Imagine arguing with Carisi about Italy versus Greece
Imagine arguing with Carisi about Italy versus Greece
(A/N So I was watching Full House whilst doing some Latin homework and I got inspired. This imagine has more of specific ethnicity involved just due to story-telling purposes. I hope thats okay. I just couldn’t think of another way for it to work and I really wanted to write this. I just thought this would be really cute and funny.)
Your whole life you’d always been classified as ‘exotic’ looking. That’s what people said when they first met you. You think it’s because they were too scared to ask what you actually were so you were just branded as ‘exotic’. You guess because no one could really pin point what exactly you were just by looking at you. The few who did ask got the answer of ‘New York’ only for them to come back with but ‘Yeah, but where originally?”.
Unlike all the other times in your life when you first joined SVU it wasn’t their first question. They just wanted to get to know you, as a person and most importantly as a cop. You fit easily into the squad. You spent most of your time with Carisi who was your partner. Carisi was great detective and even better partner. You guys meshed easily and worked well off each other. He opened up easily while you were slightly more reserved. He liked to talk about his childhood, his family and was clearly proud of his Italian heritage. I mean he brings cannolis in every Friday for everyone to snack on and always insisted on pizza when you wanted takeout for an all nighter at the office.
You yourself weren’t as passionate about your heritage. It was much harder for you. Your Dad was Indian-American while your mother was born on the island Icaria, Greece. You’d always been split heritage wise. Though you’d always had a secret favour over your Greek background mostly because your mother didn’t. They’d met on your mother’s semester abroad to New York. They married after six months of meeting and were pregnant with you within the the first year. Your mother did as much as she could to drop her foreigner namesake. She changed her name, lost her accent and became ‘americanised’ your grandmother liked to say. Your mother didn’t teach you anything about her home country. She wanted you to be a proper american like your father. All the education you got were on your spasmodic trips to Greece during summer vacation to see your Grandparents and also when your Grandparents took their yearly trip to New York to see you. They made up for what your mother refused to teach you. Teaching you about the food, culture and language. You were fluent in English as well as Greek before you turned seven much to your mothers dismay. I guess she was desperate for you to fit in as she couldn’t.
You did end up a ‘typical’ american despite your exotic looks which ironically are mostly due to your Father who is in all senses is raised and bred New Yorker.
Though like most people who know two or more languages you had a tendency to switch the two when you weren’t focusing or riled up. You always kept yourself in check at work as you thought it was unprofessional.
Carisi nor anyone else on the squad had never asked or been slightly interested in your own heritage until after a particular infuriating phone-call with an extremely uncooperative business over.
“No court in the land offers florist-client privileged Sir.” you argued down the phone.
You listened to his argument and rolled your eyes. Demanding a subpoena for his oh so precious files. This was third florist you’d call on this hunch you had. And now you’s finally had enough of all the stonewalling taking place on this god-forsaken case.
“No.No.No. You listen to this Sir. A girl was attacked and all you care about is your stupid non existent client privilege which news flash doesn’t existence. This conversation is over. Ánte gamísou.” you swore before hanging up the phone.
You raked back your hair with your hand and leaned back in your chair. Sighing heavily in annoyance.
“You alright?” Carisi asked peering over at you from behind his file.
“Just peachy.” you smiled unenthusiastically.
“You would have gotten that information easy if you had gone their in person. You’re a lot more ‘convincing’ in person, if you know what I mean.” he winked.
“I’ll keep that in mind for when I convince IAB I didn’t strangle you to death.” you fired back looking down and shuffling some papers.
“Charming.So what did you say at the end, exactly?” he asked leaning forward from his desk opposite you.
“Go fuck yourself.” you replied not looking up.
“But you didn’t say it like that.” he commented.
Then you finally understood what he was getting at. You hadn’t realised what you had actually said or in what language you’d wait it in.
“I said it in Greek didn’t I?” you asked sighing already knowing the answer.
“Oh so that’s what it was.” he understood nodding his head.
“Yep.” you answered awkwardly.
“I didn’t know you were Greek.” he said.
“You never asked.” you posted out.
“Your right but I am asking now. Who are you, detective Y/N Y/L/N?” he asked suddenly curious.
You told him about your past, your heritage and your life prior to SVU. You were actually surprised of how little he knew about you despite your eight month partnership. You realised how little you’d actually told him. He sat back talking all in, he seemed to genuinely care about who you were as if he’d always wanted to know.
“I mean I get why you didn’t say anything.” he said at the end of your explanation.
“And why’s that?” you asked curious, raising an eyebrow.
“I mean I get why you didn’t say your originally from Greece because I’m originally from Italy. You knew that you couldn’t compete. I get it. It’s okay.” he replied shrugging his shoulders
“Seriously?” you repeated.
“Yeah. Come on Y/N. You got to know about the rivalry between Greece and Italy and you’ve got to know that Italy got you beat!” he explained.
“How so?” you questioned skeptical.
“Just in general. We invented pizza, Y/N. How can you top that?” he stated.
“Alright, you may beat us in the food department but that’s all you got. Us Greeks got you beat in everything else.” you fired back.
“I don’t think so. Modern society is based on the society of the Roman empire.” he informed.
“You mean ancient Greek society. Roman society was heavily influenced aka stolen from the ancient Greeks. And it’s not all you stole, you stole the theatre and out structural innovations. The building your standing in is here because of us. And let’s not forget music. Greeks invented music!” you argued passionately.
“And Italians perfected it.” he shot back.
“You now I’m right. I’m not having this argument.” you countered standing up.
“Come on, where you going Y/N? Getting a plate so you can smash it?” he teased.
“Only if I can do it on your head!” you joked.
“Seriously though. Where you going?” he asked.
“To get dinner. I’m thinking Greek. I know this place and I’m pretty sure it’s still open.” you teased pulling on your coat.
“Oh no we’re not.” he said standing up and grabbing his won coat off his chair, “I know a great Italian place a couple blocks away.”
“Ahh come on Sonny. We always get Italian. How about we have Moussaka with baklava for desert.” you suggested hopefully.
“Even if I knew what they were. I’d still say no and you know why because you can’t beat a good bowl of pasta or a slice of pizza. My place has the best pizza. Ha la fetta migliore in città.” he argued.
“I’m not having this argument with you here.” you sighed.
“Fine. We’ll have it in the car.” he said pulling you along by the arm.
You protested half heartedly as he dragged you out the squad-room to your car. If only you knew how often after your confession that you two would be having this argument. Maybe you wouldn’t have said anything. The all nighters you’d pull together, your first date, your wedding day and even your kids birthdays you two would have the same debate. Italian versus Greek.
Request: “Tell me, did you even love me?” with Ashton Summary: you try to move on, Ashton doesn’t necessarily make it easy
You smile at your date over the rim of your glass as he tells
you a fun story from work. He’s nice, you think, and he makes you laugh. Contrary
to girls who are attracted to jerks, you’ve always had a soft spot for boys who
spread light and happiness everywhere around them. Your ex could attest to that;
the literal sunshine he is.
You sigh as you realize you’re thinking about Ashton again.
Then again, the fact that the boys are back in town has somewhat rattled you.
Michael texted this morning, warning you that they were here, in case anything
happened. He’s the only one you’ve stayed in contact since the mess of a
break-up a few months ago.
“Hey, I need to use the bathroom,” Jake tells you.
“Sure go,” you say distractedly.
It’s been about a month since you’ve installed the Tinder
app, and to your surprise, it’s actually provided you with pretty good dates.
This is the second time you meet up with Jake, who attracted your attention
with his ridiculously goofy pictures. As it is, you’re glad you met him and
have decided he deserves a real chance, even if your heart’s not in it.
You drink a bit more water and it’s truly a wonder that you
don’t choke when an all-too-familiar voice sounds near you.
Finding the best slice is one thing. Finding the best pizza box is another thing entirely.
In Viva La Pizza!, Scott Wiener delves into his collection of over 600 pizza boxes… and explains the logic behind their design. The boxes have to look appetizing, but they also have to retain the right amount of heat, let out enough steam, and remain adequately horizontal. Remember, there’s precious stuff in there.
(Yeah, that one box actually does have a real puzzle on it)
Watch out Wharton. There’s a new champ in town. Only a week old and killing it, La Forchetta is as authentic as it gets. You can tell it’s a traditional Sicilian family owned restaurant but with a modern appeal. I entered right before closing and they were happy to serve me.
I started with the ham, chicken, and honey mustard. The honey mustard drizzle was quite pleasant on the taste buds. Toppings, as you can see, were far from skimped.
And that goes for the buff chick slice as well. Bleu Cheese to hot sauce ratio was on point. AND LOOK AT ALL THAT CHICKEN.
The tomato-ricotta-chicken slice was a piece of art. I’ve had slices with diced tomato where you can tell they were from a can. This was not the case here. Crisp and fresh. And the cheeeeeese, my god you would think it was from Vitamia & Sons!
Finally the plain slice. The size of this slice was reminiscent of the ones you get stumbling drunk into a Hoboken spot at 3am. THE SAWCE! Oh the sawce. It reminds me of my Grandma’s homemade recipe. I thought I’d never taste sawce like it again. THE CRUST. Definitely the best part out of all these slices. Waiting for me at the end of my pizza slice journey like a beautiful trophy at the finish line. It was perfected. Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. So good I had to text Paul as soon as I left. This might just be a new contender in the best of the county title.