sweet and helpful when it came to the apartment and gave me tips where to buy food, and places to drink, eat, etc. The apartment itself was really cute.

The girls were flying into Bologna from Paris and they were planning to arrive pretty late that night so I wanted to cook them a nice meal. I headed to closest grocery store (which was literally right around the corner) and bought the ingredients I needed to make a classic dish from where I live in Campania: spaghetti alla Nerano (spaghetti with zucchini).

La ricetta (The recipe) includes:

Spaghetti (600g) -100g/person

4 or 5 zucchinis (you need to cut up the zucchini first and fry it)

Butter

Parmesan cheese

Sunflower oil

It was fairly easy to make. I love to cook, but my problem is that I am bad at it and I am a very impatient person sometimes. In other words, I ruined the spaghetti and turned it into gum.

But the girls ate it all anyway with the cheap wine I bought from a local alimentari.

For dessert, I bought a piccola pasticceria (a small assortment of pastries) from one of the best bars/pastry shops there is in Bologna: Impero.

(Photos provided by Google Images)

After we ate and drank everything in sight, we decided to head out into the center of the city and see what it had to offer. Keep in mind by the time the girls arrived and we finished eating and catching up it was about 2am on a cold November night. Most bars and places were closed due to the fact it was late, and also a Wednesday night. We began walking to the center of city and I stopped some young local Italians and asked them where we could find a drink at this hour. They recommend to keep walking straight to this street where a small bar and a late night to-go food place was still open and occupied with people. We grabbed some beers and cocktails and right next door some to-go pizza. There was nothing really happening that night, but it was just nice to catch up with everyone and absorb the fact that they are all in Italy with me. After stuffing our faces again, we began walking back home while scoping out some shops we could hit up the following day.

I woke up fairly early the next morning even though most of the girls were still sleeping. I really don’t blame them though because traveling is exhausting. By time everyone got up and ready it was already lunch time. I, of course being the leader/type of person I am, found a really cool restaurant called Trattoria da me with great reviews located on the other side of the city in this beautiful authentic hipster, but stylish, quarter of Bologna. The street of Via San Felice itself holds many unique spots to eat, window shop, and purchase a whole new wardrobe. I found a list of some great shops along this street:

But let’s talk about Trattoria da me. First of all their food was delicious and they gave us so much to eat- especially with the antipasto. For the second course most of us got the Spaghetti alla Bolognese which is a typical spaghetti meat dish from this region of Italy. The service was spectacular and treated us like family (all six of us). I even stroke a conversation with the waiters about the US election and how we all despise Trump and can’t believe he won and is actually our president. They were really hospitable and I would definitely eat there again. The atmosphere was that of a homey-pastel hipster cottage with beautiful framed artwork hanging along the walls. I would live there if I could.

The interior decorations and table settings.

(From left to right: Ashley, Emily D., and Rachel)

(From left to Right: Emily Mac., Me, and Mallory)

We were so stuffed it took us so long to actually leave our seats. But I give trattoria da me a easy five-star rating.

(Left: Mixed Meats antipasto. Right: Panzerotti- fried dough)

(Left: Ashley enjoying our wine. Right: Spaghetti alla Bolognese)

( Left: pickled vegetables. Right: Mixed meat antipasto with amazing cheese)

The girls and I made our way down Via S. Felice checking out some shops here and there and stopping at this tiny bar that offered artisan homemade espresso. Continuing along this street we saw graffiti and artwork that reminded me a lot of Brooklyn, NY.

And of course we stopped at some cute clothing stores. Emily D. has recently been obsessing over faux fur jackets and she found a stellar faux fur vest that had these rocker red stars on it. We all said she had to get and the rest was history. Some of the shops we browsed were H&M, Zara, and local clothing stores. After we shopped until we dropped, the sun was nearly setting so we made our way back into the center. We arrived at Piazza Maggiore that holds beautiful buildings, towers, palazzi, and more. We entered the beautiful Basilica di San Petronio. It was huge and breath-taking as one can imagine a gothic cathedral to be with 22 chapels.

We were all in-awe of this church as we exited. You don’t see things like this in the States often. The girls and I continued through the piazza down one of the busiest streets in Bologna: Via Pescherie Vecchie. Along this street are local markets with produce, small bars, restaurants, shops, and a lively nightlife.

(Me and Emily Mac. along Via Pescherie Vecchie)

Our shopping continued and I found a great place to have an aperitivo before our dinner: Camera a Sud.

(Photos NOT taken by me, but provided my Google Images)

Camera a Sud was the most hipster cafe I have seen since anything in Williamsburg in Brooklyn, NY. Although tiny, it was very charming and unfortunately I learned the hard way that I need to a reserve a table beforehand. It was packed with people (which I assume because it is a hotspot with locals) so in the end we decided to go somewhere else: Le Stanze.

(Photos NOT taken by me, but provided from their website, Le Stanze)

I found this place by searching on my phone and I saw costumers who posted photos of the interior that looked like a beautiful cathedral with massive tall ceilings. We were hooked and decided to grab a spritz there. But when we arrived, I was fairly disappointed to realize that the gorgeous beautiful interior architecture was only paint. The photos online were very deceiving. Le Stanze itself had a great atmosphere between class and elegance and date vibe. Their aperitivo buffet had great options although the prices can be a bit expensive.

After our deserved drink, all of us headed back to the apartment to rest our arms from all our shopping bags. I whipped out my phone and in search of a restaurant for dinner. I browsed through TripAdvisor and found a restaurant called Va Mo Là.

Inside Va Mo Là the atmosphere consisted of a rustic alternative wine bar library-type feel. We were sat downstairs in a nice quiet area. The food was marvelous, but something that stood out to me was their impeccable service. We had a bit of a problem because Mallory didn’t feel that well and she needed to go back to the apartment. We all understood so Ashley and Mallory left just before the antipasto arrived at the table. The girls said they would return as soon as they could and we told them not to worry. So Emily Mac., Emily D., Rachel, and I enjoyed our portions of the antipasto which included a nice mixed cheese plate. We made sure to put aside some for Ashley and Mallory. Both of the two girls ordered their main dish before they left, but I wanted to tell the server that there was an emergency so if they could hold off on preparing their food that would be amazing. Our server had no problem with that and all was good. Soon after, us four girls got our main dishes and enjoyed every bite. Once we finished, we realized it was getting late, and I tried to contact Ashley and Mallory to see if they were on their way back hoping they remembered which way to go.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to reach them. The server came to our table and politely asked if they could bring out their food because the chef had to leave. I felt so bad about holding them up, I just told them to box it to make it easier for the girls when they arrive so they can just eat it at the table. The server seemed kind of confused as to why not just eat it from the plate instead of the box at the table, but I didn’t know exactly when the two girls would arrive. I didn’t want their food to get cold either so I explained to him it would just be easier for you and us just to box it-no worries. Maybe he was right about presenting it- in Italy it is very strange to box food, and especially to eat boxed food at a restaurant. Since it was so late and everyone else in the restaurant had already eaten their meals and left, I thought the presentation wouldn’t matter. But with every question and request I asked (There were a lot) the server was so understanding and polite that I would have to give them 5 stars for hospitality. They were incredibly accommodating.

In relief, Ashley and Mallory finally made it back to the restaurant and ate their antipasto and main dishes. Once the girls finished, we paid the bill and made sure to tip our server (which I feel so bad that I can’t remember his name) a good percentage. We thanked everyone as we walked out the door and once we exited, we met these other Americans just out front whom we asked to take a photo of us girls in front of the restaurant.

After the lovely photo, we began to walk away, but we were stopped suddenly by the server rushing out the door calling us back. I was confused I thought maybe we forgot something at our table or underpaid (which I know for a fact we didn’t). But he kindly asked “Would you guys write a review for us, please?” It was so sweet and of course we said yes. I would highly recommend Va Mo Là if you are ever in Bologna.

The girls and I began walking back to our apartment and stopped at a local bar called Drogheria to grab a drink.

All the seating outside was full but the servers literally grabbed a table and chairs out of storage just for us. He even pulled the heater closer to us to stay warm. We each grabbed a drink, some cocktails, and some beer. The drinks arrived fairly quickly to our table except for mine. I waited a bit longer just to see that maybe they are still making my Moscow mule, but it never came. I asked another server to grab me one because the other guy must have forgotten. I waited again, and it still didn’t come. I was so confused. After a solid 20 minutes, I talked to my original server again-he apologized and finally brought me my cocktail. Thankfully, my drink was free and he discounted the other drinks as well on the bill. I would say their service in the end was nice although they made a mistake on my order. But that’s life, mistakes happen sometimes.

It was getting fairly late, and since we had to check out early the next morning from our Airbnb, we decided to call it a night in Bologna.

The next morning we woke up, packed our bags, and made it out the door. But in the morning, I am grumpy AF before I get my caffè (espresso). Luckily enough, there was a bar just below our apartment complex . I am pretty sure it was called Bar L’una. I am not 100% positive, but it is located on Via Antonio Gramsci just before the roundabout. Some of us got a caffè or a cappuccino and some small pastries. The older couple who own this bar served us and they were a riot. The woman would play this cute little singing toy and joke around with us. The man was exactly the same and you could tell this couple was a match made in heaven. They were the crazy aunt and uncle you actually wanted in your family-so humble, and welcoming. After saying grazie mille (Thank you very much), we made our way to the station and hopped on the next train to Florence…

Bologna Wow. What a time with wine, friends, and traveling. A few months ago, in November, I traveled to Bologna and Florence, Italy with some of my closest friends from Philadelphia.

#Bologna #expat in italy #gocce di meriggio #italia #italian #italy #sarah thompson #travel abroad #travel blog #travel tips

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