and i should probably work at some point today

Sick Days Are The Best (Alexander Hamilton x Reader)

Originally posted by hamiltonmemes

Request: Fluffy Alexander Hamilton x Reader (by @folignsky)

Warnings: None

Time Period: Modern

Words: 870

A/N: Hello everyone! I’m so sorry for being pretty inactive these past few days, but I have a couple of stories coming up soon. Thank you so much for over 50 followers!! I can’t believe it! And I hope this is the kind of story you were looking for, I enjoyed writing it. Have a wonderful day.

As soon as you woke up, you let out a loud groan as a pain hit your head, throat, and stomach; sick days were the worst. You flopped back down onto your pillow and pulled the covers over heard, groaning even louder this time.

Out of the corner of your eye, you vaguely saw your boyfriend, Alexander, stick his head out of the bathroom doorway. With his toothbrush still in his mouth, you heard him mumble something along the lines of “Are you okay?”

In response, you complained “I think I’m sick.” Then you hid even further down in your bed and curled up into a ball. It hurt so much, like cramps you experienced during your period, but worse. A shift in the bed, told you that Alexander was sitting right next to you, trying to coax you out of your cocoon.

Once you peeked your head out, you stared into the eyes of your boyfriend. He gave you a sympathetic smile, and felt your forehead with the back of his hand.

“Well I don’t think you have a fever, but by the way you are acting, you should probably stay home from work.” Alex explained, laying down next to you.

You grimaced at the thought of all the work you would have to catch up on, but complied when you realized there was no way Alexander let you leave the house in the state you were in.

“Alright, while I’ll probably just lay here and sleep and watch TV all day.” you explained to your boyfriend. “You should probably leave now if you want to make it to work on time.”

He looked shocked and shook his head. “No, no. I am not going to leave you here by yourself. I’m going to take care of you today.” he said, tucking in the covers around you.

Before you could even try and fight Alex on his decision, he gave you a pointed look and spoke once more. “I know I don’t have to stay, but I want to take care of you. So try and get some more sleep, while I call in today for the both of us.”

With that, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. You sighed aloud and silently thanked Alexander on being such a wonderful boyfriend.

After tossing and turning for a good ten minutes, you were able to fall asleep. However, it wasn’t long enough. Three hours later you woke back up and reached for your phone, hoping it would distract you from the pain in your head. Once you had enough of being cooped up in your tiny bedroom, you made your way out into the living room.

In there, you found Alex, sitting on the couch typing away furiously on his laptop. He was not alerted of your presence until you let out a deep cough on accident. Jumping up, he ran over to you and guided you to the couch, where he instructed you to lay down.

“Those who are sick should not be on their feet.” he reasoned.

Disappearing into the kitchen, you turned your attention to getting comfortable and finding something good to watch on television. Once five minutes had gone by, Alexander came back into the living room, tray in hand. On top of the tray was a glass of water, a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and what looked like aspirin.

“Here you go.” Alex said, setting the tray on the table in front of you. “There’s water to keep you hydrated, soup because that always makes people feel better, and some aspirin for the pain.” he explained, looking quite proud of himself.

“Thank you Alex, you really didn’t have to do this.” you noted, but looked sheepish under his gaze. Instead, you simply turned to your tray and enjoyed the fact that you were keeping this food down.


After you had eaten, and after Alexander had cleaned up, you were trying to fall asleep on the couch once more, and Alex was still typing away at the kitchen table.

Kicking the blankets off of you, you padded into to the kitchen and leaned against the wall, arms crossed of your shoulder. “Alex.” you whined.

He looked up and a smile crossed his lips at your pouty stance. “Yes, (y/n)?” he questioned.

“I can’t sleep!” you admitted. Then, looking down at your feet you whispered. “Will you come cuddle with me and watch a movie?” you asked.

For a moment, Alex glanced at his laptop and you thought he would chose his work over spending time with you. Thankfully, he closed the laptop and stood up. Picking you up, he walked over to the couch and sat down. You immediately curled up to his side, and sighed in content when you felt his arms wrap around your shoulder.

“What movie would you like to watch, love?” Alex asked.

“Titanic?” you told him, but it came out as more of a question. You weren’t sure if Alex would want to sit through the three hour movie.

However, instead of objecting he smiled and nodded and put the movie on. About halfway through the movie, you could feel yourself drifting into sleep, and Alex sensed it too. Pressing a kiss to your head, he drew patterns on your skin in an attempt to get you to fall asleep faster.

Before sleep took over, you whispered a thanks to Alexander and told him, “Sick days are the best days.”

~Charlotte

Today, I fucked up by being in the bathroom with a coworker.

I work in a large performance venue. I went into the bathroom for my daily 3:30pm case of the dirty squirties, and it just so happened that a co-worker from another dept who I’m friendly with was walking in to sit down and take care of lunch in another stall.

We’re sitting there, brothers in stalls, quietly downloading some brown loads when he rips a crisp fart. The resonance in the bowl was beautiful, so I chuckled a little. He laughed back.

I’m the kind of guy who will always laugh at two things - farts, and other people’s laughter. This was the holy grail.

We basically laughed back in forth in turn, escalating to the point that I laughed so hard that I started farting too. This caused even more laughter.

We both finally calmed down, cleaned up, and left the bathroom.

I should probably mention that the venue I work offers backstage tours to patrons. It just so happens that a tour group had been stationed right outside the bathroom as their tour guide was taking the time to talk about the history of a display in that hallway.

We had many looks of horror, amusement, and even some of respect.

TIFU: Internet`s best fucked up stories are here.

anonymous asked:

your conversions are so amazing! any chance you are going to convert the sims 3 70s,80s and 90s stuff pack?!

Aww, thanks so much!  I wasn’t really planning on converting those (tbh, it wasn’t my favourite stuff pack, haha), but I probably could add it to the list.  I did see that @srslysims was planning on converting them too at some point, so you should follow her, too- she might get to them before I do :)


Edit: srslysims is working on this pack!  She said, “I actually started on these today, should be done at some point tomorrow or the next. :) Thanks for thinking of me Britt :)”  Hooray! I’ll reblog them whenever she posts :D

Benedict Cumberbatch on Alan Turing: 'He should be on banknotes'

There is, at first, a moment of confusion. Benedict Cumberbatch is filming Richard III for the BBC’s Hollow Crown series, and yesterday, or so the publicist from the film company tells me, he fell off a horse. He’s feeling stiff and has needed a massage. Things are running a little late.

It is Saturday lunchtime at a grand London hotel, and I am parked in a suite waiting to talk to Cumberbatch about his latest film, The Imitation Game, in which he plays the code-breaker Alan Turing. When he comes in – tall and rangy, dressed in a checked shirt and a quilted leather jacket – he moves and talks quickly, a fistful of nervous energy. Shades of Sherlock.

I hear, I say, that you’ve had an accident and fallen off your horse. He looks puzzled. ‘Oh no, that’s picking up fag ends…’ Fag ends? ‘That thing of going, “He’s had an accident…”’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I haven’t had an accident.I’m playing Richard III.’ Nor, it turns out, had he fallen off a horse. He can do all his own sword-fighting, but falling off horses is forbidden under insurance provisions: he just fell into shot, as if he’d fallen off a horse.

‘I was running round in the mud having a lot of fun. I mean proper mud, with men in real armour with real swords, fighting to the death. It was incredible – one of those moments where I had to pinch myself.’

Cumberbatch is not classically handsome: rather, the long, angled planes of his face and his small, far-apart eyes lend him a slightly odd, other-worldly, cerebral appearance. He is an actor who is particularly good at giving the impression of thinking, which has served him well playing roles such as Stephen Hawking, Sherlock and, indeed, Turing. So not quite handsome, yet that curious, transmogrifying power of stardom seems to have conferred handsomeness upon him.

He has an army of adoring female fans that style themselves as ‘Cumberbitches’ – a term to which Cumberbatch himself has taken vocal exception in the past. ‘It sets feminism back so many notches.’ He apparently would prefer the term ‘Cumberpeople’.

The Imitation Game tells the story of Alan Turing, the Cambridge mathematician who, working at the Government Code and Cypher School at Bletchley Park during the Second World War, invented the early computing machine that cracked the German Enigma code. Winston Churchill, a huge admirer of Turing, credited him with making the single biggest contribution to Allied victory in the war against Nazi Germany. This alone makes Turing a heroic figure, but it is what happened later that makes him equally a tragic one.

Homosexual, in 1952 Turing was prosecuted for ‘gross indecency’ with a 19-year-old man. As an alternative to prison, he was ordered to receive treatment with oestrogen injections – chemical castration. In 1954, 16 days before his 42nd birthday, Turing died from cyanide poisoning. An inquest ruled that his death was suicide. In 2009, following an internet campaign, Prime Minister Gordon Brown made an official public apology on behalf of the government for ‘the appalling way’ Turing had been treated. And in 2013 he was granted a posthumous pardon by the Queen.

The Imitation Game covers the span of Turing’s life: his faltering, adolescent love for a fellow student at Sherborne school, Christopher Morcom, who was to die at 18 from the long-term effects of the bovine tuberculosis he contracted as a child; his struggle at Bletchley Park to build his ‘Turing machine’ in the face of official obduracy and incomprehension; his short, and ill-starred, engagement to his colleague Joan Clarke (played by Keira Knightley); and his tragic death.

It is the sort of film the British film industry does so well. Highly polished, with a sterling cast including Charles Dance and Matthew Goode, and an impressive attention to period detail, it is also deeply moving. One comes away seething with anger at the attitudes and the events – ‘the persecution’ in Cumberbatch’s words – that destroyed Turing.

‘I miss him…’ Cumberbatch settles back on to the sofa, dispatching an espresso in a single gulp. ‘And it’s not just from playing him. I miss the fact that he’s not with us and should be with us. It’s a massive injustice, of course, but it’s also thinking about what he should have enjoyed of his life as well, and the amount of sadness in it.’

‘Mother says I’m just an odd fish,’ an adolescent Turing tells Morcom. And he was certainly that: socially awkward, scornful of convention, a man more interested in ideas than people, who believed the only authority worth respecting was reason.

It is a role that might have been tailor-made for Cumberbatch, and which he captures beautifully. Photographs show Turing as shorter and stockier, but Cumberbatch’s performance, one thinks, is surely exactly how he sounded and behaved – although, surprisingly perhaps, there is no existing film or audio recording to confirm it.

To build the character, Cumberbatch was obliged to draw on written descriptions and the memories of Turing’s contemporaries. ‘He was described as having his head down to one side and not making eye contact,’ Cumberbatch says, tipping his head. ‘When he did turn and talk to you he had a wonderful smile and was charismatic and encouraging – and polite and fast – but slowed by this pronounced speech impediment that went…’ – his voice begins to rise – ‘very high in pitch, as well as getting stuck on w-w-words.’

He has, for an instant, become Turing, and just as quickly turned back into Cumberbatch. ‘So it’s about building the elements of that into the storytelling. Of course, you have to compromise because it’s only two hours long. If the stammer was as severe as it actually was in any given moment, it would have been a longer film. And that’s not supposed to be a joke; it’s just a fact.’

‘I spoke to his two nieces,’ he adds. ‘Even though they were very young, what they remembered clearly was feeling confident when he was around because he treated them as human beings – not as things to be seen and not heard; he wasn’t Victorian. And that was a huge eye-opener – oh yes, because he doesn’t differentiate, does he? He doesn’t think gay, straight, child, older, stupid, less stupid. He’s not making those judgments.’

Turing’s sexuality is central to the film. In an age when to be homosexual was to court certain social opprobrium, Turing was necessarily discreet but never apologetic. The police officer who arrested him would later note that he made no attempt to conceal what he had done, instead volunteering a five-page statement outlining his activities – written ‘in a flowing style, almost like prose’. Turing, he concluded, was ‘a very honourable man’.

As the film makes clear, his brief engagement to Joan Clarke was based, at least on Turing’s part, on intellectual compatibility rather than any physical attraction. Turing broke it off when he realised that it was impossible to maintain such a relationship, telling Clarke that he was homosexual.

Turing’s biographer, Andrew Hodges, on whose book The Imitation Game is loosely based, has been reported as saying the film exaggerates Clarke’s role in Turing’s life. And some critics have taken it to task for not being ‘sexually explicit’ enough, on the grounds that there are no scenes of Turing sexually involved with another man. His feelings for Morcom are conveyed by no more than longing glances.

Cumberbatch is mystified by the criticism. ‘For me there’s explicit love in the film, and the fact of his sexuality being homosexual doesn’t make any difference. If it would have added to the film, we’d have done it. I’d have no qualms about filming those scenes, expressing that side of a character’s relationship to his body. It’s partly to do with the logical loop of the film, the poetical loop. It’s about what’s not seen, it’s about secrets, what’s repressed – and his sexuality was. This is a man who’s never going to be allowed to love, and that’s really his tragedy and the tragedy of the film.’

Andrew Hodges has noted that the field in which Turing was a pioneer was ‘not “science”, not “applied mathematics”, but a sort of applied logic, something that had no name’. There is always a danger in any film attempting to depict genius that the complexity of their work will be lost on a general audience – a pitfall that The Imitation Game avoids by demonstrating that Turing’s genius was of a rarefied kind, and that his invention for mechanically decoding messages was a revolutionary breakthrough, without belabouring us with the details of exactly how.

Cumberbatch achieved a B in GCSE maths – not quite enough, he acknowledges, to ‘even handle a quadratic equation’. But he devoted a good deal of time – ‘probably more than I should have done’ – to trying to understand Turing’s work. ‘I’m determined to manufacture at least the appearance of mastering whatever it is the character has to master, because otherwise there’s no point. But also, just as a layman, I’m fascinated by it. He was making a massive leap forward in the idea of anything computable being mechanised. It was the beginning of the binary coding of computers. Within that, he wrote some of the most extraordinary algorithms, which were used to break the Enigma code, and which are still used in web-search programs like Google today.’

Turing is the second real person Cumberbatch has tackled as an actor in almost as many years – he played Julian Assange in the 2013 film The Fifth Estate. ‘I learnt my lesson with Assange that you cannot get too involved in the subject matter; that you have to focus on the character,’ he says. ‘But at the same time that was such a current story I wanted to do him justice; I didn’t want to serve him up as being some kind of two-dimensional villain. I wanted to make him into a flawed hero basically.’

Is that how he sees Assange? He stiffens slightly. ‘I’ve talked a lot about how I see him. You can dig up a quote from before and use that if you like.’

It’s a sore point. Assange objected to Cumberbatch playing him in the film, to the point of writing him a letter (which Wikileaks published, along with a copy of the script) begging him to withdraw – ‘which was incredibly beautiful, charming, polite, very persuasive, charismatic…’ Cumberbatch rattles off the adjectives.

Really? I thought it was deeply creepy, a mixture of flattery and veiled threat. For instance, ‘I believe you are a good person, but I do not believe that this film is a good film… If the film reaches distribution we will forever be correlated in the public imagination. Our paths will be forever entwined…’

Cumberbatch raises his eyebrows, cups his hand over his mouth and whispers, ‘I know.’

‘There was a huge amount of passive aggression in that. I’m not stupid. I knew what he was doing; I knew that he was blindsiding me with praise, thinking my ego would be massaged by some fat, fictitious pay cheque or the idea of being “a movie star” by playing him, and that would persuade me to be some talking piece for the State Department. I wrote back a very strong email that, unless he shows it, will never see the light of day. It’s one of the best pieces of writing I’ve ever done, I’m proud to say, and he was very polite in response. But I don’t feel the need to publish that correspondence, and I’m not going to talk about it.’

None the less it is interesting that, like The Fifth Estate, The Imitation Game should be dealing with the question of secrets, particularly given the revelations last year about the surveillance programmes of GCHQ, the government spy centre that grew out of Bletchley Park.

‘It sort of is, but more important is the idea that the man at the centre of it, who was persecuted for being different, still stands sadly for a lot of persecution that goes on around the world today. That’s what terrifies me – that it’s as prevalent now, and that this is how we treated one of our war heroes, and a great scientist, someone who’s up there with Charles Darwin; he should be on banknotes. I don’t think Alan set himself up as a martyr, but he sure as hell was treated as one in a sense.’

Cumberbatch’s voice rises in indignation. ‘This was 60 years ago – here, in this country! Giving a man injections to turn him into something desexualised, that ruined his brain. He was being given weekly oestrogen doses and at one point the doctor said, this is a bit embarrassing for both us; why don’t I give you an implant so you don’t have to keep coming back for these appointments every week. He was given the implant in his thigh. It was supposed to stop after two years, and it didn’t.

‘A colleague of his whom I spoke to told me Turing had said, “It’s not really cricket, is it” – being wry and humorous about it. But then one night he pulled out a carving knife from the kitchen drawer and tried to gouge it out of his body.’ Cumberbatch sighs deeply. ‘To reach that state of mind… The only thing he had left to love – that he was legally allowed to love – was his work, and even that was denied him, to the extent that he took his own life by swallowing cyanide.’

Both of Cumberbatch’s parents are actors, on stage and in television. His father works under the name Timothy Carlton; his mother, Wanda Ventham, was a familiar figure on television for her roles in such programmes as Heartbeat and Only Fools and Horses. The couple actually made a cameo appearance in one episode of Sherlock, playing the detective’s parents.

Cumberbatch has a stepsister who is 18 years older than him, by his mother’s first marriage – ‘She baby-sat me’ – but admits that he was as spoilt as if he were an only child. ‘Although “spoilt” implies that you’re ruined… I didn’t have to fight for my proportion of love, attention and food or the things you have to do in larger families. All of their resources were poured into me for my education [Cumberbatch went to Harrow]. But I was aware of that. I would have loved to have had brothers or sisters, or so I thought at the time. I was always very gregarious, and I don’t think they would have sent me to boarding school if I wasn’t confident with stepping away from the nest. I love them, and I always returned to the nest with great joy.’

As a student Cumberbatch taught English to young monks in a Tibetan monastery in Darjeeling. It instilled an interest in Buddhism that has carried on to this day. He describes himself as ‘vaguely’ Buddhist, and he meditates whenever possible. He rattles through the procedure: ‘Concentrating on your breath, the sensations from tip to toe, taking in sounds from outside and letting them pass; the same thing with thoughts.’

It was almost inevitable that he should act. He remembers as a child watching his mother on stage from the wings – ‘whichever Ray Cooney farce it was, probably Run for Your Wife’ – and being transported. ‘The bright lights, and the scenery looking something like a hotel room – just these flimsy things, and feeling this heat come off the stage, and looking out and seeing the enjoyment of the audience and the actors completely absorbed in this world that was paper thin. It was like looking behind the curtain and seeing how a magician does his tricks – and it thrilled me.’

At Harrow he acted in school productions, often taking the female role. His performance in As You Like It, one observer was moved to note, was ‘the best Rosalind since Vanessa Redgrave’.

He went on to study at the University of Manchester and then the London Academy of Music & Dramatic Art. The step to working actor was relatively easy: two seasons of Shakespeare at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre; small parts in television series such as Heartbeat and Silent Witness. For 10 years Cumberbatch was a highly regarded actor, but by no measure a star.

Then, in 2010, came Sherlock. Now he seems to be everywhere, in everthing: a kindly slave-owner in 12 Years a Slave, a Star Trek villain, the voice of Smaug in The Hobbit.

How does he judge his new-found standing? By the number of roles he’s offered? The scale of the film? The size of the fee? He interrupts each question. ‘No… No… No…’

‘What matters to me is the quality and the variety of the work. I’m in it for the long game. I’m interested in working in 40 years’ time, and turning round and talking to an actor on set and telling them stories about working with Judi Dench and Michael Gambon. So any talk of “man of the moment” hype, heat, whatever, I just smile wryly. It’s the same shit with “sexiest whatever” – I was around 10 years before that as an actor and no one took the same face seriously.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s all projection.’

His life, I suggest, must have changed enormously over the past couple of years. ‘Yes, as anyone’s would with the high level of over-exposure at times and that sort of popularity, yeah definitely. But I think the way to normalise is to try to adhere to who and what you did before as much as you can. People have this idea that you’re immediately bubble-wrapped and surrounded by security. I’m not. I get on the Tube and I get on my motorbike. I go to galleries and restaurants and museums and I see people, and they take photographs and I say, “Please don’t,” or whatever seems the appropriate response.

‘The strange thing is walking into a room and knowing that people recognise you, and you don’t know who they are. That’s a different energy that you have to get used to, and some days I’m good at that and some days I’m not. And when I’m not I feel self-conscious. But I still plough on with my day. I don’t scuttle home. I don’t want to live in a world where I have to build high walls.’

He will be back on location tomorrow, up to his eyes in mud. Then there’s the Christmas special of Sherlock, a film project, Hamlet at the Barbican, another series of Sherlock. His energy, I suggest, is inexhaustible.

‘No, I’m human. I’m getting older. I’m 38.’ He catches me rolling my eyes. ‘Yes, you should tell me to f*** off, I’m sure. But I’m acting with people who are half my age, people who are young enough to be my children.’ He pauses, as if this is the first time that has occurred to him. ‘Actually, that’s quite sobering…’

The Imitation Game is released on November 14 [x]

Songs

Levi busks on the street on Mondays, when he’s not working at the grocery store - and Eren ends up taking his lunch to go and just hangs around the corner of Sina and Rose just to listen to Levi sing before his second class of the day. 

And Levi sings - he’s got a well-worn (but extremely well-kept) guitar slung across his shoulder, and nimble hands pick out chords and notes despite the bite of autumn air. He sings about the dead, about freedom, and something in Eren’s chest always aches at the words. 

He drops notes in Levi’s guitar case when he does have change to spare - and Levi starts to nod at him when Eren appears on the street corner around lunchtime.

When it gets colder, Eren brings Levi coffee, partly because he works at the cafe near campus and he gets a discount from Hannes. He works up the courage to walk up to Levi in-between sets, and Levi looks surprised at Eren’s boldness, when their entire interaction had been non-verbal.

“I got an extra coffee, do you want some?” Eren asks, unsure. 

Levi stares at him for a bit, and then nods, taking the cup from Eren gratefully. There isn’t much of a crowd today, so Levi readjusts his grip on his guitar and starts to sip at his coffee. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says, curtly, but Eren can’t seem to mind. In hindsight, he should have probably noticed at this point, that he had grown a little disproportionately fond of his favourite busker.

“I’m Eren, by the way,” Eren offers. Levi nods, repeating the name softly like he’s committing it to memory. 

They talk, a little, before Eren has to go to class. They talk about music, and Eren manages to mention that the lyrics of Levi’s new song are incredible. 

Levi thanks him, using his name, and Eren feels inexplicably warm.

– 

Levi grows used to Eren appearing consistently every week, and looks forward to those days, partly because it’s starting to get cold as fuck and Eren is cute and earnest, and Levi needs to appreciate the small things in life when his fingers are stiff in the cold of autumn. Levi has no idea why the kid keeps coming back, but Eren is genuine when he compliments his songs, and Levi just keeps warming up to him.

Hannes mentions that he’s thinking of clearing up some space at the back of the Cafe to have musicians come in in hopes of livening up business on certain weeknights, and asks if Eren knows anyone.

He approaches Levi the next day.

“Eren,” Levi says, neutrally. Eren grins in reply, and blurts his proposal in a hurry. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to - but it’s warmer than it is on the street, and you’ll probably get some free coffee. Think about it, yeah?" 

Levi agrees to have an answer for Eren soon.

He appears at Shiganshina Coffee on Wednesday, and Eren stumbles on his ‘Welcome to Shiganshina Coffee!’ halfway at the sight of the musician in a leather jacket. 

"Levi! Hi! Uh, what can I get you?” he asks, suddenly terribly self-conscious. Levi seems amused, and places his order quietly. 

Eren’s concentration is off for the rest of his shift. Levi is sitting at a corner of the cafe, writing in a notebook and people-watching. After Eren’s shift ends, he takes off his apron and approaches Levi’s table.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“It’s a nice place. What days are available?” Levi asks. 

Eren grins.

The cafe is quieter than the street, and somebody scrounges up a microphone from somewhere (Hannes has been thinking of this for a long time, it seems), so Eren has the pleasure of hearing Levi sing softer, quieter songs.

Felled in the night

by the ones you think you love,

Felled in the night

by the ones you think you love

Eren changes his shifts to match up with the days Levi is performing, just because he’ll get to see Levi a few times a week rather than just on Mondays. They start becoming friends, and Eren is glad for Levi’s no-bullshit attitude and firm convictions. Levi’s just drawn to Eren in his entirety - his mannerisms and his stubborn righteousness, his hard-headed naiveté, and the attentive expression Eren always has on his face when he listens to Levi’s songs. 

 

Levi ends up staying even after the Cafe starts to close, keeping Eren company when he takes the closing shift. Eren is humming one of Levi’s songs under his breath as he cleans without knowing, and is surprised when Levi softly sings the lines in time with him.

He blushes as he looks at Levi, embarrassed, but the older man is just staring steadily at him, voice low in the quiet of the empty cafe. The air seems thick, and it’s as though Levi is waiting for Eren to do something.

He knows his voice is decent, though nothing like Levi’s, Eren can carry a tune. So softly, tentatively, he starts on the next line.

“But you’ve gone somewhere deeper.

Are you going to age with grace?”

Levi looks pleased, lips quirking up when he hears Eren’s voice, voice coming stronger, urging Eren to go louder.

They finish the chorus, and its incredibly quiet, both men still amidst stacked chairs. Eren’s phone chimes and breaks the moment, and he hurries off to finish cleaning, Levi watching him all the while.

That night, Eren is unable to sleep. He thinks of Levi, instead. There are lyrics in his head and in the quiet of his room, he wishes he could hear the soft strumming of a guitar. 

Eren is skittish around Levi after that, and while they’ve never so much as brushed hands, the memory of that night makes Eren’s fingers slip on soy milk cartons and mess up customer orders. 

Levi simply takes to watching Eren as he works, silently amused by the newfound carelessness. He writes new songs, and more and more of them have a quiet optimism, his voice rounding out over words as he looks at Eren. 

It takes a couple of weeks, but Eren edges nearer to Levi, curious about the new songs. 

“They’re beautiful.” he says, as the last chord hangs in the air between them. 

Levi’s lips quirk a little at that, but he doesn’t reply. Eren fidgets, and decides to just ask.

“Hey, do you want to go get coffee sometime?” he says, and immediately cringes at how awkward it sounds.

Levi snorts. “We’re in a cafe, Eren.”

“I know! I mean, argh. Just answer me, please.” Eren asks, aggrieved and mortified.

“You avoid me for two weeks and this is what I get?” Levi replies, sighing in mock-resignation. He sets his guitar carefully in its case as Eren sputters.

He turns to the boy, the infuriating, clueless boy, and steps right up in his personal space, mildly irritated that this kid is taller than him by a good amount. 

“Sure, lets do coffee,” he breathes softly, looking up at Eren steadily. He’d be more nervous, but Eren is already high-strung enough for the both of them, and Levi hasn’t been so sure of something for a very long time. Eren’s shoulders drop with relief, and he smiles shyly, bright and happy and guileless. 

“Um,” he starts, eyes darting to Levi’s lips then skittering away as though afraid of being caught. 

“God,” Levi mutters in mild irritation as he hooks a finger around one strap of Eren’s cafe apron, pulling him close. 

He kisses him, softly. Eren makes this strange noise at the back of his throat before returning the kiss. When they part, the boy looks dazed, almost like he can’t believe what just happened.

It felt like we were waiting for years

In the quiet of nights that don’t end

Your limp wings can’t hold you up

But I am here

I am here

I am here. 

————–

(A/N): Hi long time no see guys. ;A; I uh. Have been listening to so much Bastille? I really wanted something quiet, but I’m not sure I think this got away from me a little too much. But just let it be known that I have a lot of feelings about people finding each other in ordinary yet extraordinary ways. There are a lot of special amazing people in the world and I just want everyone to be happy and to find each other and be well. ;A;

BUT SINGING LEVI! CAN YOU IMAGINE. He’s so quiet and taciturn but seriously I bet you he’s stupidly earnest in his music, sorrowful and regretful, eyelids lowered as he sings into the mic, and Eren just staring because this really should just be a really mundane scene, but why has time stopped still? 

EDIT: The first song referenced is 'Daniel in the Den’ by Bastille. 
The second song is 'Oblivion’ by Bastille (also really this version is amazing)

The last isn’t really a song I wrote sad poetry and used it, so if the last one didn’t seem to fit that’s probably why! :>  

It’s Friday and my coffee (French press + Kerrygold + coconut oil + blender) is really good. Let’s focus on that and ignore all those little flyaway hairs. Thanks.

CrossFit was pretty great last night. I got to 100 on a high hang clean + front squat complex, and since 95ish is usually where I panic in complex, I feel really good about it. Long story short, for most of my CrossFitting we only power cleaned, so getting down quickly is not instinctive, and that blows. After that complex I told my coach “I could probably clean a lot … if I knew how to clean.” Baby steps, right?

The metcon (1000 m row, 100 doubles (scaled to 200 singles because ha!), 800 m row) was gross. My rowing totally fell apart. 

Today is front squats, and my quads are already crying. I should change and foam roll at some point.

Scott ordered Voodoo Floss and bands (for mobility things) last night, and he’s buying hooks for us to put the bands on after work. Brb opening a mini CrossFit in my apartment.

In non-CrossFitty things, platesandweights had me jonesing for a burger yesterday, so I made them for dinner and ughhhh, so good — especially after chicken all week.

So looking forward to the weekend. We’re having a Friendsgiving with gym people (mmm, food), we’re snatching tomorrow and I’m hoping for a lot of pajama time.