#Kitchen Canister Set of 3: How to Canister Set | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

springtyme · 10 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 ♡

Carmy x afab!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

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chapter summary: You and your neighbor share a cigarette, and you have an unexpected chat with his sister... Carmy kind of wants to strangle Richie.

word count: 7.4k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Smoking. Food. Angst and fluff. Hurt/comfort. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Strangers to friends to lovers. The beef as found family. Set in season one.

a/n: This chapter was supposed to be about twice as long, but we are gonna wait with the rest till next chapter. this might mean that there will end up being an extra chapter in the end.

"I need some sleep It can't go on like this I tried counting sheep But there's one I always miss"

“I’m Carmen… Carmen Berzatto.”

Oh… Now the pieces start to fall into place - the tattoos, the exhaustion, the haunted look in his eyes that felt so familiar. A mix of sadness and understanding washes over you.

“But uh… Carmy is fine,” he adds, the tiniest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Nice to meet you, Carmy.” You smile at him before telling him your own name, feeling a little embarrassed you didn’t tell him earlier, and a short silence follows, before you gently clear your throat. “Well, shall we?”

“Yeah.” Carmy responds with a small nod of his head as he follows you down the hallway towards your apartment. The short walk feels oddly awkward and comforting at the same time.

As you step inside, you gesture for Carmy to follow you into the kitchen. You turn on the cabinet lights and motion for him to take a seat or stand wherever he prefers before grabbing a couple of mugs from the cupboard. There is still hot water on the kettle for you to make a new cup of tea.

“You want normal or decaf?” you ask, holding up the coffee canister. Carmen’s tired eyes light up a little at the mention of coffee.

“Normal, please, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon, and I have to leave for work in three hours” he lets out a soft, breathy sound, something between a sight and a chuckle, the sound weary but genuine, and a clear touch of gratitude in his voice. You put a filter in the coffee maker and pour the coffee grounds into it, the aroma slowly beginning to fill the air. As the coffee brews, you plop a tea bag into your own mug before pouring in the hot water. You take a moment to glance at him, his tired expression evident as he leans against the counter.

You notice the way his eyes flicker around the room, taking in the small details of your kitchen that must be mirroring his own, before his gaze lands on you. Your eyes meet for a split second before you quickly look down at your steeping tea, feeling how your pulse quickens slightly from getting caught staring.

You clear your throat and decide to break the silence. “So, how does a chef end up starting a kitchen fire at 3 in the morning?” you say in an attempt to lighten up the mood, but you immediately cringe at yourself, it probably wasn’t the most tactful question to ask. You’re not normally this awkward, but you also don’t normally have strangers in your apartment in the middle of the night like this.

“I-ehm… I was actually cooking in my sleep, I woke up to the fire alarm.” He confesses, sounding a little embarrassed as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh,” is all you say, not really knowing what else to come up with. You take a moment to process Carmen’s response, trying not to let your surprise show on your face. Cooking in his sleep? That certainly wasn’t a typical explanation for starting a kitchen fire. “I guess sleepwalking and cooking don’t mix well,” you end up replying, feeling a bit silly for stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding in agreement. “I suppose not.” his voice laced with exhaustion, and another long stretch of silence unfolds between you. You are just about to open your mouth to say something to break it - what, you don’t even know, but you are saved by the coffee machine beeping, indicating that the coffee is ready. You quickly pour the hot coffee into a mug, happy for the natural interruption of the awkward silence.

“Cream and sugar?” you ask him, smiling politely.

Carmy nods gratefully. “Just a little cream, please.” You carefully pour a dash of cream into the mug, watching as it swirls and mixes with the fragrant dark coffee before placing the mug in front of Carmen. He takes a sip, his tired eyes closing momentarily as he savors the warmth.

“Thank you,” he says softly, the gratitude evident in his voice. You just smile at him. Taking your tea, you lean against the counter on the opposite side of him.

The two of you fall into a now more comfortable silence, the only sound filling the room being the occasional sip of coffee or tea. You cannot help but glance over at him every now and then, taking in the tired lines of his face, the way his eyes seem to hold a thousand untold stories.

After a few moments of sipping your tea in silence, Carmen breaks the silence, pointing at one of the pictures on your fridge. “Is that from Copenhagen?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you look over at the picture. “Yeah, it is. I got a job offer here in Chicago and thought that it might be time to try something new, I moved here six months ago, but before that I lived in Copenhagen. I like it here, and I’m really enjoying my new job, but I do miss it.”

“Yeah, Copenhagen’s really beautiful,” he says, still looking at the picture.

You lean forward, feeling a spark of conversation ignite between you and Carmen. “So, you’ve been?”

“Yeah, I actually lived there for a while, when I worked at Norma.” He says it so casually, but you can’t help but feel a surge of surprise at his casual mention of working at a renowned three-Michelin-star restaurant.

“Wow, that’s really cool,” you say, genuinely impressed. “What was it like?”

Carmy smiles softly, a nostalgic glint in his tired eyes. “It was intense, but also really… rewarding?” he says, his voice trailing off slightly as if lost in memories. “The chefs there pushed me to my limits, I learned so much during my time there, but, yeah, it was definitely hectic...” He pauses, a hint of melancholy in his voice, he seems to be caught in his own thoughts for a moment before he lightly shakes his head and turns his attention back to you. “What about you, what do you work with?”

“I work in theater, I’m a scenographer,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride as you talk about your passion. “I design and create the visual aspects of the stage production, from the sets to the props and the costumes. It’s a lot of work, but I really love it.”

Carmen’s tired eyes light up with interest. “that sounds really cool. It must be amazing to see your designs come to life on stage.”

“It is,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “It can be really demanding sometimes, but seeing everything come together during a performance… It’s like the best feeling I know. To know that your hard work is helping give people an experience. I really like that feeling”

He looks at you with a newfound glint in his eyes. You feel a warmth spreading through your chest from the way his eyes sparkle with genuine interest. “I think I know what you mean,” he responds, a sense of understanding passing between you. “It’s like when you create something with your hands and then see the final product, it’s a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.”

“Exactly,” you nod in agreement, feeling a sense of understanding with Carmen in that moment that you haven’t felt in a long time. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, both lost in your own thoughts for a short moment before he breaks the quiet.

“But, I’ll have to admit, I don’t really go to the theater that much,” he says, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Or like, at all.”

You chuckle softly, the conversation now flowing easily between you. “Well, don’t feel bad, most people don’t. And, I’ll also have to admit that I don’t really go to Michelin restaurants that often either… or at all.” This makes Carmy laugh – it’s soft and short lived, but genuine, and your heart sillily skips a beat by the gentle melody of it.

“That’s fair, but I’m not working at Michelin places anymore,” he says, his voice losing a bit of its newfound bravado and his smile falters slightly, a shadow passing over his features. “My brother, Mikey…” Oh… Michael was his brother, you feel a pang of sadness wash over you as you piece together the connection. “He left me his restaurant, It’s an old shithole of a beef spot. I’m trying to get it back on its feet, but it’s been a struggle, you know?”

You can see the weight of his words behind his tired eyes, the burden of responsibility and loss bearing down on him.

“I was in New York… I was the Chef de Cuisine at the Eleven Madison Park, and now I’m back here, trying to revive this place that I can’t even believe is still standing,” Carmen’s voice fades a bit at the end of his sentence, a sense of resignation and disbelief evident in his words. “It’s fucking bullshit.” You can hear the frustration and sadness in his voice, and you feel a surge of empathy for him. “But it also means fucking everything to me,” he adds, his eyes unfocused and tired as he gazes off into the distance before blinking and lightly shaking his head, his pale cheek redding a little.

He looks embarrassed at his little outburst, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his curls in frustration. “Sorry,” he murmurs, the word hanging in the air as he looks down at his coffee mug. You can see the conflicted emotions swirling in his eyes, the weight of his past and present struggles evident in his posture.

“No need to apologize,” you reassure him, and another stretch of silence settles between you, the weight of his words lingering in the air. You don’t really know what else to say, so you don’t say anything, letting the quiet moment linger as you both sip your drinks, the only sound filling the room being the steady hum of the refrigerator.

The atmosphere hangs heavy with the weight of Carmen’s words, and you can sense how he is starting to shut down. So, instead of pushing for more conversation, you decide to take another approach.

“Hey, uhm, can I bum one?” you ask, nodding towards the pack of cigarettes you had watched him put in his pants pocket when you had entered your apartment. You have your own, and you try not to smoke at night, but you make an exception, you crave the comfort of a cigarette and Carmen looks like he does too, and being able to offer you a cigarette might make him feel like he has something to offer and ease the tension.

Carmen’s tired eyes flicker for a second, like he is being pulled out of deep thoughts before looking back at you again.

“Yeah, of course,” he replies, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket and handing you the entire pack. “I would have gone down on the street…” he begins to explain before trailing off.

You shake your head, cutting him off with a smile. “No need, If you’re fine with the fire escape we can go out there,” you offer in a gentle tone.

Carmen’s tired expression softens at your offer, and he nods in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The two of you make your way to the window, cracking it open to let in some fresh air before climbing out onto the fire escape. The metal stairs creaking slightly with each step as the cool night air greets you as you both settle against the railing, the distant sound of the city humming below you.

You pull out a cigarette and pop it between your lips before handing back the packet to Carmy. He takes one, lighting it with a flick of his lighter, the orange flame illuminating his tired face. He has a scar, you notice, on his right cheek, which you hadn’t noticed before. It looks like an old wound, faded and barely noticeable in the dim light of the night. You can’t help but wonder how he got it, but you are pulled out of your thoughts as he flickers on the lighter again, this time holding it out for you to light your cigarette.

You lean in, the flame dancing before your eyes, casting a warm glow on your face. As you inhale, pulling life into the cigarette, the smoke swirls around you in the night air, the ember glowing brightly in the darkness. “Thanks,” you mumble, as you exhale, letting the smoke escape through your nose as you lean back again.

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, the only sounds being the never-quiet ambience of Chicago from the streets below. The night air is cool against your skin, but also somewhat refreshing, and the warmth of the cigarettes and the close proximity of Carmen keeps you feeling cozy and content.

The weight of the conversation from earlier still lingers, but as you gaze out at the city skyline, a sense of peace washes over you. You smoke the entire cigarette in silence before Carmen breaks the quiet. “Did you know Mikey?”

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before responding, the few memories you have of Michael flooding back to you.

“I don’t know if I knew him. We weren’t close, but we were neighbors for a few months. He was always friendly whenever we crossed paths in the hallway,” you say, watching Carmen closely for any sign of emotion. “I had my couch delivered about a week after I moved in, and despite having ordered it to be brought up to my apartment, the delivery guys just left it down on the street. Michael came down. I think he was on his way to work, and this guy came to pick him up and after asking me what happened, they just picked it up and started carrying it up for me. I tried to stop them, I was so scared, they’d throw their backs out,” you chuckle softly at the memory. “He didn’t have to do that, but he did anyway. I tried to thank them afterwards, venmo them or something, but they just waved it off.”

Carmen listens quietly, his eyes focused on some distant point in the night sky, a flicker of emotion passing through his expression before he clears his throat softly. “Sounds like him,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with memories as he lights another smoke, silently handing the pack over to you.

You take one, grateful for the distraction as you light it and take a long drag, the smoke swirling around you as you exhale. The quiet moment lingers between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. You can feel Carmen’s grief and exhaustion radiating off of him, the burden of loss and responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

The silence stretches, and you start to worry that your story about the couch wasn’t the right thing to say, that maybe you had overstepped by bringing up memories of his brother. You rack your brain for something else to say, anything to lighten the mood or make him feel better, but you come up empty. Instead, you simply sit in silence, the only sounds being the gentle buzz of the city below and the occasional drag of your cigarettes.

You can sense that Carmen is grappling with his own thoughts, his tired eyes gazing out at the twinkling lights below, lost in his own world. After a while, he breaks the silence, dumping his cigarette butt in the rusty tin can you have standing out here for the purpose.

“I should probably get out of your hair and let you get some rest,” Carmen says, his voice resigned but appreciative.

You nod in understanding, feeling a sense of disappointment at the thought of him leaving so soon. A part of you wants to tell him to stay, but you also understand that he probably needs some time to himself. “Yeah, of course,” you reply, trying to keep your voice light and he gets up.

The polite, well mannered side of you tells you to get up and follow him to the door, but your intuition tells you to stay. It seems like he needs some space to process his thoughts and feelings, and you don’t want to intrude on that. So, instead, you simply smile at him and nod towards the window. “Thanks for the company, Carmy. And hey, if you ever burn down your kitchen again, don’t hesitate to knock on my door, okay?” you tease, you want to say something deeper, but you hold back, not wanting to push too much.

Carmen lets out a soft chuckle, his tired eyes lighting up with a hint of amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the coffee and the chat,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips as he gives you a small wave before disappearing back into the apartment. A few seconds later you hear the click of the front door closing after him, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

You sit there for a while longer, the cigarette between your fingers slowly burning out. The weight of the night settles around you, the city’s hum a distant lullaby. You take one last drag of your cigarette, scrunching your nose at the light burn of your lips as you realize it had burned down to the filter.

With a sigh you dispose of the butt in the tin can, letting it join the others, before standing, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the city lights twinkling below. The night air is crisp against your skin, the silence of the night wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You stand there for a little while longer, lost in your thoughts as your tired eyes capture the beauty of the cityscape below you. The events of the evening swirl around in your mind, the unexpected encounter with Carmy. You don’t know if you overstepped any boundaries, if you said the right things, or if you offered enough support. But you hope you did the right thing.

With a final sigh, you step back inside, closing the window behind you and letting the night air dissipate. The apartment, that has felt empty since you moved in, feels even emptier now, and that is when you realize that Carmen had been the first person who you have invited into your home since you moved to Chicago. You can’t help but ponder over that as you head back to the kitchen to clean up and finish your tea. Maybe you should invite some of your coworkers over sometime, or actually start on trying to make some friends here.

You go over to the coffee maker to pour out the leftover coffee in the pot, but you are surprised when you see that it has already been done, and the mug Carmen had used is hanging from the drying rack, along with the other dishes that had been sitting in the sink waiting for you to finally rack up the energy to wash, now cleaned.

Maybe it’s just because you really, really hate washing dishes or maybe it’s the realization that you have been more lonely than you realized, but the sight makes a weird feeling settle in your chest, and it is too much for you to start processing right now, so you simply set down your mug on the counter and turn on your heel, leaving the kitchen and head to bed. Had you stayed in the dark kitchen for just a short while longer, you might have noticed the forgotten phone next to the sink.

You make your way to your bedroom, peeling off your hoodie and sweatpants before sinking into the comfort of your bed, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you, that you’re not ready to decipher. All you really want to do right now is to let all thoughts and feelings fade away into the peaceful void of sleep. You don’t have work tomorrow, thank god, so you allow yourself to drift off without setting an alarm, letting the warm duvet envelop you as the beating of your heart slowly lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

· · · · ·

Carmen is flipping through the pages of the folder, he’s barely registering the ideas and suggestions she had put together for the restaurant.. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, really doesn’t want to, but all this is a lot and he can’t really deal with a lot right now.

He can feel the beginning of the well-known pounding in his temples, another day, another headache. He wants to be able to fix this place, and he is happy that Sydney wants to help with that, but all he can focus on right now is to get through the day. There is three hours to opening, one of the fucking ballbreaker machines are broken, and he can’t find his fucking phone, he thinks he might have forgotten it at home, he was a bit of a zombie when he left this morning. Last night was something… he’ll probably need 3-5 business days to process, or even better repress it completely from his memory, despite it being difficult.

“On page 27, randomly, there’s actually some pretty good layouts of just that,” Sydney says, clearly trying to sound casual, but her voice betrays a hint of eagerness.

“Page 27?” he asks, feeling overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s mostly graphics,” Syd replies.

He knows Sydney’s right, she is smart and capable, and he is not doubting that she has a bunch of good ideas. She is probably way more qualified to run a business than he is, or ever will be, but he can’t see how any of this is realistic. She is right, they are sleeping on to-go’s, but there is no way they’ll be able to manage that right now.

And, yeah, there is no doubt that they need to make some serious changes, but all Carmen can focus on right now is to keep his head above water. He has issues keeping vendors current, and even scraping enough together to actually pay the staff.

“Yo, Carm!” Marcus voice calls out, interrupting them. Carmen hands the folder back to Sydney before stepping out of the little office to see what’s now going on.

Following Marcus’s voice, Carmy swings the doors open to the front of the house where he finds the baker leaning against the front of the counter, and Richie standing behind it with a woman, probably around his mothers age, who Carmy’s never seen before.

“Yo, what’s going on?” Carmy asks, trying to push aside the headache that is threatening to take over while trying to understand what’s going on with Sydney hot on his heels.

“No. I can handle this myself, cousin. I got this,” Richie tells him, holding his hand up as Carmen steps into the room. “So… You’re not Ron…” Richie says, now addressing the woman.

“Ron’s gone. Gone, gone,” she answers, which isn’t helping Carmen understand the situation in the slightest.

“Ron’s dead?!” Marcus exclaims, leaning a little further over the counter.

“Who is Ron?” Carmy asks, trying to get a handle on the situation.

The woman turns towards Carmen. “My partner Ron Pager. He passed away. I’m running his routes now.”

“Everybody’s dying,” Richie says, annoyed, making a half turn in frustration.

“Nancy Chore, Chicago Board of Health,” the woman introduces herself, offering an explanation to Carmen. “I’m here to inspect the property.”

Of, course… An inspection, why the fuck not?! Just what this day needed…

“Okay, Nancy, hi. I’m Carmen Berzatto,” he extends his hand, introducing himself. “I’m the owner.”

“He’s the owner’s brother actually. He’s also dead,” Richie says, causing a raised eyebrow from the older woman.

“He doesn’t look dead.”

“No, no I’m not dead. My brother is dead.” Carmen clarifies, even though he feels a bit dead right now.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the woman says with a sympathetic nod.

“I’m sorry for your loss too,” Richie says to the health inspector, not missing a beat as he continues. “Can I see some kind of identification?”

“Yeah,” the woman replies, holding out her very legit looking badge per Richie’s request.

“Interesting,” the taller man says, his arms folded over his chest.

“Is it? What’s interesting about that?” Carmen says, he can’t fucking deal with Richie’s antics right now, he just wants this inspection to be over as soon as possible. Carmy’s been trying to make everyone step up their game in the two weeks he’s been here. He, himself stayed until late last night to deep clean. There shouldn’t be any problems, and if Richie will just behave, everything should be going smoothly… Hopefully.

“It’s an interesting logo on her badge,” Richie says defensively.

Carmy decides to ignore him, turning his attention to the inspector. “Nancy, if you need anything, just find us. Make yourself at home. Okay?” He turns around to go back to the kitchen, he has a lot to do and he doesn’t have time to deal with Richie’s shenanigans right now. “Where’s Tina and Ebra!” he calls out as he makes it back to the kitchen with Sydney following him back again, seemingly not done with telling about her ideas to improve the restaurant.

Carmen had hoped that the interruption would make her forget about it for a while, his head can’t hold any more right now, but he is also mildly curious to hear ideas, and he also doesn’t want to seem like an asshole, it is really nice of her to want to help, so he lets her follow him around as he makes it through the restaurant.

“I also noted on the prog that it’s not necessarily flour that is expensive, but shipping, so we could just have somebody go and pick it up.” Sydney says as they make it back into his office.

“Yeah, Marcus,” Carmen agrees. He can definitely see the logic in that. It’s a good, and actually feasible, idea.

“Okay, sure. Marcus. Great,” she says a little confused.

“No, it can only be Marcus,” Carmy explains.

Sydney makes a face of befuddlement. “Why can it only be Marcus?”

“Sweeps, Tina and Ebra don’t drive,” he clarifies. .

“Uh, well, what about Richie?” she asks questioningly.

“Suspended license.”

“I saw him drive in this morning,” she points out.

Carmy just shrugs, he is not sending a man with a suspended license out driving doing work hours, if Richie wants to risk it on his own time then that’s his business.

Sydney shakes her head lightly, getting back on track. “The point is, it’s one of hundreds of things we can be doing to save costs!”

“Sydney. Sydney. Sydney,” Carmy interrupts her. “Look, I’m sure this is all correct, but it’s a lot. The job you’re describing goes way outside what I can afford to pay a sous, which I can barely afford already. But I hear you. Okay? I have every intention of turning this into an efficient, respectable place of business run by adults…”

He can see that she is about to say something, but before she can get to it she gets interrupted by an outburst from the front of the house. “That’s a fucking ass of shit!” Richie’s voice bellows.

“Eventually…” Carmy sighs, stepping out of the office once again to see what’s happening. “Yo, yo, what’s going on?!” He yells as he pushes through the door to the front again, seeing that most of the staff are already there. A pressing feeling of uneasiness, starting to form in his chest as he steps around the counter to get to where Richie and Ms. Chore is standing, who he had almost forgotten was here.

“Look… It wasn’t dangerous, Ms. Chore…” Richie says defensively, immediately making alarm bells go off in Carmy’s head.

“What’s dangerous?!” Carmy demands to know.

“I discovered a large hole in the tile. Looks like a former gas line next to the stove tops. Not only was it not properly dry walled and caulked, but someone clogged the hole with napkins and proxied over it with some kind of plastic. Grease seeped into the napkins and the proxy became unproxied.” Ms. Chore explains, sounding less than pleased.

“So what does that mean?” Carmy can feel how fury is starting to slowly simmer in his stomach, threatening to soon be brought to a boil.

“A potential cross contaminate. Additionally, no hot water in the hand station.” The older woman explains.

The last part makes both Richie and Syd erupt in protest, their voices overlapping and echoing through the room as they try to explain that the hot water does work, the water just has to run for a little while, which Ms. Chore doesn’t seem to be satisfied with. “Health code states any sink near a prep area needs to deliver instantly hot water to prevent the spread of bacteria.”

Carmen can feel how his headache is now blooming into a full-blown migraine as the chaos unfolds around him. The sound of the voices mixing with the sound of the broken arcade game is starting to feel like an alarm going off in his head. It is like the piercing sound is stabbing through his temples and into his brain. He rubs his forehead, while grabbing the counter with his other hand, trying to ground himself as he tries to push back the throbbing pain. A health code vialation is literally the last fucking thing they need right now.

“I haven’t even delivered the big one yet.” The health inspector continues and Carmen feels how his stomach drops at her words.

“There’s a big one?” Fak says from his seat at the counter.

“And what is the big one?” Carmen asks, breathing through his nose. richie

The woman pulls out a packet of smokes, ‘King Size Sapphire’, Carmen’s eyes immediately looks over at Richie. “Someone left a pack of cigarettes on the stovetop near the burners. Not only very dangerous, but also a potential contaminant.”

“Motherfucker…” Carmy let’s out. The migraine is now pounding behind his eyes.

“You can say that again,” Ms. Chore

“Motherfucker!” Richie echoes, making Carmy’s blood fucking boil .

“Don’t actually say that again, you fucking idiot!” He yells at the taller man, feeling like he could strangle him in this moment.

“Unfortunately, these violations leave me no choice. I award you a C.” Miss Chore holds the cardstock with a giant orange C out to hand over to Carmy, but he doesn’t take it. He can feel the anger and frustration boiling inside of him, threatening to spill over. The orange letter on the paper mocking him.

A choir of protests fills the room as the staff tries to defend themselves, but Carmy can hardly hear them over the pounding in his head.

“You know what, I’m going to caulk that shit right now, okay?” Richie states, trying to plead with Ms. Chore.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter how fast you do it. I can’t come back to test for 30 days,” Ms Chore says, not missing a beat.

“It’ll take five minutes, okay?! It’ll take five minutes to caulk.” Richie tries to bargain. “I can caulk! Let me fucking CAULK!”

“There’s no caulk in the house, dude,” Fak chimes, making Richie yell at him to shut up and Ms. Chore hands over the review paper to Carmy before leaving.

Carmy thinks he might actually strangle Richie, his head now not only throbbing with pain but with red hot fury as well.

“You’re bitching me? You wanna run this place?!” Carmen seethes, his voice dripping with anger as he pushes Richie in the chest, his frustration finally boiling over.

“How do you know they’re not your cigarettes?!” Richie pushes back, making Carmy stumble back a step.

“Cause I’m not a fucking dipshit!” Carmy yells, seething with a mix of anger and frustration as he is about to push Richie again, but Sydney steps in between before he gets the chance, trying to keep the two men from each other as they yell at each other. Cursing and yelling fill the room as tensions escalate, the staff trying to intervene and the review paper falls to the floor in the commotion.

“Let’s not do this,” Sydney says, her voice breaking through to Carmy, making him regain his senses.

“All right. All right,” he says, throwing his hands in the air, trying to calm himself down before turning to Richie. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You are gonna go to the hardware store, you’re gonna get some joint compound. You’re gonna get some caulk and you’re gonna caulk that shit,” he says, his tone firm like he’s giving instructions to a child, despite him saying it with much more anger than he would ever use toward a kid.

“Okay, well, FYI…” Richie cuts in, as if he’s about to argue, making Carmy wanna punch him. “I’m not your fucking gofer.”

“FYI?! FYI!” Carmen can’t believe he is having this discussion with a grown man. “FYI, you cocked it up, you’re gonna caulk it out!”

“Okay, well, I would love to, but my license is expired, FYI!” Richie retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I saw you drive in this morning,” Sydney points out, making Carmen turn towards her.

“Sydney, you wanna help, you can take him.”

This makes Richie protest. “No. Time out. I’ll Uber. Thank you.”

“Surge rates, fucko!” Carmy reminds him, his voice dripping with annoyance.

“Fine,” Richie says in defeat before looking at Sydney. “But we’re taking my car.”

“I don’t care…” she says, shaking her head.

Carmen is just glad that they’re leaving. Glad Richie’s leaving because he is fucking angry at him, and glad that Sydney is leaving, because it is clear to everyone that she is far too good for this place, and it makes him feel bad and kind of embarrassed that she has to put up with all the bullshit that happens here.

He just needs a break from annoying pseudo-cousins and over-ambitious sous chefs for a little while. Although Sydney is not officially his sous yet, but he is going to hire her – he’d be an idiot not to, she is probably the best this shitty place will ever see, if she still wants to work here after today, that is…

Carmy picks up the fallen review paper from the floor with slightly trembling hands as the giant orange C is staring back at him. The image burns into his mind, a symbol of failure and inadequacy. He knows that this place is shit and that he needs to make changes, but this is a whole new low. His head feels like it is about to explode, the pounding in his temples now so unbearable he almost feels nauseous, the ballbreaker jingle of the broken machine, like nails on a chalkboard, echoing in his tired head.

“Fix that fucking sound. Please fix that fucking sound!” He spits at Fak, half commanding, half pleading.

“I will fix it. Fak always fixes it. Kids come in, break it, and what happens? I fix the balls. Fak fixes the balls.”

“FIX IT!” Carmy just yells. He wonders if it’s actually happened, after all these years in nightmarishly stressful kitchens, two weeks at The Beef is what’s finally driven him completely insane as he goes back through the doors to the kitchen.

Taking a breath and clenching his fists he tries to gather his thoughts. If he changes the plans so that Tina takes over Sydney’s stations while she is gone and he makes family, they shouldn’t get too behind while Sydney and Richie are gone.

“Yo, Tina! I need you to help me out, chef,” he calls out to Tina, trying to regain a sense of control amidst the chaos. “I need you to take over Sydney’s stations while she’s gone. We need to keep things running smoothly, I’ll make family and help out with prep,” Carmen instructs, his voice firm but tinged with the underlying stress and frustration he’s feeling.

“Got it, Jeff,” the shorter woman says, retying the strings of her ‘Mrs. Always Right’ apron.

“Thank you, chef,” Carmy says, really meaning it. He knows she’s having a hard time with all the new changes he has made around the kitchen, and with Sydney coming in and things changing up, but she has been here for a long time and there is a reason for that.

As they start working and tackling the tasks at hand, Carmen feels how his anger slowly disappears, something else inside him taking over.

He has no idea how to manage, let alone fix, a failing business, but he knows how to cook. He knows what he’s doing when he’s in the kitchen and he knows that he can rely on his skills and can get into that magical state where he can shut his brain of for a little while, and just fully concentrates on the task at hand – which in this point of his life probably is the closest he comes to relaxing.

· · · · ·

You are pulled out of your slumber by the ringing of your phone, the shrill sound cutting through the peaceful silence of your bedroom. Groggily, you reach out to the nightstand where your phone is resting, fumbling for it in the darkness before finally grabbing hold of it. But as you squint at the screen to see the caller ID, you see that there is none, it isn’t even your phone that is ringing.

Confusion clouds your mind as you slide out of bed, and it is now clear to you that the sound isn’t coming from your bedroom. You stumble out of the room, trying to locate the source of the ringing, but it stops before you get a chance to pinpoint it.

“What the…” you mumble before the ringing starts once again, realizing that the sound is coming from the kitchen. You feel a sense of unease wash over you as you make your way to the kitchen, the sound of the shrill ringing growing louder with each step. You enter the room and coming into view is the telephone on your kitchen counter. Confusion wells up inside you for a split second, your groggy mind still in a half fogged state of sleep, before the events of last night come back to you. Carmen must have forgotten his phone last night.

You look over at the oven, the digital clock, shocked by how late it is, you can’t remember the last time you woke up this late.

You step over to the sink, looking down at the phone, the caller ID lighting up on the screen saying ‘Sugar’. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should answer or not. It feels pretty invasive to pick up another person’s phone, someone you don’t really know, and you have no idea who this Sugar is, maybe a girlfriend? In that case you don’t want to intrude on their personal business, and you’re definitely not in the mood to be interrogated by some angry girlfriend.

But it could be important, or maybe it is Carmen calling his own phone to figure out where it’s at. You contemplate what to do, but before you can make a decision the phone stops again, the ringing coming to an abrupt halt.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but after a few seconds the phone lights up again. With a fast beating heart you swipe across the screen before picking it up to your ear, bracing yourself for whatever may come.

“God damn it, Carm!” A female voice crackles through the speaker, frustration and annoyance evident in her tone. “Listen I know-”

“Hello,” you croak out, interrupting the woman, not wanting to eavesdrop on a private conversation. The voice on the other end goes silent for a moment, and you can almost hear the confusion through the phone.

“Uh, hi…” the voice says, the frustration in her tone melting away, being replaced with puzzlement. “Is Carmen there?”

You clear your throat, a little embarrassed by the mix-up. “Uh, no, he isn’t.” You cringe internally at the awkwardness of the situation. “He, uh, left his phone here last night.” And you only cringe even more. “I’m his neighbor, we had some coffee last night.” You quickly add, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward, but you push through.

“Oh..” the woman responds, her voice softening. “I’m Natalie, I’m Carmen’s sister.”

Relief floods through you, feeling a way more at ease now that you know who you’re talking to as you tell her your own name.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Natalie says, genuine remorse in her voice. “I’ve been trying to talk to him for a few days now, and I was starting to worry, but I think he’s just ignoring me.”

You feel a sense of understanding wash over you, having seen the exhaustion and turmoil in Carmen’s eyes the night before, and knowing about what had happened with Michael you can’t help but feel for her. “It’s okay,” you reassure her. “But, yeah, I saw him last night, we had coffee and he must have left his phone here by accident.” You offer, hoping to ease some of Natalie’s worry

“Oh, thank you for letting me know,” she replies, relief evident in her tone. “He can be a bit of a scatterbrain sometimes. I know he’s been dealing with a lot lately, so I appreciate you looking out for him.”

You nod, feeling a sense of connection with Natalie, despite never having met her. “Of course, happy to help out.”

You contemplate whether to offer any more information about your interaction with Carmy, but you ultimately decide to keep it to yourself. It’s really none of your business, but you can’t shake off the urge to help somehow.

“Hey, uhm, if you give me the address I can swing by the restaurant and drop off his phone. I know I would be fucked without mine.” It’s not like you have any plans and you would probably not leave your apartment today if you don’t have a reason to. “I can tell Carmen to give you a call when he gets the chance,” you continue, hoping to be of some use and to ease Natalie’s worries.

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem. Just let me know where to go and I’ll drop it off,” you offer, genuine in your willingness to help out.

“That’s so sweet of you,” Natalie says, her voice softens even further, with a sense of genuine gratitude. She gives you the address to the restaurant, and you jot it down on a post-it note. The call ends with a warm goodbye from both of you.

Forty minutes later, after a quick shower and getting dressed and ready, you’re on your way to the train station, the music in your headphones filling your ears as you step out onto the platform. Luckily you don’t have to wait long before the gray train pulls up, you board and find a spot to stand, not feeling the need to sit. The gentle rock of the train lulling you into a sense of calm, as you let your brain disconnect and enter the weird, cathartic state of introspection that you often seem to get in on public transportation while you watch Chicago pass by in a blur of buildings and colors.

As the train comes to a stop at the station near the restaurant, you step out onto the platform and make your way towards the address Natalie had given you, it’s just a simple eight minute walk and you’re are there a lot quicker than you would have preferred, suddenly feeling a wave of nervousness wash over you, but you try to push through it, reminding yourself that you are just dropping off a phone and there’s no need to overthink things.

The restaurant is easy to spot, a worn sign hanging above the entrance with the name ‘The Original Beef of Chicagoland.’ You take a deep breath before pushing open the door and step inside.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡

@wittyno @eternallyvenus @eddioto

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lxvi-gloria · 1 month ago

Note

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him.

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away.

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area.

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back.

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?”

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter.

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.”

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told.

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues.

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion.

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them.

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off.

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding.

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?”

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.

#drabble request #aot #snk #levi #levi ackerman #gabi braun #gabi #post-war levi #armin mentioned lmao #please tell me which tags to add so that all my fellow post war levi enthusiast find this aaaaa #Girl dad levi you'll always be famous #second disclaimer english isn't my first language and I haven't written seriously in well over a year #I am like really nervous about posting this one ngl lads #but we persevere like the captain #no beta just me myself and I and like 2 hours of screaming I hate proof-reading but like I'm too self-conscious to just let it be #spoilers in the next tag >>#third disclaimer: iirc the whole captain officiating marriages isn't real but this is fiction and I do what I want #and I just think it would be cute if levi accepted even if for just a symbolic ceremony and not the real-deal yk?!#how to get rid of your chronic pain by levi; just overwhelm yourself by overthinking social scenarios #anywusssyyy let me know your thoughts #I'll probably post this on ao3 because it do be a decent length for it #we'll see #okay byeeeee #i hope you enjoy it anon and thank you for your patience I'm placing a big smooch on your forehead tysm fo sending such an exquisite prompt #I forgot to put the read more like the fool I am #if you saw the original post no u didn't <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

By His Command 3

Summary: the commander arrives. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, possible pregnancy and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Thank you for reading! Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

The martha comes to fetch you as the sky dims outside the iron bars. You follow her to the kitchen where she has a sparse array of produce. A few potatoes, some leeks, and a clove of garlic.

“You will help,” she says bluntly.

“Praise be,” you reply but receive only a sharp look.

“Peel,” she takes out a peeler and puts it before you. “We’ve had no handmaid, so a guardian delivers the produce. It is never enough.”

You nod and go to work. You drag the blade along the skin, stripping it away, and let it drop to the counter. You pick out an eye from the potato and set down the naked spud, grabbing the next. That martha chops with heavy, short thunks against the cutting board.

When you’re done, you gather up the skins. She points you to the bin and you dump them there. You rinse your hands and face her. She puts a pot on the stove, ignoring your expectant gaze. You don’t dare ask what to do next as you only feel in the way.

“We’ll do a stew, bake some fresh bread,” she instructs, “tomorrow, you will go to Loaves and Fishes so we can fill the pantry.”

“Praise be,” you agree. She sighs.

She dumps the ingredients all together in the pot, adding some pork bones for flavour in the broth and some rise to round it out. It’s better than what you got at the center but you won’t presume that you’ll share the same stock.

“Martha,” the wife enter’s in her blue dress. Long straight sleeves and cinched waist. You bow your head so your bonnet hides your face. She sidesteps you, shouldering you away without acknowledgement.

“Mrs. Hansen,” the martha falters, her previous derision gone.

“Toss the stew, we’ve received a duck from Commander Bodecker. You know he loves to hunt.”

She puts a crate on the counter. The martha reaches to slide it towards her and pulls back the cloth to peer inside. You look at your feet, wiggling your toes in your red socks.

“The Commander has returned,” the wife continues, “the table must be set.”

“I will have the handmaid do it,” the martha confirms.

“Pray that she can handle such a task,” the wife rebukes and sweeps around, strutting out without even a glance in your direction.

The martha reaches into the crate and pulls out the dead mallard. You wrinkle your nose at the mussed green feathers. You look away.

“Well, would you rather lay some spoons out or undress this?” She asks brusquely.

You go to the cupboards and pull a door open. You only find plain metal canisters. She comes over and shuts the door, opening the next to reveal the plates. You bring one down, then a second. She slides a drawer out.

“Take one for yourself. Three,” she instructs.

You wince and pull out another plate.

“When you dine with the Commander and his wife, you say nothing, you look at nothing but your plate, you eat only what they allow you,” she hisses.

“I understand.”

“If only you could.”

She counts out the cutlery and puts it atop the stack of plates.

“Napkins beside the stove. Wrap the silverware.”

You go to the drawer nearest the stove and find the pale white napkins trimmed with blue flowers. You add them to your lot and the martha points you through the archway that looks into the dining room. You hear her mutter as she turns back to the duck.

You roll up the cutlery tightly in the fabric. Like swaddling a baby. You go around, chair by chair, plate and cutlery.

As you arrange the last, only thinking then of the glassware, a soft noise brings your head up. A man in navy blue leans in the doorway. You did not hear him or sense him. You cannot guess for how long he’s been there but you can guess at his identity.

You dip your head down and step away from the table, “Commander.”

He breaks the threshold and strides around the other side of the table. You keep your chin down, jaw locked, as you listen, don’t look. The glimpse of his face floats in your vision. Tidy combed hair and shaved sides, a trim of hair across his lip, and handsomely forged features.

He stops behind a chair and you feel his gaze on you.

“Blessed be the fruit, Ofloyd,” he rolls the name on his tongue.

“May the Lord open,” you eke out.

He chuckles. You bite your lip. The only people who laughed were the aunts, and it often meant trouble. He grips the back of the chair.

“I am the lord’s agent but it will not be him who does the… opening,” he intones, his tone dripping salaciously. “So, Ofloyd, will you open yourself to me?”

You don’t know how to answer. This is not how the aunts speak; or the guardians; or the handmaids.

“Praise be,” you gulp.

He snickers and twists his grip on the back of the chair.

“You have no idea,” he slips a hand down, brushing along the front of his trousers, “praise, there will be.”

He growls and leans back on his heel. There is no time to respond. He is already on his way. As quickly as he appeared, he is gone again, leaving only dread and the scent of cedarwood.

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #the gray man #au #drabble #series #handmaid au #by his command

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iboatedhere · 7 months ago

Note

from that summer prompts list! an spending the whole day at the beach au would be really nice i think :))

Day 1

The screen door rattles as it slams shut behind him, and Alex drops his suitcase onto the worn hardwood floors.

The cottage is small but beautiful. A little stuffy and warm, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed by opening the windows and letting the cool ocean breeze in.

He leaves his belongings behind and does a quick sweep of the kitchen. The basics are there, just as the AirBnB host said. Salt, pepper, oil, sugar. A box of tea and a canister of coffee. Prepackaged snacks on display on the counter. There are water bottles in the fridge and a box of baking soda. He’ll need to go to the market in town and stock up on produce, dairy, and good coffee, but it’s fine. It’s nice.

From the photos online, he knows the bedroom and bathroom are down the hall to his left, along with a small linen closet with extra sheets, blankets, and pillows. There’s a door that leads to the basement where the washer and dryer are kept and the hot water heater, which he might need to reset if the power goes out during his stay.

The living room is basic but homey. A couch and two armchairs, each a little frayed at the edges, are set around a wide driftwood coffee table with stacks of board games underneath. No TV. Spotty WiFi. Perfect.

He steps out the sliding glass doors onto the small deck overlooking the beach. It’s early summer, and kids are still in school, so the beach is quiet and barren. It's just a little lonely, but it's relatable.

He shakes his head, physically knocking the dreary thought from his brain. This isn’t what this vacation is about. So what if his boyfriend of nearly a year revealed that he’d been cheating on him for the last six months two days before the trip, and so what if both the flight and the booking were non-refundable. So what if he had to dip into his savings to pay for this. It’s better to learn that Peter is a heartless douchebag now than five years down the line when Alex is pushing thirty and thinking about marriage and kids and forever. So what if it’s brought up the same feelings of abandonment and inadequacy he’s shoved deep down inside of himself since his parents divorced. It’s okay.

This week is about self-reflection and discovery. He’s going to learn how to be alone and be okay with it. He doesn’t need a partner to be happy.

Alex leans forward on the railing and watches the waves crash against the shore until a man coming up the boardwalk catches his attention.

He’s tall and blond; his blue linen shirt is loose across his shoulders and flutters around his body in the wind. He stops halfway, his shoes in his hand, and turns back toward the beach to whistle. A beagle hops onto the path beside him a moment later, shaking the water from his fur and making the man laugh.

It’s a nice sound.

The man and his dog continue up the boardwalk and into the house next door to Alex’s rented cottage. He towels off the dog and wipes his own feet on the mat before disappearing inside.

Interesting.

Day 2

The town market is small and overpriced, but Alex is able to get almost everything he needs, minus the coffee.

Fortunately, the market is next to a cafe selling their beans by the pound. Alex buys two bags and a cherry turnover and learns that there's a farmer’s market in the church parking lot on Sundays.

On his way out, he spots his neighbor sitting on the patio, a book in his hand, a cup of tea on the table in front of him, and the beagle at his feet.

When Alex passes, the dog lifts its head and wags its tail. Alex wants to stop and ask the man if he can say hello, but his hands are full of groceries and coffee, and the odds of dropping everything and embarrassing himself are too great.

He keeps walking and regrets not stopping the whole way home.

Day 3

Alex spends the whole day at the beach.

He packs a cooler with sandwiches, fruit, and beer and hauls one of the folding chairs provided by the host down to the water.

It’s overcast when he gets down there, but by noon, the sun is high and hot, and he slathers on another layer of sunscreen before he reclines the chair and takes a nap.

When he wakes up, his neighbor has joined him, sitting an acceptable distance away and a bit too close, considering he has almost the entire beach.

Alex’s first instinct is to be annoyed because what the fuck, but then his neighbor looks over the top of the book he’s reading and makes eye contact with Alex, then looks away quickly, like he’s been caught.

Interesting.

Alex stands up and stretches his arms over his head before pulling his tank top over his head and dropping it to the chair.

He feels his neighbor’s eyes on him the entire way to the water, where he jumps in without hesitation. When he surfaces, his neighbor is watching him again. This time, he doesn’t look away.

Day 4

“Bone! You need to bone!”

Alex rolls his eyes at Nora’s voice in the background of the call.

“We're not going to bone,” Alex says. “I don’t even know his name.”

“Maybe you could ask him,” June supplies helpfully.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“To know his name?”

“To bone,” Nora says, sounding closer to the phone. “Alex, your piece of shit ex cheated on you. You’re legally required to sleep with someone else. You should know that. You’re a lawyer.”

“I’m a paralegal.”

“Same diff.”

“Definitely not.”

“You did say he was good-looking,” June says, getting the conversation back on track, and Alex hums as he looks out the back door.

From this angle, he can see his neighbor on his deck, where he’s been fiddling with his grill for the last twenty minutes.

“He is,” Alex agrees, looking over his long legs and broad shoulders. “He can’t work a grill, though. What the fuck is he doing?”

“Go help him!” Nora chimes in. “You two can eat dinner, and then he can eat you—”

Alex hangs up and opens the door, then steps over to the far side of the deck, closest to his neighbor, who is tapping the gauge of the propane tank.

“I think it might be empty.”

His neighbor’s head snaps up. “Pardon?”

“The tank. If you can’t get it to light, you’re probably out of propane.”

“Oh,” he says as he looks down at the tank. “How do I fix that?”

“Get the tank refilled.”

“And where do I do that?”

“At this time of night, nowhere.”

Those broad shoulders fall. “Oh.”

“You can come over and use mine,” Alex yells over. “The host said it was full.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

His neighbor looks down at his dog at his feet.

“You can bring—,” Alex starts, and his neighbor interrupts.

“David.”

“Your name is David?”

“No, I’m Henry,” he says before he gestures down to the dog. “His name is David.”

“Okay….well….you can both come over. This place is listed as pet friendly.”

Henry looks down at David, then at the grill, then over at Alex.

“I’ll be over,” Henry calls.

Alex nods. “I’ll be here.”

Day 5

“You know, you never told me what your friend does to afford a beach house.”

“Oh,” Henry says as he picks up a pint of strawberries. “It’s hard to pin Pez down. I suppose he does a bit of everything.”

Alex nods as Henry pays for the berries, and they continue their loop around the farmer’s market.

Dinner last night was fine. Henry seemed nervous the entire time, but Alex can’t honestly say that he was playing it cool.

It’s like they both knew mutual attraction was simmering beneath the surface, but neither knew what to do about it. Maybe Henry is just shy, and maybe Alex is a little out of practice after spending nearly a year of his life in a dead-end relationship.

He did learn that Henry was a copy editor who could work from practically anywhere. He has a sister who might join him next month and a brother who thinks what he does for a living is pointless.

Alex kind of hates his brother, but he likes the way Henry smiles when he talks about his sister and friend.

“You never told me why you’re here alone,” Henry says, and Alex shrugs.

“You’re here alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have David.”

“Okay, point, but do I have to have a reason? Is it a crime for someone to vacation alone?”

“Certainly not, but….”

“But,” Alex starts with a heavy sigh. “I was supposed to come with my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Henry says, sounding disappointed.

“Ex-boyfriend now,” Alex explains. “Turns out he was cheating on me, and all the reservations were non-refundable, so…here I am. Alone.”

Henry knocks their shoulders together with a soft smile. “Maybe not so alone.”

Day 6

The power goes out at exactly 11:59 at night.

“Fuck,” Alex swears up at the ceiling while rain and wind pound against the windows and lightning flashes outside. “Fuck.”

He knows he’s lucky that it stayed on for this long. While he’s no stranger to storms (everything is bigger in Texas), the constant weather alerts and warnings that pop up on his phone, combined with how close the house is to the beach, are making him nervous.

He could leave, get in the rental car, and go, but when he sits up in bed and looks out the window, he can see the lights on at Henry’s place.

Of course, Henry’s rich friend would have a generator. Of course, Alex can’t leave without him.

Alex puts on his sneakers and makes a run for it, skidding onto Henry’s front porch and banging on the door, hoping he’s heard over the rolling thunder.

He hears David bark, then quick footsteps, and suddenly, the door opens, and Henry appears through the screen.

“The power went out,” Alex says with a thumb hooked over his shoulder. “And I don’t know where the candles are in the house, and I’m trying not to freak out–.”

“Are you bloody mad,” Henry interrupts as he opens the screen door and yanks him into the house. “You could have been struck by lightning.”

“I’m a pretty fast runner.”

“Fast enough to dodge lightning?”

“I made it, didn’t I?”

“I suppose,” Henry says. “Now, wait here.”

Henry disappears down the hall while Alex drips over the hardwood.

“Should we be worried?” Alex calls after him after a particularly loud clap of thunder. “I’m always seeing ocean homes swept into the sea on the news.”

“Pez said this place has never flooded.”

“Okay, but climate change is getting worse. Just because it didn't happen last season doesn't mean it won’t happen this season.”

“I don’t think we need to worry,” Henry says when he returns, a towel in one hand and a change of clothes in the other. “But I understand why you are.”

Alex takes the towel and the clothes but doesn’t move from his spot by the front door. He’s not sure what to do with the clothes or with Henry, dressed in sweatpants and the softest-looking t-shirt he’s ever seen. Pillow marks across his cheek and his hair mussed with sleep.

Alex is leaving in a few days, gone forever, and he doesn’t know how he’ll handle losing someone he’s never even touched.

“I’m going to make tea,” Henry tells him as he moves into the kitchen. “I’m thinking chamomile. Would you like some?”

“Later, maybe,” Alex says as he sets the clothes down on the kitchen table and crowds into Henry’s space. “Is this okay?” He asks as he slowly brings his hands up to cup Henry’s face.

“Oh,” Henry says, expression falling softly as he nods.

Day 7

The storm is over by morning.

Alex wakes to the sun in his eyes, David curled up at his feet, and Henry’s arm draped over his waist.

“Baby,” Alex whispers, his lips brushing across Henry’s forehead. “We should get up.”

Henry’s face scrunches as he tightens his grip on Alex. “Ten more minutes. Or forever.”

Alex smiles.

Forever sounds nice.

Day 371

Alex wakes to the smell of coffee and lips pressed to his cheek.

He reaches out blindly, smiling when his hand catches the hem of Henry’s shirt.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Henry whispers, and Alex rolls over and opens his eyes. “I got you a coffee and a turnover from the place in town.”

“You’re up early,” Alex says as he sits up and takes the coffee and the bag from Henry. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I could,” Henry says as he sits down beside him. “I wanted to make sure I got to the coffee shop before they were out of the cherry turnovers.”

“I would’ve gone with you.”

“You seemed pretty tired,” Henry says smugly. “I thought it was best to let you sleep.”

Alex hums and takes a sip. “I’ll repay the favor tonight.”

“Looking forward to it. Until then, plans for the day?”

They could do anything. Head down to the beach or take a drive up the coast. Get lost in a coastal bookshop or an antique store for hours.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that they’re together.

#rwrb #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #summer prompts

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artdecosupernova-writing · 2 years ago

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Word Prompt

Word: Bottle WIP: Darkspace Portent Timeline: M33 Arc CW: the mood of this fluctuates, and there’s mild lovey shit at the end Word Count: 1,502 Additional Notes: largely inspired by how my husband(1) would sometimes hold our baby(2) when the baby(3) was a baby(4)

***

"…Should I ask?"

Warren's head lolled against the back of the reclined seat, into an angle where he could see Thrive standing in shadow in the hallway in front of the nursery. He smiled, gently swaying the baby he'd sat on his chest facing him, holding him upright and earning a hysterical belly laugh for his efforts. "We're having a party, man!"

"You're exhausted."

Warren brought the baby's face closer to his own and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Don't listen to him, Sweet Boy. He's just jealous that he wasn't invited to our sick party."

"…You're delusional."

"We'll let you join us on one condition!" Warren turned Ataneq to Thrive, draped him over his belly, and hooked an arm under his legs so he could gesticulate with his other hand. "You have to sing the little baby man a lullaby."

For several seconds, Thrive stared at Ataneq as if he was the one who made the request with his own toothless, drooling mouth. The intensity of his anger-devoid frown made Warren wonder briefly if he had actually begun to consider the terms.

"I don't know how to sing, Warren." The corner of Thrive's mouth popped upward at Ataneq's enthusiastic gurgling. "Nor would I imagine a party of your standards worth vying for an invitation."

"Thrive, he's two months old. He's hardly gonna have a cybergoth rave."

"Would you?"

Warren held Ataneq more securely, pushing himself off of the rocking chair. "You wanna join us for bottle service, at least?"

Thrive's smile widened as Warren moved to exit. Ataneq had begun to look around the room with adorable abruptness, large blue eyes taking in every piece of décor Warren had painstakingly placed himself. "For him, or for you?"

Narrowing his eyes on the way past Thrive, Warren cleared his throat of his exhaustion. "You ask a lot of questions. Mind your business."

Thrive did follow them to the kitchen, then, carefully taking Ataneq while Warren grabbed a bottle and a canister of formula from one of the counters. He gripped Ataneq under the arms, making sure to keep his head supported and peering long into his face within the comfortable silence surrounding bottle preparation.

Warren glanced at them after setting the water heater to the right temperature. "…Want one, too?"

"You may be surprised to hear that I'm not exactly the demographic for infant formula," Thrive muttered. Ataneq cooed at him, kicking his legs under himself. "I still think it's incredible how much he looks like you."

Warren watched him settle into a two-legged chair, laying Ataneq in his elbow and gazing deeply into his eyes. Though he was on track as far as his growth went, Ataneq managed to look engulfed by Thrive, so tiny on his arm. Something caught in Warren's throat as he looked on, and he turned back to the water heater. "Yeah. Kinda weird, right? I'm still not used to it. I mean…the genes were strong on both sides of my family, but I don't think I expected him to be like the little clone of me that he is. I wish I still had my baby pictures so I could compare."

"He's smiling."

A second before the heater beeped, Warren whipped around, catching Ataneq giving Thrive his very first genuine smile outside of his infectious giggling. It was slow, almost unsure, but his little face eventually broke into a wide grin that fed into the curious amusement on Thrive's.

It almost felt like a crime to look away once again, but Warren had to put the water into the bottle before dumping a few scoops of formula in. He used their tiny hand mixer and turned his attention back to the scene, which continued into Thrive speaking soft Solnai to Ataneq.

"It is safe to say," he whispered, "that you are as breathtaking as your father."

"Depends on which father," Warren murmured.

Thrive arched an eyebrow at him. "You're getting more proficient in Solnai, I see."

Warren secured the cap of the bottle and tipped it at Thrive in question.

Following a brief pause, Thrive summoned it into his open hand, and Ataneq took to it eagerly. Warren continued to watch them well into Ataneq shutting his eyes and Thrive following suit, resting his head against the back of the chair, and for several minutes the only sound between them was the formula being drained from the bottle in long, steady pulls.

Things had been so different with Thoeala. She was fed differently, she required different kinds of affection and attention as an infant, and the whole experience was simply…different. This was a side of Thrive that Warren had only seen once before, and not even to this degree of comfort and ease.

It was worth the turmoil surrounding Ataneq's conception and birth.

Warren realized with a start that his eyes were wet, and he quickly wiped them with his hand before Thrive could sense his roiling emotions.

Too late; Thrive's eyes opened and found him right then.

"Tired," Warren scrambled to assure him. "It's been a long week."

"Come here."

Letting out a heavy breath through rounded lips, Warren moved to stand next to Thrive, who situated Ataneq so he was partially supported by his thigh. Thrive reached out to Warren and wrapped his free arm around his waist, pressing the side of his face into the fabric of his shirt at his stomach. Warren threaded his fingers through Thrive's hair.

"It's all in the past," Thrive said quietly. "He's here now. You're doing a wonderful job."

"This is so much harder than it was with Thoeala. I don't even know if I expected it to be easier, though."

"I'll finish with him here and put him to bed for you so you can go to sleep, if you'd like."

Warren stopped himself before he refused the offer. "Actually, yeah, that would be great. Don't forget to burp him—he responds better if you perch him upright and pat him on the back."

Thrive took Warren's hand and brushed his lips over his knuckles. "I'll handle it. Don't worry. Get some sleep, th'saiya."

He couldn't sleep, however. He stayed awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, long into the three moons rising outside of his open window. He heard footsteps on the other side of his door and waited as they came to a stop.

Sure enough, the door opened and Thrive entered. "Are you alright?"

Warren propped himself up on his elbows and turned his bleary gaze onto him. "…What's wrong with me?"

Thrive closed the door behind him and took cautious steps to the bed. "I'm…assuming you've heard of paternal post-natal depression."

It hit Warren like a brick to the back of the head. "What? God, I didn't even…you really think that's what it is?"

"It's possible." Thrive sat on the edge of the bed. "I've noticed the difference between this and your usual struggles. It may be necessary to get you a proper diagnosis and some help, in any case."

"I don't have time for help for the regular depression, let alone this."

"Warren." Thrive leaned over, cupping Warren's face in a warm hand. Despite this, his voice hardened, and his tone became stern. "If we need to relocate to the Node long enough to get you some help, I'm not above doing so. It's been extremely difficult to watch you suffer beyond this, especially knowing I could easily alter your moods, and yet you won't permit me. If you're not going to do it for yourself, do it for me. Do it for Ataneq and Thoeala."

Warren nodded. "Yeah. Maybe you're right. It's just…I don't think I've ever gotten help before. I don't really know what to expect."

"I'll be there for you at every moment if you need me. I won't leave your side."

"I always need you." Warren curled a hand around the back of Thrive's neck. "…How'd the baby man go down?"

"He was asleep before we even left the kitchen."

"Hell yeah. Milk drunk coma."

"We'll look into resources for you."

"Yeah." Warren pulled Thrive into bed with him. "In the morning. For now, I could use those magic hands to get me to sleep."

Thrive hummed, shifting Warren onto his side so he could snake his arms around him. "In which capacity?"

"Gimme a minute." Warren pressed their lips together, melting into him, drawing safety and satisfaction from his heat. Even though they assisted one another in undressing, and Thrive started to initiate what could have been a deeply passionate night, Warren truthfully was too tired for anything further. "Damn it, I don't have the energy."

Thrive chuckled, holding him to his chest and smoothing his hair back on his head. "I will gladly usher you into sleep the other way, then."

Yawning, Warren tangled their legs together, letting Thrive's heartbeat, the lullaby coming from the wall panel monitoring Ataneq, and the sedation from Thrive's hand on his forehead drag him into an intense and dreamless sleep.

#word prompt #Darkspace Portent #M33 Arc #pair: Sun & Moon #repost #thus concludes the WP reposts! I do plan to do more in future

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knowledgepanel · 3 months ago

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How to Choose the Right Portable Cooktop for Your Cooking Needs: A Complete Guide

Portable cooktops have become increasingly popular due to their versatility, convenience, and space-saving features. Whether you need an additional cooking station for your kitchen, are outfitting a small apartment, or enjoy camping and outdoor cooking, a portable cooktop offers the flexibility to cook anywhere. But with so many models available, choosing the right one can feel overwhelming. This guide will help you navigate the key factors to consider when selecting the best portable cooktop for your cooking needs.

1. Determine Your Cooking Requirements

The first step in choosing the right portable cooktop is to assess your specific cooking needs. Think about how and where you’ll be using it:

- Indoor or Outdoor Use: If you’re planning to use the cooktop mainly outdoors, you might want a model that can handle varying weather conditions and rugged environments. For indoor use, look for one that fits seamlessly into your kitchen or home setup.

- Types of Cooking: Do you need a cooktop for basic heating tasks like boiling water and frying, or are you planning on preparing more elaborate meals? Understanding the types of cooking you’ll be doing will help determine whether you need a single or double burner and the cooktop’s power capacity.

By clarifying these needs, you can narrow down your options to a cooktop that meets your expectations.

2. Choose Between Induction, Electric, or Gas Cooktops

Portable cooktops come in three main types: induction, electric, and gas. Each type has its own advantages and potential drawbacks depending on your cooking style and setup.

- Induction Cooktops: Induction cooktops use electromagnetic energy to heat the cookware directly, offering quick heat-up times, energy efficiency, and precise temperature control. However, induction requires compatible cookware, such as those with a magnetic base like cast iron or stainless steel.

- Electric Cooktops: These models use electric coils or infrared technology to heat the surface, which then transfers heat to your cookware. Electric cooktops are easy to use, widely available, and don’t require specialized pots and pans. However, they tend to heat up and cool down slower than induction models.

- Gas Cooktops: Portable gas cooktops run on propane or butane canisters, making them ideal for outdoor and camping use. Gas cooktops provide consistent heat, are not limited by power outlets, and are compatible with most types of cookware. However, they require ventilation when used indoors.

Each type offers distinct benefits depending on where you plan to cook and your preference for speed, power, and ease of use.

3. Evaluate Power and Temperature Control

A cooktop’s power is typically measured in watts (for induction and electric) or BTUs (for gas). This determines how quickly it heats up and how efficiently it cooks.

- Induction and Electric: Most portable induction cooktops offer wattage between 1000-1800 watts, while electric models can range from 750 to 1500 watts. Higher wattage means faster heating but may also consume more energy.

- Gas: The BTU rating of a gas cooktop ranges from around 7,000 to 12,000 BTUs, depending on the model. Higher BTUs offer more heat, making them suitable for high-heat cooking like searing and frying.

In addition to power, check the precision of temperature control. Some models offer simple low, medium, and high settings, while others provide more granular temperature adjustments with digital controls for better precision in cooking.

4. Consider Portability and Size

The portability of the cooktop is a crucial factor, especially if you plan to move it around frequently or travel with it. Here’s what to consider:

- Size: Portable cooktops come in single- and double-burner models. A single-burner cooktop is more compact and lightweight, perfect for camping trips or small kitchens. A double-burner model offers more cooking flexibility but may take up more space and weigh more, making it less portable.

- Weight: Choose a model that’s easy to carry if portability is a top priority. If you’re using the cooktop for outdoor activities like camping, consider a lightweight option with a carry handle or compact design.

The key is finding the balance between portability and cooking capacity to suit your lifestyle and available space.

5. Look for Safety Features

Safety is always a critical consideration when choosing any kitchen appliance, especially a portable cooktop. Modern cooktops are equipped with various safety features, including:

- Overheat Protection: Automatically shuts off the cooktop when it overheats to prevent accidents.

- Auto-Pan Detection (Induction Cooktops): Turns off the heating element if no cookware is detected or if an incompatible pot is used.

- Child Lock: Prevents accidental changes to settings, ensuring safety in households with children.

- Cool-to-Touch Surface (Induction): Induction cooktops remain cool to the touch, reducing the risk of burns.

Make sure your portable cooktop has the necessary safety features to ensure peace of mind during use.

6. Check for Durability and Build Quality

Since portable cooktops are moved around more than traditional stovetops, they need to be durable enough to withstand frequent transportation. Look for models built with sturdy materials like high-quality glass, stainless steel, or ceramic surfaces.

Pay attention to the quality of the control knobs or touch panel as well. A reliable cooktop should have controls that are intuitive, responsive, and built to last.

7. Additional Features and Smart Technology

Some portable cooktops come with extra features to enhance your cooking experience:

- Timers: Convenient for precise cooking, allowing you to set cooking times and avoid overcooking.

- Pre-set Cooking Functions: Induction cooktops may offer pre-set modes for boiling, simmering, frying, or keeping food warm, making them user-friendly for various cooking tasks.

- Smart Technology: Some advanced models can connect to your smartphone, providing remote control, temperature monitoring, and even cooking tips.

While not essential for everyone, these added features can simplify cooking and make your experience more enjoyable.

8. Budget and Price Range

Portable cooktops come in a wide range of prices depending on the type, brand, and features. Induction cooktops tend to be more expensive due to their advanced technology, ranging from $50 for basic models to $300 or more for high-end options with smart features. Electric cooktops are generally more affordable, with prices starting around $30, while gas models range from $20 to $150 depending on size and power.

Consider your budget but also factor in the cooktop’s durability, efficiency, and additional features when making your decision. Choosing a reliable brand ensures better longevity and fewer issues over time.

Conclusion

Selecting the right portable cooktop for your cooking needs requires careful consideration of factors such as cooking style, power, size, safety features, and budget. Whether you opt for an induction, electric, or gas model, understanding these key aspects will help you make an informed choice. With the right portable cooktop, you can enjoy the convenience of cooking wherever you need—whether it’s at home, on the go, or outdoors.

For more info visit - https://www.nuwavenow.com/

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philipin10 · 4 months ago

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Nangs Delivery in Brisbane

Nangs Delivery in Brisbane: A Sweet Addition to the Culinary Scene

Brisbane, with its thriving food culture and a growing appetite for convenience, has seen a remarkable rise in the popularity of nangs delivery. For those unfamiliar, "nangs" are whipped cream chargers filled with nitrous oxide, used to create luscious whipped cream and delightful culinary creations. This article explores the emergence of nangs delivery in Brisbane, highlighting its appeal, convenience, and the impact it has on local culinary practices.

What Are Nangs?

Nangs are small canisters that contain nitrous oxide (N2O), a gas that, when used with a whipped cream dispenser, produces light and fluffy whipped cream. While they are commonly associated with dessert toppings, nangs can also be used in various recipes, including flavored foams, mousses, and even cocktails. Their versatility makes them a valuable tool in both home kitchens and professional culinary settings.

The Convenience of Delivery

In today’s fast-paced world, convenience is key, and Brisbane's nangs delivery services cater to this growing demand. With the tap of a button, residents can order nangs online, enjoying quick delivery right to their doorsteps. This easy access to whipped cream chargers has revolutionized the way Brisbane locals approach cooking and entertaining, allowing for spontaneous culinary adventures.

How Nangs Delivery Works

Ordering nangs in Brisbane is a simple process. Customers can choose from various online platforms that specialize in quick delivery. After selecting the quantity they need, they can place their order and receive it often within an hour. This level of convenience makes it easy for home cooks to keep their kitchens stocked, especially during parties or special occasions.

The Rising Popularity of Nangs

1. Culinary Creativity: The explosion of food-related content on social media has inspired many to experiment in the kitchen. Nangs provide an easy way to add a professional touch to home-cooked meals, allowing cooks to create visually appealing and delicious desserts that can impress family and friends.

2. Party Favorites: Nangs have become an essential component for parties and gatherings. Whether topping off a cake, enhancing a dessert buffet, or adding flair to cocktails, whipped cream elevates the dining experience and brings a sense of fun to any celebration.

3. Affordable Indulgence: Using nangs allows home chefs to recreate gourmet desserts without spending a fortune. This affordability appeals to those looking to enhance their culinary creations without breaking the bank.

Safety and Responsible Use

While nangs are primarily used for culinary purposes, it's essential to consider safety. Nitrous oxide can be dangerous if misused, particularly when inhaled directly. Responsible delivery services in Brisbane emphasize safe usage and often provide guidelines to ensure customers understand how to enjoy nangs responsibly.

The Future of Nangs Delivery in Brisbane

As the demand for nangs delivery continues to grow, we can anticipate exciting developments in this market. Future possibilities may include subscription services for regular users, partnerships with local cafes for unique whipped cream flavors, or workshops to teach creative applications of whipped cream chargers.

Conclusion

The emergence of nangs delivery in Brisbane reflects a broader trend towards culinary convenience and creativity. For home cooks, party hosts, and anyone with a sweet tooth, nangs provide a fun and easy way to enhance dishes and make gatherings memorable. As this trend evolves, Brisbane's culinary landscape will likely witness even more innovative uses of this simple yet versatile kitchen tool. Whether you’re whipping up a quick dessert or planning a festive gathering, nangs are sure to add a special touch to any occasion.

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quotient-12-3 · 5 months ago

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How to Choose Kitchen Decoration Accessories

Introduction:

kitchen Decoration Accessories is much of the time thought about the core of the home, where family feasts are ready and recollections are made. In that capacity, beautifying your kitchen can fundamentally upgrade its usefulness and atmosphere. Picking the right kitchen adornment embellishments can change your space from only utilitarian to really welcoming. Here is a thorough manual for assist you with choosing the best frill for your kitchen

1. Kitchen Decoration Characterize Your Style

Distinguish Your Kitchen Style Prior to choosing embellishments, characterizing the style and subject of your kitchen is urgent. Well known styles include: Present day: Smooth lines, moderation, and unbiased varieties. Rural: Warm, regular components like wood and one of a kind frill. Customary: Exemplary plans with fancy subtleties and rich surfaces. Modern: Unrefined substances, like metal and uncovered block. Farmhouse: Comfortable, country-motivated stylistic layout with an emphasis on usefulness. Pick a Variety Plan Your frill ought to supplement your kitchen's variety range. Whether you favor intense differentiations or unobtrusive tones, guarantee that your embellishments blend with your current style.

2. Kitchen Decoration Center around Usefulness

Think about Commonsense Frill Extras shouldn't just look great yet in addition upgrade the usefulness of your kitchen. A few pragmatic choices include: Capacity Arrangements: Snappy containers, holders, and bins for putting together storeroom things. Cookware Holders: Alluring racks or holders for pots, skillet, and utensils. Cutting Sheets: Enriching yet useful cutting sheets that can twofold as serving plate. Redesign Ordinary Things Regular things like dish racks, towel bars, and zest racks can likewise act as improving components. Pick plans that fit your style while addressing functional necessities.

3. Add Individual Contacts

Craftsmanship and Prints Present character with kitchen-themed craftsmanship or prints. Consider pieces that mirror your inclinations or supplement your variety plot. Blackboards or whiteboards can likewise add a practical and fun component to your kitchen. Adaptable Style Things like monogrammed towels, customized cutting sheets, or custom covers can add an exceptional touch and cause the space to feel more private.

4. Integrate Surfaces and Materials

Blend and Match Materials Blending different surfaces and materials can add profundity and interest to your kitchen style. Think about joining: Wood For warmth and normal excellence. Metal For a smooth, present day touch. Glass For a hint of polish and straightforwardness. Clay For solidness and variety assortment. Delicate Materials Integrate materials like pads for eating seats, brightening carpets, and a la mode window medicines. These components can mellow the hard surfaces and add a comfortable vibe to the space.

5. Lighting Matters

Layered Lighting Lighting assumes a critical part in setting the state of mind and usefulness of your kitchen. Join: Encompassing Lighting: For by and large enlightenment. Task Lighting: For explicit regions like ledges and sinks. Complement Lighting: To feature beautifying components or building highlights. Stylish Apparatuses Think about jazzy lighting apparatuses like pendant lights, crystal fixtures, or current mounted light to upgrade your kitchen's stylistic theme.

6. Pick In vogue Capacity Arrangements

Open Racking Open racks can show alluring dishes, crystal, and enriching things. Guarantee they are coordinated flawlessly to keep a cleaned look. Enriching Holders Decide on ornamental capacity compartments that serve both capability and style. Glass containers, earthenware canisters, and woven bins can add appeal and common sense to your kitchen.

7. Plant life and New Components

Indoor Plants Kitchen Decoration Adding indoor plants can reinvigorate your kitchen. Pick low-upkeep choices like spices, succulents, or greeneries that flourish in indoor circumstances.New Blossoms A jar of new blossoms can light up the space and add a dash of normal magnificence.

8. Think about Occasional Stylistic theme

Occasional Contacts Changing out style extras with the seasons can keep your kitchen feeling new and refreshed. Contemplate adding occasional things like bubbly towels, themed dishes, or improving highlights for occasions.

9. Financial plan Shrewdly

Kitchen Decoration Focus on Your Buys Conclude which embellishments are fundamental and which are simply beautiful. Put resources into excellent things where it matters most, yet feel free to shop deals or look for spending plan well disposed choices for insignificant pieces. Do-It-Yourself Ventures Consider Do-It-Yourself projects for a customized touch. Redoing your own kitchen extras can be both financially

#Kitchen Accessories #Home Cooking #Kitchen Essentials #Must-Have Kitchen Tools

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8-evil-annoying-catboys · 2 months ago

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the most you can do to “put the cat to bed” at night is to have a designated room for the cat to stay in at night, keeping a litter box and cat furniture in there. if you have a lot of breakables, this might be an ok idea, but really, it won’t save them, the cat(s) will just break them when they’re bored during the day, so you should have them put away where the cat(s) can’t reach them at all times and play with your cat(s) for at least 15 mins daily (even if you don’t have breakables, this is just proper cat care, they need the enrichment).

im always astonished at how little so many people know about cats, even people who HAVE cats. you can’t control cats. you can train them, but that’s not the same thing, and only very few cats will still do the stuff you’ve trained them to do without a reward waiting on the other side, so if your cat is only motivated by food, for example, good luck trying to get them to do anything without a treat. that’s why you need to catproof your house.

some cats can open cabinets and so you need a baby proof lock on any cabinets that have chemicals or other dangers, and anything else you simply don’t want your cat(s) to get into. cats can and will jump up on the kitchen counters, and if you ‘discipline’ them by yelling at them or spraying them with water, they’ll just stop doing it when you’re there but continue behind your back (and start to dislike you), so you can only mitigate this by 1) getting a motion-controlled air canister that lets out a puff of air to startle them when they jump on the counter so they’ll stop doing it (this works because it doesn’t matter if you’re there or not, and unlike ‘discipline’ it doesn’t deteriorate your bond with your cat bc it’s not you doing it, as far as your cat is concerned, the counter is doing it), 2) putting a door or room divider or something in the kitchen doorway so they can’t get in the kitchen unsupervised, or 3) just cleaning your kitchen counters before and after you cook, so it won’t matter if your cat(s) goes/go on the counter bc you remove any potential contaminants before cooking and remove any potential dangers to your cat(s) after cooking. lots of cats do actually need outside time, but it’s super dangerous to let them free-roam, so you should build a catio or harness-train them—and many cats CAN be trained to walk on a leash and harness, with a lot of patience and positive reinforcement (aka lots of treats), but you shouldn’t expect them to go on a walk the way a dog would: you should carry them through the threshold to reduce the risk of them running out the door when it’s open (cat walks out the door independently = “the door is my ticket outside,” cat is carried out the door in your arms or a carrier = “my human/harness/carrier is my ticket outside”), and THEY decide where you go, NOT you.

i wish people knew as much about cats as they do about dogs. ignorance of cats is what leads to people thinking they don’t love humans or even each other (not true, cats are very social creatures and many are even clingy once they get comfy with you, they just generally aren’t as obedient or trusting or dependent on humans as most dogs), and people mistreating their cats & then blaming the cats for acting out even tho their needs aren’t being met (most often, people don’t play with their cats, and then the cat gets bored and destructive, and the human labels the cat as the problem even tho a healthy cat that plays enough will not destroy things or attack you for no reason, healthy cats only do that stuff because they’re BORED AS FUCK—most episodes of My Cat From Hell are literally just people blaming their incredibly bored cats for acting out bc of boredom, and jackson galaxy saying “your cat is bored, play with them” and teaching them how to play with cats properly and also telling them they need to clean the litter box more often or get more litter boxes so their cat doesn’t go to the bathroom outside the box or helping them set up cat furniture so the cat can feel safe and comfy in the home they live in or other stuff that should be cat owner knowledge 101, but, for some reason, just isn’t)

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havnblog · 6 months ago

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🌱 Coffee: Max Good, Min Effort

My Coffee Setup

My wife and I love coffee — and we drink a lot of it. So we want it to be good, while still not being too much of a hassle to make every day. And this post is me highlighting the equipment we use, and the process.

This post isn't about how to make the _absolute_ best cup of coffee - but rather which steps you can take to make it pretty great, without adding _too_ much complexity.

What does a great cup of coffee taste like?

If you only want one-ish cup (and why I don’t like capsule machines)

When I say that we drink a lot of coffee, I mean that we drink coffee made of 0.75-1 litres of water/45-60 grams of beans. So it’s pretty obvious why something like a Nespresso capsule machine isn’t a viable option.

But other reasons I don’t like it, is that the coffee tastes much, much worse than alternatives, it can get expensive, and how much waste it creates. (For some info on environmental impact, check this video and this video.) In my book, capsules are Min Good, Min Effort.

I think capsule machines can be a viable option if you personally don’t drink coffee, but you want to have something to serve guests now and then (and you have room in your kitchen). But if you only want about one or two great cups of coffee for yourself, I’d either go for the quite quick AeroPress, or a more ritualistic pour-over, like a V60.

Video from AeroPress.

V60 (pour-over).

We sometimes make a pour-over — but most of the time, we use a (pretty) regular coffee-maker. 1 But they’re not all created equal.

What you need to make great coffee

0) Good water

I almost forgot this because in Norway, we are very lucky to have great water on tap. But depending on where you live, this might be an issue.

1) Coffee (duh)

Nothing matters more than the coffee you buy. As you’ve probably guessed, as I’ve linked to three of his videos already, I like James Hoffmann. So I’ll let him explain how to pick out good coffee.

But what’s relevant here, is that you “need” to buy fresh, whole beans.

2) A good place to store them

As you’re dealing with fresh produce (kind of), you require a good place to store them. Many bags are good at this, as long as you can get them tight, but there are also plenty of canisters available. 2

I use the Fellow Atoms 🖇️. Coffee doesn’t love sunlight, so it’s not optimal — but I just love the look of coffee! I like to put the label on it as well, to remember what we have at the moment.

3) Scales

You also need to know how much of it to use. Some people seem to have the impression that weighing coffee is complicated — but I vehemently disagree. The coffee-makers I’m going to recommend have water containers like this:

Please ignore the temporary bubbles!

OK, so when I have this much water, I need 45 grams of coffee beans. That’s just so much simpler than the guesswork involved with spoons (of different sizes).

I’m pleased with my Timemore scale 🖇️ (I have the 1.0, though). It’s accurate to .1 grams, has a timer function, and charges via USB-C. But a regular kitchen scale (even if it’s only accurate to 1 gram) is perfectly fine.

Image from Timemore.

4) Grinder

The obvious downside of buying whole beans, is that you have to grind them yourself. However, a good thing about this (in addition to whole beans not going stale, like pre-ground ones), is that you can adapt the coarseness to preference. For my coffee-maker, you should always use 45 grams of coffee to 0.75 litres of water. But if you want it a bit stronger, you can just grind it a bit finer.

So you want a grinder where you can change the grind setting. A great starting-point, is the Wilfa Smart.

We had that previously — but for our wedding we got an upgrade, with the Fellow Ode Gen 2 🖇️.

Photo from Fellow.

But this is where I’d love some feedback from any coffee nerds out there: Because every review of the Ode Gen 2 I’ve read, has praised it for not producing much static when you grind. However, I think it does produce quite a lot of static — and I don’t think it grinds that uniformly… What gives?

So, while I’m not totally happy with my Ode grinder, it does have great reviews (from reputable reviewers).

4.5) A tiny spray-bottle

One thing that helps with the static (that almost all grinders produce), is to give the beans a tiny spray of water before you grind them. And to make that easier, you can buy a little bottle to keep on your counter.

5) Coffee-maker

There are a couple of reasons why Wilfa is a great brand to look at for a coffee-maker.

Good temperature control

The Norwegian brand, Wilfa, has co-operated with the (also Norwegian) coffee guru Tim Wendelboe when designing their coffee-makers. So it’s not surprising that they do the basics well.

Removable water tank

Most people use the carafe (the coffee gets brewed into) to fill up the water tank — but there are some good reasons for this not being the best design:

The tank is usually the place where the measurement lines are — so if you bring that to the sink, instead of the carafe, you don’t have to go back with the excess water.

The carafe gets dirty — and you don’t want the clean water to become less clean.

Variable drip size

Ideally, you’d want a different size of drip for different amounts of coffee — and most Wilfa models have this option.

Image from Wilfa.

So this one you just set to the amount of water you’ve used. (However, because of space constraints, we recently moved from a Wilfa Svart Precision to a Wilfa Performance Compact, which has an automatic drip stop (with only one size) instead of.)

Looks good

This is subjective, of course!

There are other coffee-makers that fit these criteria, of course. (For instance, Fellow is making one that looks interesting.) But Wilfa is a good place to start!

6) Thermal carafe

Coffee being very hot makes it taste less. If you’re drinking bad coffee (like the one from a gas station machine), this is very beneficial: When the coffee gets told, it becomes a bitter nightmare. However, if the coffee is good, it still tastes good when colder. This coffee might actually taste too little while at its hottest — so many prefer it to cool down a bit before drinking.

So the optimal thing, if you’re drinking as much coffee as we do, would be to make several batches, and have them cool down to the perfect temperature every time. But if you can’t be bothered with that, here’s my advice:

If you want your coffee to preserve its heat (even though the coffee snobs are right in that pursuit not being optimal), putting it into a thermal container is better than keeping it on a hot-plate.

Furthermore, use small cups. That way you can pour a cup, and be able to drink it at your preferred temperature. With larger cups, I usually find that the first sips are too hot and the latest too cold.

I actually prefer even smaller cups than this.

We have this carafe from Hario. I like it because you can brew V60 into it, it looks good, and is great to pour from. However, it’s not the best at keeping the heat. So when we need more heat-retention, we use a Hydro Flask.

Some coffee-makers come with a thermal carafe. This can be practical if you always use one — but you get less choice in looks and size, and you can’t not use one as easily.

Our process

1) Weigh the coffee

I check how much I needed on the water tank if I don't remember. (The standard is 6g per 0,1 litre.)

2) Give the coffee a spray

One press is enough. Where you do it depends on the grinder and container. (I'm not sure where it's best on my current setup.)

3) Grind the coffee

You'll have to find your preferred setting, with some experimentation. There's usually an optimal time the brew should take — and if it takes too long, you should grind coarser (and the other way around).

(Oops, not sure what happened to the focus here! Got to take another image of this…)

4) Fill the water tank

5) Rinse the filter paper

This is supposed to remove the paper-taste. The white papers are also supposed to be better than the tan ones.

6) Pour in the coffee

I’m not sure if this is poor uniformity from the Ode of not…

7) Brew (and wait)

8) Pour the coffee on a thermal carafe

9) Put some water in the coffee-maker’s carafe

Leaving it with a bit of water is supposed to give less coffee residue in the carafe over time.

To sum it up:

Buy good beans,

that you grind at home

(perhaps with a spray of water)

after you’ve weighed them out.

Use a good coffee-maker

with a removable water tank,

that you rinse the filter of,

and leave a bit of water in after use.

If you want to drink your coffee over a period of time,

put the coffee in a thermal carafe (instead of leaving it on a hot-plate),

and use small cups to get a larger portion of your total coffee drinking at your preferred temperature.

I personally don’t like French Press - but if you do, this guide is supposed to be good. ↩︎

James Hoffmann, of course, has a video on this as well. ↩︎

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anoyms · 6 months ago

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The Elegant Set of 3 Copper Containers: Stylish and Functional Storage Solutions

Features of the Set of 3 Copper Containers:-

Copper dabbas, a collection of three beautiful containers, are both decorative and practical additions to any kitchen. Each of the set's containers is both functional and beautiful, thanks to its manufacture from high-quality copper. The brass handles give the copper containers an air of refined simplicity and make them easy to carry around. Keeping the contents remain fresh and safe, each container comes with a copper cover that fits securely. This set will not only serve your culinary needs, but it will also add a touch of classic style to your kitchen.

Benefits of using the Set of 3 Copper Containers:-

1.There are a lot of advantages to storing food in copper containers in the kitchen. They are great for keeping food because, first of all, copper has antimicrobial qualities. You may enjoy your food for longer because to copper's inherent antibacterial properties.

2. Whether you're storing hot or cold foods, these containers will retain them at the perfect temperature thanks to copper's thermal conductivity. This makes them useful for a wide range of purposes in the kitchen, from storing grains and spices to maintaining the temperature of cooked foods.

3.The copper containers include brass handles, which aren't just decorative; they also make it easier to hold the containers securely and avoid spills. The food will stay fresh and safe from pests and other outside influences thanks to the tight-fitting copper cover.

The visual attractiveness of copper is another major advantage. The copper containers, with their rich, warm tint, elevate the look of any kitchen. These containers serve dual purposes as both functional storage and aesthetically pleasing accent pieces as the copper patina gradually deepens with time.

To top it all off, copper is a long-lasting material. Copper containers experience far longer and are more durable than their plastic or glass competitors. Because of this, purchasing the three-piece copper container set is a wise financial decision for your kitchen.

The last benefit is how low-maintenance these copper containers are. They are easy to clean; just use a gentle detergent and water to keep them looking and working well. Using these containers in your kitchen is already convenient, but the low maintenance part makes it much better.

Versatility and gift potential:-

You can store just about anything in this set of three copper containers. These containers may hold anything you can think of, including grains, spices, snacks, and even non-food objects. You may also use them as decorations because of how exquisite they are. They are the perfect way to brighten up your kitchen shelves without breaking the bank.

Copper canisters are a great present idea as well. Those in your life who have an appreciation for the quirky and vintage will adore these copper containers with brass handles. Additionally, they are perfect for gifting as tokens of appreciation for celebrations like weddings, anniversaries, and housewarmings. These containers are perfect for any occasion because of their practicality and classic style.

Global service:-

In addition, we have shipping facilities in every major city around the globe, including the USA, Canada, and London. You can appreciate the beauty and use of these copper jars from any location. Order your set now and enjoy the perfect combination of form and function that only premium copper dabbas can provide.

Finally, the three copper containers are the definition of elegance and functionality. These containers are perfect for storing a variety of items in the kitchen because to their sturdy copper structure, brass handles, and tight-fitting lids. Copper is a great material to have around the house since it is beautiful, thermally conductive, and antimicrobial. Not only may they be used as storage, but they can also be used as ornamental items or considerate presents. These copper storage containers are an enduring investment that will bring joy to your kitchen and your loved ones. They are available for shipment worldwide.

#copper conatiners #copper dabbas #copper storage with brass handle #copper ware

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kitchenandbathrenovation · 1 year ago

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How to Decorate Bathroom Shelves Like a Pro?

The bathroom is not only a place for relaxing but a well-designed bathroom that adds a sleek look to your home. Bathroom Renovation is perfect to add chic to your bathroom. Looking to jazz up your bathroom and make it both stylish and practical? Well, Kitchen And Bath Reno- the best Bathroom Renovation Company in Auckland, introducing some artfully adorned shelves.

In this blog, we'll dish out five golden nuggets of wisdom for achieving a functional and visually pleasing vibe in your bathroom using those trusty shelves. So, let's dive right in and turn your bathroom shelving dreams into a reality!

5 Expert Tips for Jazzing Up Bathroom Shelves:

Set the Tone with a Thoughtful Palette: Begin by crafting a color palette that jives with your bathroom's overall design. Incorporate practical items such as wicker baskets and glass jars filled with cotton balls– they'll amp up your storage game while looking chic. When it comes to decor, think in odd numbers, adding stylish elements like vases and canisters to create a captivating visual rhythm.

Survey Your Wall Space and Purpose: Before diving into decorating with floating shelves for that modern and sleek look, assess your wall space and intended purpose. Optimize utility by integrating functional items like storage baskets or towel racks. Inject some personality with personal touches, such as potted plants or decorative accents, to infuse warmth into the smaller space.

3. Select Shelves that Fit the Bill: Picking the right spot to stash your bathroom essentials can be a conundrum, especially in a more compact setup. While making your decision for a bathroom makeover, first explore an array of shelving options, from the rustic charm of wooden shelves to the modern flair of floating alternatives. Use wicker baskets or elegant glass jars to house Q-tips or cotton balls, and seamlessly weave in practical features like towel racks or designated beauty product containers.

4. Find Your Shelf Style: Employ the power of negative space to maintain an organized vibe. When catering to a cozier bathroom, floating shelves or stylish brackets can prove to be lifesavers. Elevate your shelf setup during Bathroom Remold with eye-catching touches like verdant greenery or charming vintage canisters to achieve that Insta-worthy look.

5. Master the Art of Shelf Installation: Installing bathroom shelves can be a game-changer, bestowing extra storage while keeping your bathroom easy on the eyes. For a cohesive look, remember to place an odd number of decorative items on each shelf and stick to a color palette that complements your bathroom's design scheme – voila, your shelves will transform into an inviting spa-like experience fit for an Instagram feed.

So, there you have it, your guide for bathroom remolding services. If you are also looking for the best Home Renovation Company in New Zealand to make your dream into reality, it's time to reach us. We are available to support you with Full House Renovation. Call us or drop your demand via the enquire form. We're delighted to help you!

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twiceastasty · 2 years ago

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DIY Herb Blends

If you start using a simple homemade herb blend in place of the dried or fresh herbs listed in a recipe, you have an immediate mealtime shortcut. Learn to make DIY Herb Blends.

When I moved into my 500-square-foot cabin, building custom, open shelves for the tiny kitchen was a top priority. I designed them for exactly how I planned to use the limited space, sketching out what would live on each shelf. That included two 3- by 24-inch shelves where I could stack a set of little canisters holding 50 different spices. I adhere to Madhur Jaffrey’s view on spices: “If you can…

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#best herb blends #easy herb blends #favorite herb blend #flathead beacon #food column #food prep savings #herb blend recipe #home-dried herb blends #homegrown herbs #homemade Italian seasoning #recipe

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whumpupthejam · 2 years ago

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Running For It - pt. 1

// A/N: If you saw this fic the first time I posted it, no you didn’t lol. It needed... fixing. It...wasn’t right. Lol. Anyway, yada-yada, here’s the Marcus boy, back again as I promised! I’m planning three parts to this currently, and parts 2 & 3 are already underway. I also have a few Other Things up my sleeve when it comes to this lil story-verse. I just really want to write for all these guys again, and I had a surprise burst of inspiration, so we’re running with it, bc that’s what you do, right? Thanks for reading, you don’t know what it means to me. :) //

Marcus’s stomach churns with dread. Half his instincts tell him to just go back downstairs--not to try anything stupid. If the Man catches him, he knows he’ll be better off dead than facing whatever he’ll put him through. But the other half of him whirs with hope and excitement. If he stays where he is--just to, what, play safe?--he might never get another chance like this.

If he stays, he’d rather be dead anyway.

He steps carefully. There are a few chairs and a coffee table he has to maneuver around as he makes his way through the living room, silent as a mouse.

He struggles to even out his breaths, but it’s difficult when he’s still in so much pain. Every breath in and out aggravates the wounds he acquired in this afternoon’s session. It’s a miracle he’s even upright.

Evidently, the Man assumed he’d be too broken down to even move for the rest of the night. Either that, or he simply forgot to lock the door behind him, in some bizarre lapse of character. And yet, he had left it unlocked. Marcus had listened for the clank of the bolt, straining his ears as he always did--hoping against hope. But it had never come. And when he’d forced himself to crawl over to the door, using the handle to drag himself up, it had opened for him.

After that, it was only a game of waiting. Of staying quiet and sitting tight until enough time had passed that Marcus was willing to take the plunge in hopes that it was nighttime and the Man had fallen asleep. And when he’d reached the end of the bleak hallway and climbed the stairs, pushing the door open silently at the top, he’d seen he was right.

The house is dark, the only sounds are those of a softly ticking clock, and the structure itself moaning and whining as the wind pushes it about.

When he reaches the entryway of the house, he stands for a couple moments, staring at the door, drawing shuddering breaths and thinking. He’ll have to get this exactly right the first time. He needs to be smart. He draws the curtain aside from the big front window and peers out. The moonlight is gentle on his eyes and on his skin as it washes him. Everything outside is outlined sharply in shadow, and the pane of the window is cold, a halo of fog forming around his fingertip as he touches it. Across the street, there are some thick woods. He can see only one house nearby, but in the distance, he sees that the little road the two houses are on connects to a bigger road. Where that leads, how far it is to the nearest town, he’s not sure.

His eyes narrow on the car parked in the driveway.

Silently, he creeps back into the rest of the house, to the kitchen this time.

He glances around, not wanting to move too much. The floor is made up of wide slats of wood, and he doesn’t trust it not to creak at the worst possible moment. In the kitchen, there are only normal things. A kettle on the stovetop, a tea canister not far away. Nestled into the corner are a few cookbooks, with many tattered sticky notes pressed between the pages. There’s a butcher’s block with a full set of knives. Pans hanging on the wall. Orange oven mitts on the counter. A slowly dripping faucet. Potted plants in the window. There’s even a small circle display case with what look like brownies inside. It even looks like some have been eaten. On the fridge, hanging by a magnet, there’s the beginnings of a grocery list: milk, and fabric softener.

He lets out a low breath. This could be anyone’s home. Any normal person might have collected these things and arranged them in a way that made them happy.

His eye snags at last on a bit of metal glinting in the pale light from the kitchen window. A keyring hangs by the back door. Bingo.

Just to the left of the door is a set of stairs, and Marcus somehow knows they lead up to his bedroom. He imagines he can hear soft snores coming from up there and it briefly reminds him of his father. He hisses through his teeth and shakes that thought loose before it can linger.

The injuries on his front and back pulse with heat as he takes a slow step into the kitchen. Nothing. Silence. He takes another, and it’s the same. He eyes the keyring across the room. He just needs to reach those keys.

His weight shifts and the floorboard suddenly pops loudly beneath his foot, freezing him on the spot. Any heat disappears from his body, his senses flipping into overdrive as he listens carefully.

The clock tick-tick-ticks from the living room. The wind moans against the windows of the house. The only other sound he can hear is a fly buzzing against the kitchen window, desperate to get through the glass. Stupid thing. He has an idiotic feeling of sympathy for it.

Marcus lets his shoulders relax and is preparing to take another step toward the keys when he hears a creak from upstairs.

A single thought is not spared as he spins on his heel, tearing back toward the front door. He would’ve gone for the back door since it was closer, but he doesn’t know what’s out there. At least he’s seen what’s in the front.

“Fuck!” He swears as his thigh slams hard into a chair on his mad scramble through the living room. He doesn’t let it slow him.

He hits the front door hard, fumbling to unlock it. Suddenly, his memory is jogged and he’s thrown back to that night that seems so long ago now, when the Man first took him. He’d been shaking, terrified as he grappled with his keys and groceries. That night definitely did not end in his favor.

The deadbolt unlatches as heavy footsteps now fly down the stairs--Marcus makes a small panicked noise as he hears them reach the kitchen.

Please, please, oh god, let me get out. I have to get out!

“Shit, shit,” he groans, his fingers moving to the lock of the handle and twisting.

The door swings inward and then he throws open the screen door, letting it smack into the side of the house.

And he’s running.

He can’t remember ever running this hard, pumping his legs to the absolute limit. Everything burns. His feet slam into the asphalt, hurtling him toward the tree-line.

Faster. Faster. Faster! Oh, god, oh jesus fuck, is he behind me? Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look!

Marcus hears the screen door rattle against the side of the house again as he passes through the line of trees. He makes a split second decision, switching course and running as far as possible to the right, diving into the first ditch he comes to.

He lies down as far as he can, praying he won’t be visible unless the Man is right on top of him, and further praying that the man will assume he ran forward into the woods, not sharply to the right as he had.

Marcus ignores the way his skin feels like it’s being peeled off all over--ignores the aching chill that has steadily grown in his bones, and the cold sweat that covers him. There’s something wet tickling its way down his body, and he can’t determine whether it’s sweat or blood.

Oh fuck, oh Christ.

Oh please, please, please. Don’t let him find me. I can’t go back--

Not again, not again, not again!

He clasps his hands over the agonized noise that almost leaves his mouth when he hears the Man crash through the trees. He stops breathing and his lungs scream at him. He ignores that, too.

There’s a horrible, sickening moment when Marcus realizes the wind has stilled. The night’s silence stretches maliciously as the Man pauses to listen for him--not even offering the sounds of insects to cover Marcus’s breathing. Marcus bites his lips hard, squeezing himself to stop the shivers that quake through him. Any tiny movement, he fears, will alert the Man to his presence.

“Marcus?”

Marcus’s throat is tight. He can’t breathe, Jesus Christ!

“Well, well. Look at you. You’re not being a very good boy, now are you?” The Man takes a step.

He screams silently, biting down on his own flesh again. The Man’s heavy footsteps through the underbrush send hot skewers through Marcus’s chest.

“I’ll find you. You understand that, don’t you? There isn’t anywhere you can hide from me.”

Is-- is his voice closer now? Is he coming this way?

“Maaarcus,” he taunts. Sticks crack, leaves rustle. “Come out, come out, Little Cricket. You know you’ve been bad, but if you come out now, I might not crush you completely.” He pauses again. “I know you’re not feeling well,” he says sweetly, “So I’ll forgive you. I’ll even do all I can to make you feel better before I have to punish you--and I will have to punish you, you know. Come on,” he says, on the move again. Too close. “Make the right choice, Precious.”

Marcus shakes uncontrollably, doing everything in his power to silence the panicked breaths escaping around his palm. He presses his hand tight on his mouth, tasting dirt and sweat. Silent whimpers fill his throat and he almost chokes trying to swallow them down again.

The Man has to be almost on top of him now. This is it.

There’s a sudden noise further out in the woods. Marcus’s eyes widen. What the hell? It has to be some kind of animal, but it sounds just enough like a person making a run for it, that the Man takes off immediately in the direction of the noise without a word.

Those heavy footsteps fade into the distance. Marcus peeks over the top of the ditch, scouring the darkness for any sign of the Man’s return. He sees nothing.

He wastes no time. The Man has to realize soon that whatever he’s chasing isn’t Marcus and he’ll turn back. Marcus shoves down the pain once again. He can think about it later, he decides, as he pulls himself out of the ditch, forcing himself not to scream as the wounds are aggravated on his stomach. He stands slowly, requiring the help of a nearby branch. He only takes one second to breathe the pain back down before he forces himself to run again.

He doesn’t bother being quiet this time, rushing into the kitchen and snatching the keys from their hook. They’re cold in his fingers, and he’s practically buzzing as he runs back outside and hauls himself into the driver’s seat of the small car.

“Yeah!” He shouts, slamming his hands against the steering wheel as the car roars to life. He bursts into almost maniacal laughter as he backs recklessly down the driveway. Freedom is so close, Marcus can taste it--he can smell it.

There’s a flicker of movement in the rearview and Marcus twists around to see the Man hurtling toward him from the tree-line like a train. “Oh shit!” He spins the car in the right direction and slams the pedal down, tires screeching. The Man's hand makes brief contact with the trunk before the car peels away, leaving him in a cloud of dust and exhaust.

Marcus’s eyes are wide, and he feels his heartbeat in his mouth as he watches his captor grow smaller in the mirrors before disappearing completely. He’s not sure if the Man has another vehicle or not, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care.

He. . . he got away. Can it be true? Can this moment be real?

A new wave of mad laughter bubbles in his throat. He does his best trying to stay on the road as his body is racked with it. In the end, it all went as perfectly as he could’ve hoped. He flicks his gaze up to the stars, tears forming as he thanks whoever’s up there for his escape.

The stars. When did he last see them? It almost hurts his eyes, how lovely they are. He’ll never take them for granted again. Not for as long as he lives.

He shakes himself, his groan long and low as the pain in his body reintroduces itself with a vengeance. But he can’t slow down yet. There’s too much to do.

He has to get to town, go to the police, report this son of a bitch, find a phone, call his friends. That thought alone almost does him in. The thought of hearing Caleb’s voice, or Jake’s. Or Elena’s. God, how he’s missed them all. They’re all that kept him sane these past weeks amidst the torture, humiliation, and misery.

Marcus turns onto a country road that he’s shocked to realize is familiar to him. He thinks this road is one he remembers leading to a small town he’s visited before but can’t recall the name of.

Holy shit. He laughs again, his head light. He knows where he is--sort of. Strangely enough, now that he’s out on the road, he can see that the Man didn’t take him far away at all--maybe only an hour or so away from home! Marcus has driven these roads before, on trips in and out of town.

He pushes the pedal down a bit further, his heart leaping with the anticipation of going home. Home! He almost doesn’t believe it.

Suddenly he’s startled by a high pitched chirp from behind him, and the interior of the car floods with red and blue light. The lights hurt his head, and he squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes as he slows to a stop on the side of the road. He watches a stocky man climb out of the police cruiser and approach. His stomach is uneasy again.

What now?

Taglist (I know it’s been actual eons, lol so if anyone wants to be added/removed, just let me know!): @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumphours

#Marcus Pearce oc #the Man oc #running for it #he's out there #poor Marcus boy #whump #my writing #captivity #implied torture #escape #failed escape #...maybe

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