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centralperkchenford · 1 year ago

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Fic prompt; first I love you but one of them says it really casually/don’t realise they’ve said it and the other one is like freaking out/giggling inside about it

Ahhhh this one turned from soft to angsty to fluff real quick.

Fic prompt; first I love you but one of them says it really casually/don’t realize they’ve said it and the other one is like freaking out/giggling inside about it

Love you to the moon and to Saturn.

4 times Tim + Lucy almost say I love you + 1 time they do.

Lucy thinks that she and Tim are in a secret competition to see who can say I love you first. It’s been at the tip of her tongue for weeks now but she can’t seem to get it out. She thinks he loves her because he shows her everyday in one way or another that he does. And she tries to show him too. It just never seems to be the right time, and Lucy doesn’t want to just blurt it out.

That is until she almost does.

They are at game night with Angela, Wesley, Nyla and James. And they are playing charades which Tim seems to be very good at. And of course she’s on his team so every time he gets an answer right she gets more and more excited. Finally with the two other couples grumbling about Tim and Lucy winning, Lucy basically crawls onto Tim’s lap and presses herself against him, almost forgetting where they were.

“Oh my god I lo-” She stops herself mid sentence when she looks at Tim’s face. His eyebrows are raised and he’s holding onto her back so she doesn’t tip over.

“You what?” He asks and he raises his eyebrows even more so they are now in his hairline.

“I’m so happy we won!” She says lamely. Tim tilts his head at her, frowning slightly and she slides off his lap and doesn’t look at him for the rest of the night.

Later when they are going home, Tim reaches over to place his hand on her thigh and he squeezes it gently forcing her to look at him.

“Lucy-” he begins but she shakes her head firmly at him. She really didn’t want to discuss this right now even if she really did love him. It just wasn’t the time, soon she thinks. Soon they would say it.

Tim has a feeling that Lucy was going to say the three little words to him at game night. He could read her better than anyone and the way she acted after was a dead giveaway. The thing is Tim wants to say those words too. But he can never find the perfect opportunity to do it. He could do it when they are laying in bed satisfied and relaxed. He could do it on the way to work, they usually ride in together now. But none of those feel right, and he wants it to be special because Lucy deserves it.

He thinks he found the perfect opportunity and it was all going right until it wasn’t.

It was date night, something they tried to have at least once a week. It didn’t always work with their busy schedules but they always tried to find time for each other. They were at a nice restaurant and Tim pulls out Lucy’s chair for her. She gives him a grateful look and then he goes to take his own seat. He sits across from Lucy who is reading the menu and biting her lip intently as if she’s really studying the menu. She looks beautiful like she always does, but there’s something about tonight that take Tim’s breath away. Her curly chestnut flowing down her back, her brown eyes sparkling. She has on a green dress that was cut low in the front. The necklace he got her laid in the middle. She looks at him and smiles softly at him. The smile that she reserves just for him.

“What?” She asks him. He shrugs his shoulders but he still is smiling at her.

“You look beautiful.” Is all he says and Lucy beams at him.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself Bradford.” She says and she slides her hand across the table to grasp his.

He grins at her, and squeezes her hand before pulling back. The waitress comes and takes their orders and then their evening is pleasant. They eat and talk, but Tim can’t help and just stare at Lucy. The three little words on the tip of his tongue.

“Luce.” He says quietly and she looks up and tilts her head.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say that..” He trails off remembering the time when he said this to her after their kiss in her apartment. “I lov…” He stops. “I appreciate you.”

Lucy face falls a little bit. Tim grimaces to himself cursing himself for not following through.

“I appreciate you too.” Says Lucy quietly and she reaches out to squeeze his hands.

He nods and sighs.

Coward he thinks. Just tell her you love her.

I appreciate you. Lucy hears Tim’s words rolling around in her head. I appreciate you too and then her own stupid words.

They were so close to saying it and yet…

Lucy sighs softly as she turns her head to look at Tim, who is still sleeping soundly. His large hand on her thigh.

She closes her eyes and turns her head away from Tim. She feels him shift and pull her closer.

“You’re thinking too loud.” He grumbles. “What’s on your mind?”

She turns so she’s fully facing him, her chest against his. “Do you really appreciate me or was that just-” She trails off unsure how to continue.

Tim’s blue eyes widen and he looks a little apprehensive. “No-no I meant that.” He says. “I did I just um-”

Lucy nods in understanding even if she really doesn’t understand. “Yeah okay.” She says quickly wishing she has never brought it up.

“Lucy listen-” Tim begins. “Don’t ever think that I don’t-”

“You don’t what Tim?” She asks. “That you don’t lo-” She stops just like she did last time but this time she doesn’t look at him.

She feels tears prickling her eyes and she is appalled that she’s about to start crying. There’s an awkward silence and then Lucy moves away from him swinging her legs out of the bed.

“Where are you going?” He asks her and this time she does look at him.

“I just am going to get some air.” She replies. “I’ll be right back.”

He nods but his eyes stay on the entire time, she’s pulling one of his T-Shirts over her head.

Lucy leaves the room, and heads to the kitchen. She wants to say I love you to Tim so bad. But some how she keeps chickening out and apparently so does he. She sighs and fills up a glass of water and takes a sip, glancing at the open bedroom door where the man she loves lays.

One of these days she’s going to tell him and it’s going to be so freeing.

Tim walks into the station and he knows he looks grumpy and probably a little scary to the new rookies who are just staring at him as he stomps around but he could really care less. He goes over what happened this morning in bed when Lucy once again almost said I love you. And then somehow once again chickened out. It’s not her fault, he did tell her he appreciated her like she was just some coworker again. And not the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He sighs and he’s about to make it into his office when Angela steps in front of him with her arms folded crossed her chest.

“Timothy.” She says sternly. “What is going on with you?” Tim tries to push past her but she stops him.

“You have been stomping around here all day, with a grumpy look on your face. Did something happen with Lucy?”

Tim sighs and runs his hands down his face. “No we are fine. I just- she- we..” he trials off and Angela raises her eyebrows. “You just what?” She asks.

“I love her.” He says and he wishes it was this easy with Lucy. “I love her but I can’t get it out and she can’t get it out. So we are throwing other words around like I appreciate you.”

He sighs as he continues to talk. “I don’t know why..”

“Tim.” Angela placed her hand on his arm. “You will find the right time and you will be able to say it okay? Don’t put all this pressure on yourself, you will know when the time is right okay?”

Tim nods and runs his fingers through his hair. “I just want to tell her how much I love her. I think she knows but..”

“It will come to you Tim. I promise.” Angela says sympathetically.

Later Tim decides to show Lucy how much he loves her. And kisses her all over and she’s giggling and surging up to kiss him. And god she’s beautiful, he stares down at her and she traces her finger across his face.

“What’s on your mind?” She asks. He doesn’t answer just stares down at her.

“How about I show you instead?” He says smirking at her. She rolls her eyes but he can only hope she caught the meaning behind his words.

Tim stands behind Lucy as she grips the steering wheel on the arcade car game.

“Go right!” Tim mutters as she barely avoids the guardrail. Lucy turns to glare at him and he reaches forward to get her back on the road.

“Focus Luce.” He says sternly in his best TO voice. “You can’t be running into cones.”

Lucy turns the steering wheel to the left sharply and hits a cartoon pedestrian.

“Whoops.” She says and Tim looks at her in amusement.

“Oops? You just hit a person and you say whoops.” He says and she turns sharply again finally getting back on the road.

“What?” She asks and she is actually focusing now which Tim finds adorable. He sits on the edge of the seat and scoots Lucy over a bit.

“Let me help.” He says and Lucy glares at him again. He knows what she’s about to say so he leans over to kiss her without taking his eyes off the screen. “Just so you don’t get last place.”

She sighs and let’s up on the wheel a little. “You are infuriating.” She grumbles.

“You love me.” He quips back, his eyes never leaving the screen. He’s up to 6th place now.

“I do love you but you are still annoying.” She says. Tim swivels his head to look at her. His heart pounding in his chest. He hears an explosion on the game but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Lucy.

She loves him! She loves him!

“Did you just say—?” He asks her tentatively. She looks up at him with wide brown eyes, she opens and closes her mouth realizing what she had just said.

“I.. god yes Tim. I love you. I love you so much I haven’t been able to say it. I chicken out-”

He cuts her off with a kiss and pulls her into his lap. She’s so close he can feel her heart beating against his.

“I love you too baby. I have been scared too but I love you so much. I am so sorry that I said I appreciate you, which I do but I fucking love you too.”

Lucy sighs happily and wiggles herself more onto his lap. They are on a seat made for one and it’s squished but neither of them seem to care.

“Why was that so hard?” Lucy asks and she’s peppering kisses all over his face. “It’s been on the tip of my tongue for months.. and I-”

Tim shrugs his shoulders because he doesn’t know why it was so hard. But now that he’s said it he knows he’s never going to stop.

“I love you.” He mutters as he kisses her again. She says it back softly and he sighs happily.

“Excuse me?” Tim looks away from Lucy to see one of the arcade employees standing there staring at them.

“This is a family arcade. And there are kids who want to play this game. So if you don’t mind…” He says awkwardly. “Uh but I am happy you guys love each other.”

Lucy huffs out a laugh and slides off the seat. Tim follows her and grabs her hand once they are side by side again.

Tim leads her out of the arcade and to his truck where he backs her into it.

“I love you.” He says quietly.

Lucy looks at him and smiles before tugging him down to kiss her again.

“Please never stop saying that to me.” She says as she looks up at him. “Please always tell me you love me.”

Tim just kisses her gently. “I don’t think I will ever be able to stop Luce.”

And she giggles happily. “Me neither.”

Tim grins at her and he reaches over to open the passenger door.

“Let me take you home to show you how much I love you.”

He steps back so she can climb into the truck, but not before she pulls him to her.

“I’m counting on it.”

And yea Tim does break a few speeding laws that night getting the woman he loves and who loves him back home.

#chenford #the rookie #chenford fanfic #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #anon answered #chenford fic

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takeeachdayonebookatatime · 1 year ago

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Why did you elbow me? 138

Achilles Castle part 43

Castle: pov Kate is too stunned to answer one, I don't even know if Kate can have kids. Let alone breastfed one with her chest trauma that might be impossible. I quickly reply with. It's for a friend who is expecting a second child soon. I don't even know if my wife can have kids. She has a heart condition.

Benny: pov I'm so sorry I had no idea. Mr Castle mentions his wife Kate was shot at her Captain's funeral and almost didn't make it. I helped them pick out a few newborn things.

Castle: pov we pay and head out to dinner, Kate is crying in the car. I ask her what's wrong and she says it just hit her today in the baby store the fact that she probably never going to have children. I lean in and tell her it's okay we can always adopt if you want kids.

Kate: pov Castle found a parking spot near the door. The restaurant is very nice. I suggest we sit outside and eat after looking at the menu we order our food. I ordered the lobster and vegetables with salad. Castle ordered the crab cakes with clam straps and French fries. Once we finish eating me and Castle head home so I can relax and read while he gets some writing done.

Castle: pov Alexis is hanging out with some friends for dinner and Martha has plans with an old friend. I suggest we cuddle and watch a movie before bed. I make popcorn as a snack. Kate is definitely getting sleepy. After brushing her teeth she heads off to bed. In the morning I get up before Kate to eat and shower, I don't want to eat in front of her because she can't. Once I'm dressed I wake her up, she jumps in the shower and gets dressed quickly. I remind her not to take her meds. This scan requires her not to take them which I feel bad about. The car ride to the hospital wasn't so bad. Kate checks herself in and signs some papers. I brought my computer since this scan takes a very long time. It felt like forever before Kate's name was called but it's only been 7 minutes. In the room a nurse takes her vitals and goes over the info about the scan. Dr Burkett appears since he will be monitoring her during the scan and going over Kate's scan results with us.

Kate: pov the nurse says my vitals seem okay so far. Castle kisses me on the lips. I chose the wheelchair over the gurney in the scan room. Everything is being set up. The nurse puts the electrodes on my chest. Then She inserts the iv and administers the radiotracer into it. I have to wait a few minutes for the radionuclide substance to work. A pulse ox-meter is put on my finger just in case. I'm helped onto the table of the scanner. This could take up to 3 hours. The special camera is hovering above my chest to get the special pictures. A nurse is standing on the side in case of an emergency. It is risky with me not taking my meds, but they need to see how my heart works without them. Having my arms placed above my head is very triggering for me, this scan requires my arms to be above my head. Let's hope I do okay.

Nurse Barbara: pov me and the technician have been advised about her medical history and have a plan in place in case she has a medical emergency. There is a treadmill in the room for Kate. She will run on it between photos. The technician is satisfied with the amount of pictures so far.

Tim scan technician: pov so far everything is going okay Dr Burkett is pointing stuff out on the screen, even with her severe trauma her condition seems stable. Kate has a good amount of scaring. Scaring makes it hard for her heart to work right. Normally you would see a disruption of blood flow. But in Kate's case her body has decided to make up for the injured area and push her blood through faster in other areas. Her left ventricle beats faster than the right one making it work harder than normal.

Nurse Barbara: pov I help Kate stand up. So she could run on the treadmill. The Dr made sure it was at a lower speed since Kate has issues with her pulmonary vein and left lung. We don't want her to have trouble breathing. After running for a few minutes I help Kate lay back down on the scan table once she is comfortable we can start again. The camera takes a few different pictures from different angles. We are almost near the end of the scan. After repeating the same steps a few times I accidentally bend Kate's arm above her head instead of letting her do it.

Kate: pov the nurse bends my arm above my head and suddenly I'm back in the trauma room with Josh inserting a chest tube. Remembering the feeling of me dying twice. The pain is just too much.

Nurse Barbara: pov Suddenly something changes and I can see the fear in her eyes. She is starting to freak out, I notice Kate is starting to breathe heavily and the technician stops the scan. Dr Burkett is shouting from the booth that she is having a medical emergency. Another nurse is grabbing some oxygen and some meds just in case. I'm trying to calm her down telling her everything is okay. Stay with me, stay with me, you're okay. My words seem to be making it worse.

Dr Burkett: pov I guess the nurse bending her arm was too much for her. Kate was doing so well bending it herself. I tell another nurse to get her husband Castle, maybe he can calm her down. In the scan room I'm holding her hand making sure she is okay. PTSD is not fun at all, I decide to give her oxygen since the monitor shows it's low. I tell her it's okay, can you squeeze my hand. To be continued. …….

#castle #caskett #katebeckett #stanakatic #nathanfillion #richardcastle #jimbeckett #tamalajones #lanieparish #jonhuertas #javieresposito #kevinryan #seamusdever #mollycquinn #alexiscastle #martharodgers #susansullivan

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years ago

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nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) -- Part 3

Pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

Content: 18+.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings/Tags: cursing/foul-language, smoking, angst, panic attack, hurt/comfort (does it count as hurt if the hurt is mental anguish?)

Chapter Synopsis: Your mom tries to help your restaurant progress by flying out her friend-of-a-friend from New York City. You’d rather eat glass than work with a pompous, Chef from New York but you agree to meet with him.

You and Carmy have a rare moment of vulnerability.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

(Read on Ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly. He sat outside his restaurant while looking across the street. He didn’t see the usual construction workers and assumed whatever interior projects must’ve finished. He didn’t see any furniture inside either. Or you. He didn’t see you. He flicked ashes off to the side.

“Cousin, you good?” Richie sidled next to him and offered an empty hand to bum a drag from his cigarette and Carmy passed it to him.

“Yeah, why?”

“You don’t usually smoke out front.” Richie said after taking a long inhale, exhaling through his nostrils, and Carmy shrugged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stared at the white ceiling and dragged both hands down your face. You sat up and discovered half of your bed covered in a montage of furniture catalogs and food magazines. You hadn’t hired a chef, but you figured you could come up with a menu on your own. After all, you were doing everything else on your own. Another task or two? Fine. You could handle it. You were unstoppable. You were a third-generation genius. The only thing worse than failure was not trying at all.

You lifted your phone from your nightstand to see an infuriating text from Tim that read: ‘Electrician will be late. Should arrive by 2. Thx.’

You were two bad days away from firing Tim and hiring literally anyone else. Why did your grandfather hire him in the first place? His employees were always late, they were always backlogged, and they always had to drive to east-bumfuck-nowhere to find specific parts. You inhaled deeply through your nose, expanding your chest, and then released it all in a big, suffering sigh. You allowed yourself one pity moment per week for no more than thirty seconds.

“Grow up. Get over it.” You said to yourself before pushing aside the covers.

You swept all the magazines off your bed, and they fluttered to the floor like confetti. After making your bed, you scooped them together with the intention of piling them and putting them on your nightstand.

“Shit!” You hissed, retracting your hand, and sucking the pad of your thumb. You pulled your mouth away and glared at the paper cut welling with a pinprick of blood. “It’s going to be one of those days, huh?”

You left the magazines in a sloppy pile on the ground. You’d deal with it tonight. Or tomorrow. You opened your medicine cabinet and wrapped your thumb in a plain, beige bandage. Your eyes lifted to your mirror and fell upon your bruise. Fucker. You hated that he was right. You did think of him every time you looked in the mirror. Goddamn…arrogant…fucker.

You leaned forward, inspecting the love-bite, and scowled. At least it’s gotten smaller. You reached for your makeup bag and searched for your foundation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mom, that’s not necessary.” You said whilst shoving your cereal bowl into the top rack of your cluttered dishwasher. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to fit like this. Annoying. You tucked your phone into the crook of your shoulder and picked up a glass cup to try and make room.

“Ah, fuck!” You shouted as the glass slipped from your fingers and shattered on the hardwood. “Son of—"

Your mom continued talking, unperturbed, “Honey, he’s already flying into O’Hare. My assistant is going to pick him up and bring him to your restaurant. He came highly recommended.”

“I understand that.” You said, setting your phone on speaker and grabbing a dustpan and small broom from under the sink. “Can’t you just send him back to New York?”

“We’ve talked about this. He is Beverly’s sisters’ friend who used to work in a restaurant owned by—”

“I know, I know.” You tried to cut in. You already heard this a dozen times and you always told her ‘No. I don’t want his help’ And ‘No, thank you, Mom. You don’t need to call your friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend like this is some pyramid scheme and have a fucko from New York to help me’.

“--Bobby Flay.” She talked over you. “You are in charge of hiring and firing. But you should at least hear him out, listen to his ideas, and ask for his advice.”

You rolled your eyes. You would rather eat the glass you were cleaning up than to get advice from a New York City Chef. You plucked a large shard off the floor and stared absently at the shiny, clear edge that glistened in the bright morning light. Vaguely, you could hear your mom talking, but it sounded like it came from inside a subway tunnel. It didn’t look that sharp.

You tossed it into the dustpan and resumed sweeping the tiny, crystalline pieces from the floor.

“You said you didn’t have a menu, right?” She asked.

“I’m working on one.”

“Great! He can look it over with you.” She said cheerily. “You’re doing everything on your own sweetheart, and you don’t need to be. Let someone help.”

You remained kneeling on the floor, dustpan in hand, and leaned your head into the side of your countertop. You couldn’t dip out sick. You couldn’t be sick. You were going to put your shoes on. You were going to get your coat. And you were going to meet this Chef. Grow up. Get over it.

You were going to do it because you had no other choice. You couldn’t drive him back to the airport and say “See ya!” Your mother’s reputation would suffer. Your reputation would suffer. You had been in the game long enough to know how reputation either supported or shattered you. You swallowed your pride and it cut your throat to ribbons on the way down.

You tossed the broken glass into the trash and picked up your phone, turning off speaker, “What did you say his name was?”

“Joel.”

“Great.” You said wryly. “I’ll see him soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You paced outside your restaurant with both hands tucked into your leather duster. It felt like an eternity passed before Veronica arrived in a sleek black Cadillac and a tall, white dude with glasses stepped out. He wore a tailored blue suit, and his hair was clearly gelled or moussed or something. He looked polished. He looked like every guy you went to college with who attended a fraternity and then got a job at their daddy’s law firm. Veronica gave you a pointed look that you deciphered as “BE NICE!” You’d try your best. You really, really would.

“You must be Joel.” You said flatly. “My mom spoke highly of you.”

“She spoke highly of you as well. Hello.” He shook your hand with both of his.

You took a fortifying inhale as Joel turned to grab his briefcase from Veronica. You slipped off the reality of the exhausted, over-worked first-time restaurant owner who desperately didn’t want to fuck this up and plastered a sweet, congenial smile on your face. You opened the front door and made a grandiose sweeping gesture for him to enter first.

Veronica waved goodbye, “Text me if you need anything!” She said in her faint south-London accent. Her bright red hair and equally bright blue eyeshadow disappeared behind the tinted windows of her Cadillac. You faintly heard the thumping bass of techno music as Veronica pulled away and you smiled to yourself before facing Joel.

“It gets good natural light. I like these bay windows.” He said, gesturing to them while surveying the space, and nodding. “Can I see the kitchen?”

“That’s where the magic happens.” Joel didn’t even crack a smile at your joke. Ok, dick. Get the spatula out of your ass. Jesus.

You slipped in front of him and led him to the back. You installed two gas stoves with convection ovens, and a walk-in freezer and fridge. You had plenty of shelves and storage space. The kitchen was well-lit with energy-saving and eco-friendly fluorescent lights. Naturally, the place was sterile because no one had cooked in here. Your heart stuttered at the weight of – everything – (there was a reason you didn’t like to wander into the empty kitchen), and you shoved your hands into your pockets before Joel noticed them shaking.

He ran his fingers across the top of the shelves. “What model are the stoves?”

“Uh…” You racked your brain for the answer, “SABA.”

“Hm.” He pressed his lips together, “I really would’ve gone with Vulcan or Garland.”

Your façade dissolved like cotton candy in water. How dare he? These were the make and models that your grandfather picked out. Your grandfather who was opening restaurants since before this asshole was in diapers. Granddad did his research. He spoke to vendors. He scoured reviews and talked to other restaurant owners and talked to chefs. He didn’t Google ‘Best Stove 2022’, order it, and move on with his day.

“Yeah, next time I’ve got a couple grand lying around I’ll swap them out.” You said coolly.

Joel continued to prowl around the kitchen, asking questions, and you trailed after him and glared at the back of his head. For every question he asked, your answer always seemed to underwhelm him. He’d press his lips together and go “Hm” and then say some bullshit like, ‘in my restaurant we have three thermometers on the fridge. You should do that too.’ or sometimes he’d just say “Hm” and that was worse somehow. The side of your tongue ached with the frequency of your bites against it.

You loved your mom. You respected her career, her diligence, and ambition. You were not going to kick out the fancy five-star Chef only because you loved her more than you hated him. It was a very small margin though. You sat together on the metal stools within your kitchen and Joel opened his briefcase. He looked like a shitty lawyer.

“You have a menu, correct?” He asked.

“I have ideas for a menu.” You admitted with a pointed look to your clean, flat ceiling. You wondered if you could sneak away to the bathroom, text Veronica, and get him out without it being suspicious.

“That’s alright. Ideas are good. What are they?”

You blinked, confused, and met his inquisitive gaze. This entire walkthrough he had only criticism to say. Now he wanted to share ideas? Incredible. A flexible Chef. What a concept! You couldn’t keep the sarcastic tone out of your own thoughts.

“Do you actually want to work for me?” You asked instead of answering his question.

He interlaced his fingers together on his lap, “I’d like to.”

“Why?”

“You’re intelligent, well-educated, and ambitious. I know your family. I know your grandfather’s history. And I know you were named one of the up-and-coming entrepreneurs in 2020 after your success during the merger between Cincinnati general electric and Fiber-Midwest. You were their financial and acquisitions manager right?”

“One of my many jobs while working for them, yeah.” You shrugged. It wasn’t the most impressive thing on your track sheet. However, you respected that Joel did his homework. Hell, you probably should’ve done some homework yourself so you could have had more of an advantage in this conversation.

“You’re fearless.” He said it so plainly like it was a simple fact of the universe. “Of course, I'd want to work with you.”

Flattery doesn’t work on you most of the time. But today, you were staring down the barrel of your June opening date, the customer bathroom electricity was fucked, and your electrician was running late, you had no furniture beyond your office and kitchen equipment, there was no hired staff, no menu, and your mom was right—you couldn’t do this alone.

You held out your hand. “Show me your menu.”

The menu was two-sided, the front for breakfast and the opposite side for brunch. There were a few classic dishes like eggs and toast. But a majority of the menu was fancier shit—poached rhubarb syrup on sourdough with cream cheese, wild mushroom bruschetta, smoked salmon eggs benedict, and an iced ‘tonic’ drink made with kale, Fuji apple, and cucumber. You drummed your fingers against the protective plastic lamination.

“Wow this is…”

“Impressive?” He assumed.

“A lot.” You said, looking up at him, “I’ve talked to the people around here and they like the simpler stuff. Sausage and egg on an English muffin. Good bacon. Strong coffee. We’re not reinventing the wheel here.”

“I thought you wanted to make this place special. Anyone and their grandmother could walk to McDonald’s and get a breakfast sandwich.” Joel said, leaning forward in his stool to meet your eyes. You grimaced at your fatigued blurry reflection in his glasses.

“I’m just saying – I think we’d have more success with a simpler menu. I mean what even is--croque madame?”

“The description is on the menu below the name.”

“Yeah, I fucking see that.” You rolled your eyes. “But I don’t know what a gruyère, gratinéed béchamel is.”

“Gruyère is a type of hard Swiss cheese. A béchamel is a type of sauce, and gratinéed describes how the cheese is prepared into the sauce.” He explained monotonously.

You set the menu down on the counter beside you and carded both hands through your hair. It all sounded very nice. Incredibly fancy. It sounded like the menu for one of your grandfather’s restaurants. You just couldn’t figure out why you weren’t happier about it. You should be shaking his hand and empathetically thanking him for his time and effort and knowledge.

Instead, you wanted to slam your forehead into the metal preparation table until you saw God.

“We should check the competition while I’m here.” Joel slid off his stool and his knee bumped into yours.

“The Beef is not our competition. They’re a sandwich shop.” The words were out before you could stop them. The side of your neck burned hot with memory. You rubbed your hand along it and some of the foundation rubbed off in a chalky powder onto your palm. You wiped it off across your thigh.

You blinked and shook your head, “Sorry. I don’t know…why I said that. You’re right. Let’s go.”

The second you were outside, you pulled your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and slid one between your lips. The walk would take less than a minute but that was more than enough time for a drag or two. Besides, it was the lunch rush. There might be a line and you could loiter outside for a few minutes and harvest a few more pulls.

“You smoke?” Joel asked, frowning.

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.” He scoffed. “You should quit. They’re terrible for you.” He reached into his pocket and held out a small package of gum, “Here. Chew this instead.”

“Thanks!” You snatched up the entire foil-wrapped package, tucked it in your pocket, and lit your cigarette. Joel pursed his lips and squinted at you through the haze of smoke. He waved his hand to dispel the gray, blue-ish plumes and walked away toward the crosswalk.

You grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You shuffled along in the line behind Joel. On principal, you weren’t going to order anything, but you weren’t going to stop Joel from getting a sandwich. The inside of The Beef was about as chaotic as you expected given the perpetual state of exhaustion Carmy carried on his shoulders. Richie kept yelling and then cursing at the iPad in front of him. You pushed the piece of gum around in your mouth, rolling your tongue, and snapping a bubble between your back teeth.

“Hey sweetheart, what can I get ya?” Richie said whilst ignoring Joel. You noticed Richie favored the familiar faces over the unfamiliar.

“Ice water.”

Joel looked down his nose at you. “You should eat something.”

“No.” You said flatly. Your tone brokered no argument. You narrowed your eyes up at Joel and he sighed, pulling out his wallet, and ordering a hot and sweet sandwich for himself. You broke away from the line and peered over the deli counter. You could see into the kitchen. You weren’t trying to peep or snoop. Not intentionally.

Your eyes locked with Carmy’s through the narrow service window. Your heart ballooned in your chest, and you inhaled deeply like this was your first God’s honest breath you took all day. It was only a second. Barely a second. Yet you felt it stretch like saltwater taffy between your teeth. You were standing in a crowded room with Richie’s laughter filling your ears. He stood in the kitchen with white ticket tape pinched between his fingers.

Joel’s hand touched your shoulder and it snapped whatever spell that momentarily took hold of you. You blinked rapidly and looked up at him. “Yeah?”

He held his phone against his ear, “Hey, I gotta take this. Grab the sandwiches.”

“Please and thank you. God, they really don’t teach manners in culinary school.” You muttered to yourself as he walked out of The Beef.

Richie leaned against the counter, snorted, and jerked a thumb toward the door, “Who was that guy?”

You rubbed your forehead with your hand. “He’s a walking headache.”

“Yeah, no shit. Is he your boyfriend?”

You leveled Richie with A Look. “No. Ew.”

“He’s not your type, huh?” Richie asked. You were about to tell him to tend to his customers and stop trying to hit on you, but the kitchen door pushed open and Carmy said your name with urgency.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” He said. His weary, blue eyes were uncharacteristically wild. Then again, maybe it was a side-effect of being at work during the lunch rush. Your interactions thus far were limited to after hours. A quick glance to the front confirmed that Joel was still on his phone. You shrugged, collecting your cup of ice water from Richie, and Carmy motioned for you to follow him behind the counter.

You passed behind Richie, wove quickly through the tight kitchen space, and around the dishwashing station. You noticed the quick, confused glances of the staff. Marcus smiled at you. However, Carmy didn’t address anyone or explain anything. He moved through the space with determined, quick strides and expected you to follow. He flattened his palm against a heavy, black door and pushed it open for you.

“Tell me you aren’t working with that asshole.” Carmy said the second the door swung shut and you were alone within a semi-private spot. He paced in a small circle with his hands on his hips.

“Oh my God!” You laughed, bewildered yet unsurprised. “You are such a control freak!”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. First, Carmy tells you to close before it’s too late, and now he had the audacity to tell you who you should or shouldn’t hire. It was your establishment. Not his. How many times would you dance this little dance? It was getting repetitive and obnoxious.

He stopped pacing and stared at you. “Don’t work with him. Just don’t. Trust me, okay? Don’t.”

“Stop trying to micro-manage my business.” You said angrily.

“I’m not fucking trying to micro-manage you. I’m—”

“Helping?” You interrupted hotly.

Carmy pressed his palms together, bringing his hands to the front of his mouth, and exhaled heavily. “I worked with him in New York.” His eyes squeezed tightly together in a harsh blink. “D-don’t – Don’t – “

You waited for Carmy to elaborate. You waited for him to tell you that there was some Big Scandal. Your brow furrowed at the rapid rise and fall of Carmy’s chest and the wild flare of his nostrils. He wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes were wide and glossed over and focused on the ground. You set your cup down on the bench and approached him, carefully, with your hands outstretched.

“Whoa, hey. Hey!” You squeezed his strong, solid biceps. “Carmy. Carmen.”

Your hands trailed across his warm skin, down his arms, and to his hands which were interlaced tightly in front of his chin—his grip white-knuckled and trembling. You covered your hands over his. His fingers were a sailor’s knot with no hope of disentanglement. You settled for gently squeezing and flexing your fingers over his.

“Breathe with me, Carmy. Come on. Breathe in.” You took a lungful of air and exhaled nosily with your lips shaped in a round ‘o’. “And out.”

His eyes found yours through the miasma of terror and panic. You nodded a little with your eyes locked onto his, “Breathe in.” You slipped one hand from his and cupped his cheek. You could faintly feel rough stubble on his skin. You hoped the varied tactile sensations would ground him.

“And out. Like this. You can do it.” You mimicked the deep breathing technique again. Carmy followed you this time, breathing slowly, and his inhale rattled like the wooden deck of an old ship.

“Good. That’s good.” You smiled, “Just keep breathing with me, okay? That’s all we gotta do right now.” His hand beneath yours abruptly shifted and gripped your palm firmly. You gently squeezed his hand with each inhale and lessened the pressure of your grip on each exhale.

Carmy leaned forward ever-so-slightly. His forehead pressed against yours. Your co-joined hands, twisted together, remained at chin level. His breath ghosted across your knuckles and a tremor raced down your spine. His eyes brightened. He held your gaze, though now you felt like he was actually looking at you and wasn’t lost in a memory. You were completely enraptured.

“Still with me?” You asked softly as your bandaged thumb gingerly stroked his cheek in the space below his eye.

He nodded slowly and his hold on your hand slackened. “Yeah.”

You cleared your throat and drew your hand away from his face. He caught your wrist briefly and gave a pointed look to your bandage, “How’d that happen?”

“I was juggling knives.” You said before hiding your hands in your coat. Your hands tingled and prickled. It was probably because of the death-grip Carmy had. You were getting your circulation back. That was it.

“I figured if the restaurant business didn’t work out, I might apply for like the circus.”

He cracked a small, close-lipped smile. Your stomach did an acrobatic flip. The tension of what happened laid heavy like fresh fallen snow in the space between you. You didn’t know what to say or how to address the fact that Carmy had a panic attack in front of you. You doubted he knew what to say either. It wasn’t every day you had a breakdown in front of someone you fucked and had a weird semi-antagonistic relationship with.

Carmy cleared his throat and wiped his palms against the front of his apron.

It was best to not mention anything. After all, it would be less embarrassing for the both of you. You observed a fissure in the dark pavement and your heart thundered mercilessly against your rib cage. You couldn’t bear to look at him. You didn’t want to see the story etched out across his face.

“I better go.” You said, before holding out your ice water and rattling it, “Try putting an ice cube in your mouth next time.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sounding awkward to your own ears, and you mentally winced. This was entirely too personal.

“Anyway, I’ve got work to do. You’ve got work to do.” You said in a rush, “See you around.”

It was impressive – really impressive – how you managed to talk without making any eye-contact whatsoever. Your gazed danced around in the air, refusing to settle on Carmy, like a bird nervous to take flight. You didn’t give Carmy time to reply. You were already halfway around the building and practically speed-walking to meet up again with Joel at the front.

“Where were you? Where are the sandwiches?” He said upon seeing you round the corner.

“Ah, fuck! Right.” You ducked back into The Beef and shimmied past the construction workers in line.

“There she is!” Richie announced with a smile, “Where did you and Carmy go? You guys uh--” His smile turned into a smirk, and he clicked his tongue. The implication was clearer than the water stain on the ceiling tile above his head.

“Listen, I’m not judging. I mean – it’s a little fucked because we’re in the middle of lunch but I kind of respect it, you know?" Richie said with laughter in his voice.

“Yes! That is exactly what I was doing, Richie.” You interrupted dryly before he could go on a tangent and grabbed your sandwiches from the countertop. “I was having wild and completely silent sex in the alleyway.” You said mockingly.

You side-stepped an older woman and held the sandwiches, greasy wrapper included, against your chest.

Once outside, you passed Joel his sandwich. And then it hit you.

“Wait.” You scowled. “Why the fuck didn’t you get the sandwiches?” Also, there were two of them – which was grating because you didn’t order one.

“You said you’d get them.” He said frankly.

“You know what? No. Nope. You don’t deserve it.” You snatched the sandwich out of Joel’s hand. You knew of a homeless person who usually posted-up at the corner of a nearby bank. You walked off in that direction with the warm sandwiches staining grease onto the front of your shirt.

“Excuse me?” He yelled after you. You ignored him. “Hey!” You could hear his footsteps now, his strides longer than yours and catching up quick, “I paid for those.”

“I’m doing you a favor. Their food is trash.” You said, a little breathless, and Carmy’s haunted expression flashed in front of your eyes.

“Didn’t you see how they ran the place? Completely unprofessional. They have a C in the window for Christ’s sake.” You continued.

You didn’t know if the food at The Beef was good or not, but you were at your limit with Joel. He was worse than your average egomaniac Chef. He ignored your wishes, he was judgmental, and downright rude. You didn’t know what happened between Joel and Carmy, but Carmy freaked the fuck out while talking about Joel. Details be damned. Carmy’s reaction told you everything you needed to know.

“I think you’re overreacting. We need to try it.” He said, keeping pace with you, “We can’t structure our restaurant if we don’t know the other options. We’re going to be a breakfast and brunch location, but we could expand in the future.”

You were forced to stop walking at an intersection. The cars sped down the street, your hair whipped around your face, and your temper boiled over. “Stop saying ‘we’!”

Joel actually looked crestfallen.

“What? Why?”

Your eyes widened. Was he seriously this delusional? Good God. At this point, you’d take the damage to your reputation if it meant Joel was out of your life faster.

“Because I’m not hiring you.” You said coldly. “It’s not a good fit.”

“Why not?”

“Do you always question people’s decisions?” You asked with a low simmer of heat to your words. “It’s my restaurant. It belongs to me. I decide who works there. It’s not my late grandfather’s choice. It’s not my mom’s. It’s mine.”

Joel tilted forward to be eye-level with you. “You’re making a mistake. Do you know how many restaurants would beg to have me working there?”

“Great. You can work for them then.” You said unflinchingly. You caught the crosswalk signal flashing white out of the corner of your eye. “Have a nice flight back to New York.”

Joel did not follow you across the street. You found the man you were thinking of near the parking garage of the bank. He sat next to a shopping cart filled with filled plastic bags and wore a faded, grimy Chicago Cubs baseball cap. He looked at you with befuddled, watery brown eyes.

“Weird question, but I got an extra sandwich. Do you want it? And can I sit and eat with you?” You said while offering the sandwich.

“What is it?” He said gruffly. His voice was a deep timbre and ragged around the edges.

“It’s from Chicagoland Beef. It’s a hot and sweet or something.” You shrugged, “I hear it’s good.”

The man frowned a little and accepted it. “You got any cigarettes?”

You sat on the sidewalk next to him, “Yeah.”

“Can I have one?” He asked after taking a bite of his sandwich. You unwrapped your sandwich on your lap and plucked your last two cigarettes out of the pack. You wordlessly passed them over the stranger. You could buy another pack on your way home. Or you could ask Carmy again…a small, selfish, and stupid part of your brain whispered.

“God Bless you.” The man said and slid a cigarette behind each ear. You picked up the sandwich, sighed, and mentally prepared yourself to be grossly disappointed. Chicagoland Beef wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t sleek, or modern, or Instagram-worthy. It wasn’t a five-star bistro. It was a restaurant only in business due to nostalgia. The regulars kept it alive which meant it wouldn’t be good. It would be sub-par at best.

“Holy shit.” You spoke around a mouthful of beef, “Holy fucking shit. You’re kidding me.”

The man snickered and nodded. “It’s good, right?”

“It’s fucking divine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was fucking cold the next morning which was obnoxious to contend with as you stood outside The Beef/Chicagoland. You bounced a little in place and rapt your knuckles against the glass front door. You considered going to the parking lot and knocking on the metal door, but that felt weird and intrusive. You didn’t work here. Nope. It was better to keep things super professional going forward. No more bumming cigarettes, no more fucking in the backseat, and no more terrifyingly intimate moments of shared vulnerability.

You were going to stick to your side of the street starting today.

A young Black woman wearing a colorful scarf around her head to protect her box braids answered the door with an elongated, “Hellooo?”

“H-hi. Um – is Carmy – wow this is weird. I’m not a stalker, just FYI, but is Carmy here?”

“Okay, you do realize that sounds like something a stalker would say, right?”

You snorted. “I do realize that.” You gave her your name. She twisted her lips wryly, shut the door, and left you on the chilly sidewalk.

You squinted up the sky and scattered ashen clouds dotted across a blue canvas. The eastern sunrise slashed radiant yellow-orange light through the taller buildings of Chicago. You couldn’t believe you were up this early just to ensure you talked to Carmy before the day started. Then again, it wasn’t like you slept much the night before. You spent over two hours on the phone with your mom conducting damage control after the fallout with Joel. Lucky for him – you were generously compensating him for his time and that should (in theory) reduce any hard or bitter feelings. The rest of the evening was confined to your couch and watching cooking competition shows for inspiration. You yawned behind your fist and blinked away the tired tears that blossomed.

Carmy opened the door, “Jesus, it’s cold as fuck out here.” He titled his head to the side to signal you to walk into the building. You searched his face briefly, unintentionally scanning it for any lingering anxiety, but Carmy looked as he always did - sleep deprived and worn thin. At least he was consistent.

“I’m not going to work with Joel.” You blurted, “He’s a dick.”

Carmy nodded. “Okay.” He said while wiping his hands on a white towel that was identical to the one in his other apron pocket. You chewed your lower lip. It was now or never, wasn’t it? It was time to stay on your side of the street. Your heart skipped in anticipation. Every instinct in your bones told you to say a gruff farewell and bolt from the restaurant. It was always easier to run than to admit you were wrong.

Grow up. Get over it.

“And I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you.” You looked at the framed photos on the wall instead of looking at him, “You were right, and I was being unfair.” You shrugged and the nape of your neck burned with mortification.

“You already apologized for that.” He said casually. “Truce, remember?”

Oh good. He got your note. Carmy inhaled sharply at the beginning of a thought. Your feet itched to hit the pavement at a breakneck speed. But you forced yourself to stay put and see the conversation through until the end. How was it that you could fearlessly stare down a boardroom of geriatric Viagra-popping executives and yet in front of Carmy all you wanted to do was run?

“About yesterday…” He began.

You swallowed roughly and nerves electrified across your skin.

“You know, the – uh –when I – I –“ He whispered with a cautious look over his shoulder to the kitchen.

“Freaked out?” You said softly with a pointed lift to your eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

You sensed he might thank you and you couldn’t have that happening. The various events that happened behind The Beef of Chicagoland were best if left unmentioned. Your relationship to Carmen Berzatto going forward would be impersonal. It would be professional with a capital “P”.

“Don’t worry about it.” You pressed your lips together. “Shit happens.”

You couldn’t tell if his expression was relieved or disappointed. If he wants to talk about his mental health, he can talk to a therapist. You strengthened your spine and configured your expression into perfect neutrality.

“Okay, okay. Yeah.” He blinked a few times, nodding quickly, “Well, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” You said while giving him one of those awkward, tight-lipped smiles people do when they cross someone on the street. Really, don’t. You mentally pleaded. Your pulse thrummed bellowed your jaw. OK. It was time to leave. You knew that. He knew that. Why weren’t you saying goodbye? You inhaled shortly and parted your lips.

Marcus’ voice called your name from the kitchen, and he walked into the front of house a second later. He purposefully carried a small, paper to-go boxed container.

“Hi Marcus!” You said instead of saying farewell to Carmy. Your mood instantly buoyed. Marcus held the container out to you with a bashful, kind-hearted smile.

“This is for you.”

“What is it?” You said at the same time Carmy said, “What’s that?”

Marcus shrugged one big shoulder, “I wanted to thank you for giving me the opportunity to interview with you. I am going to stay here, though. Just so we’re clear.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little up at him. “I get it. We’re clear.” You held the little box safely against your chest in reverence. No one gave you a gift after an interview before. It was remarkably sweet. You said a quick farewell and carried the box back to your restaurant with a small, dazed smile on your face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Chef Carmy!” Ebra whispered at him. They snuck a look through the deli window when she arrived, so early in the morning, with her nose pink from the cold. Everyone in the kitchen was curious.

“Yes, Chef?” Carmy replied while rapidly chopping onions. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his shoulder.

“That was your girlfriend?” Ebra asked with an encouraging nod.

“What?” He shot him a confused, exasperated look. “No. No, man. Just – let’s focus on prep, yeah? Okay? Tina, where you at on the stock?”

“One more hour, Jeff.” Tina replied.

“Then she is Marcus’ girlfriend.” He guessed.

“Ebra – No.” Carmy stopped cutting and set his knife down, “I don’t know if she’s anyone’s girlfriend, alright? And it doesn’t matter. She just - she came by to tell me something. That was it. Can we move on. Please?”

“Marcus gave her a slice of cake and you did not get upset.”

“He –“ Carmy sighed and picked up his knife again, “We’ve got five slices all day. We’re not behind. It’s fine.”

Ebra pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. Carmy refocused on his task at hand with relief running through his veins. He didn’t want to think about you and the tender, soft expression on your face yesterday.

He didn’t want to think about the easy-going smile you gifted Marcus.

He didn’t want to think about your light perfume and sweat clinging to his skin.

He didn’t want to think about how your eyes glistened after seeing the magazine cover before you promptly blinked it away.

He didn’t want to think about the way your cigarette dangled from your plush lower lip when you first met.

He slammed his knife down with more force than necessary. Fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat alone in your pristine, sleek, and silver kitchen. Joel’s pretentious menu laid open on the counter and you set Marcus’ box beside it. Opening it revealed a layered slice of chocolate cake. You laughed lightly and grabbed a fork.

The first bite is wonderfully moist and dense with dark-chocolate flavor. A memory unfurled against your tongue and in the pockets of your cheeks. A memory of birthday parties, chasing your cousins barefoot through the grass, the happiest moments of your family were always when they came together to celebrate something or someone. You set the fork down and stare, unseeing, at the wall.

It doesn’t have to be a restaurant. It could be a bakery. This kitchen could produce cupcakes and tiered cakes with loving, creative designs. Your grandfather never owned a bakery. His business and legacy was locked into flipping old buildings and turning them into upscale dining and haute cuisine.

But fine dining wasn’t you. You didn’t want to run a business with fancy cheese brunches and raspberries imported from Spain. Your stomach twisted inside-out at the thought of it. You pushed Joel’s menu into the nearby trash and tucked your feet under the metal rung of your stool.

You lifted the container of cake and took another bite while smiling.

> Part Four (nsfw)

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #fic: nothings gonna hurt you baby #the bear fic #carmen berzatto x reader #reader x carmy berzatto

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helloyesthisisdado · 4 years ago

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dado goi thoughts

hello all dado follower since dado has hit the mile stone dado will be revealing his thoughts on all the goi that he can find on that one page on scipnet yes.

pls do not ask dado how he got on scipnet.

es see pee foundation: dado does not like the es see pee as they love to steal fine dado product and or threaten dado over email. alex ya va university: dado personally not interreact with them but has tried to sell the fine horses to them as he think they would like the high power horse. i think they could be good dado friends. ambrose restaurant: dado since change opinion on them and think they r wonderful place to eat at, great food for dado and is now business partner of dado. anderson robot: dado has tried and tried to work with them but they always say "mr dado u r so unprofessional at the robot" even though dado make fine robot like tsar roomba. they r not very nice. are we cool yet: dado does not know how to feel about the are we cool ppl as many of them hate dado but some do not hate dado. the are we cool ppl sometimes prank dado and dado does not like that. the black queen: dado wishes to not talk about the black queen as they do not like dado for some reason, dado does not know why. chaos insurgency: ppl who are better then the es see pee and dado like to pay them to go hit ppl, but still sometime steal dado product but dado is forgiving man and they do good job, dado like them. chicago ghost: dado once made a cigar for chicago ghosts and dado think "hmmm chicago ghost very cool" but then dado watch ghostbusters and dado no longer like them. church of broken god or something: dado is very on edge with religions especially the crazy cult kind of ppl but these guys are very friendly towards dado and do not mind him, dado will sometimes fund their crazy ongoings. the church of the second high tooth: dado does not like the cults. dado: idk why dado on goi list but dado like himself. u trust dado. dr wondertaintment (tee em): dado love the dr wondertaintment (tee em) and dado strives to be like them with all whimsy (tee em) and fun, but dado is not good at making the toy sometimes so he leave that to them. favourite dado partner. the factory: dado number one enemy as dado hate the factory and wish dado could punch them into the sky with dado boxing glove. dado wishes they suffer for long time. five church: dado does not like cult as he stated before and this no exception but dado find it funny how they worship the starfish like the patrick star from spunch bob. maybe they r funny ppl. gamers against weed: dado think the fact they r against weed is good thing as dado does not like devil lettuce, so dado support them but when dado try to enter chat room it fill dado pc with the weed so dado think the es see pee is attack them, they r cool ppl. global occult coal miners: just as bad as es see pee if not worse as they actively want dado heads, very bad and dado does not like it when they raid warehouse or threaten dado customer. do not threaten dado customer. dado stillnot consider them number one enemy. gru-p: dado had run in with gru-p when he make product for the russian but other then that no bad quarrels with the gru-p, dado hasnt heard from them for while though. circus of quiet ppl: dado is mortal enemy of circus as they ruined his moon fort and forced him to fight the spaceman in fisticuff (which dado won) dado wishes to not intrude on their business though. maybe could repair relationship. the horizon something (dado forgot): dado does not attempt to speak with them and wishes not to. ijamea: mmm dado love jam, very tasty. manna charity foundation: dado loves support charity like the good businessmen who r rich should, donate many product and money to them as anonymoose, very good ppl dado support. martian cottage and grimdark: dado does not know how to feel about them as they tried to hack dado, steal his product but also willing to work with dado??? dado have many bad experience though so he is 50/50 on them. nobody: dado cannot read into nobody as they are nobody. oria: who? oneiroi collection: helped dado with his dream marketing which is very good at selling the product to higher entity, dado like them as they r helpful for dado to further market in dream. pattern screamers:

dadafuiasfhiafhnidhfajkbfajgbgadgasjkgbahdgbgjkabgjlalgbadghlalgah srry hamster on keyboard. prometheus lab: dado similar to them, maybe dado even worked for them before is where dado got his keyboard from as well, dado miss them sometimes. sharkic cults: dado hate cults and dado hates sharks, dado does not like them at all. snake hands: dado feel bad for the walking library ppl with the snake hands and wish he could help them cure snake hands but dado is banned from library like what the? dado is try to help them and they treat him poorly. the shark punching centre: dado supports their cause 101% as dado hates sharks and sharko, dado donates 10% of his money made to them so they can punch sharks and sometimes dado will punch sharks. great people. uiu: hahahahah wizard police cannot touch mighty dado business, dado still hate them though as they will actively look for dado product that have been sold and take them away!!! wilson wildlife solution: very great ppl, take care of the horses (dado offer to replace before) and very kind ppl. dado wishes he could meet the tim wilson man in person but dado is very busy all the time. dado like them. three moon ppl: dado tries to avoid at all cost and they could spell end to dado business! very bad ppl, dado do not like, hate them alot. █████ industrial: dado pity them as they try to take the easy way out, big hole left in market and dado sometimes will try fill it in but he is not good at filling them in. dado wishes he could help. atf: evilest company run by evilest man (except factory) wishes to abuse customer base, does not respect customer either. dado does not like the atf. atari arcadia: dado think the arcade making and the game making is a very good idea for the business venture and maybe dado should reach out to them?? dado will try later, possibly good business partner. deer college: dado funds them in return dado get to help with school food menu full of yummy dado food, also dado will sometime teach the class there and is like "i am dado i teach u the magic pill and stuff" nice place to be. daevites: dado does not like the evil cult. eric: dado see alot of his younger self in eric so dado sometime reach out to him in time of the need and will offer help and maybe even the free dado product (wow) and also offer him support on his own things. just girl things: dado once tried break into market but did not agree with founder of just girl things so dado cut the ties and never talk to them again, does not like dado either. light courier enterprise: make the good product that dado like to keep and also spread a good message, very truthful and good ppl. lord blackwood: one of dado good friend who will share the tale that inspire dado to make a product, also look after robert mitchell when dado cannot. parawatch: the dado arg did not go over well, dado apologies to parawatch.net. not on good terms with dado either, will not come back. saturn deer planet guy: dado will sometime talk to them but dado is like "u r so evil and mean, dado is not like the evil and mean ppl" so dado block them. scarlet king: dado is not on good terms with red king man, dado try sell to him before and all he did was try and kill dado so dado will not try again. totleighsoft: dado once tried to invest in them but all they did was scream hazard at dado so dado gave up. dado glad he did not invest as they make the bad product. the going to hell ppl who made the puppy machine: also dado enemy, dado does not like or understand the product they make and wishes they go bankrupt or something soon. ok that is all goi dado can think of, dado hope u like his list and thoughts on the matter.

#dado #scp foundation #scp fandom #scp #goi

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toastedside · 5 years ago

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Batfamily and Batmom goes to Bali headcanon✈✈🌊 (1)

A/N: Okay!!! I am actually super excited about this and wrote a few elaborated headcanons about this. I shamelessly insert my own experience in Bali. Just enjoy their shenanigans!

It took a while for you to convince everyone, especially Bruce, to have a whole family vacation. You understand, but you couldn’t help thinking everyone in this goddamn household need some time away from everything

So when everyone finally agree you arrange everything. By everything I mean every single fucking thing. You even dismissed Alfred’s help in arranging holidays because you already have ideas on which place you want to go.

Of course it’ll be the farthest place you can think about; Bali.

Bruce was a little adamant but looking at how excited you are he couldn’t say no

The kids were so thrilled, even Damian smiled when you announce the destination. Cassandra smiled too

Everything was running smooth for a while, the trip to the airport was fine until Tim screamed that he left his passport on his desk

You were fuming. But thankfully since you came four hours early, he still had time to fetch his passport and back to the airport. You are still upset although relieved that everything fell back into places

The flight was... amusing to say the least. Everyone can only sit still for a little time and the flight literally took fourteen hours

Needless to say, you have to step on your feet and ban Jason from drinking too much champagne

The flight transit in Seoul first and you spent some time exploring the airport

You had no idea how your kids manage to spend so many moneys on McDonald’s but you are too happy to actually protest

Alfred strolling around checking all interesting places in the airport. No one actually have any idea where Alfred is most of the time, but no one really question it since he always appeared at the right time and the right place

You and Cassandra went to check some local souvenirs and duty-free make ups

You bought her a lip gloss

Dick bought a lot of duty-free chocolates.

Jason steal some of it. Dick didn’t appreciate it

Bruce spent his time in the lounge reading

Damian was his silent company, he pulled out his sketchbook and spent hours drawing sights he found interesting

Tim fell asleep in the lounge too. Damian definitely drew his sleeping face

The flight from Seoul to Bali was shorter and a lot calmer this time. Everyone was too exhausted to pull any shenanigans

As soon as everyone exited the immigration gate you are welcomed by live performance of traditional music. Damian was intrigued and took a little negotiation from your side to leave the freaking airport

The ride to your hotel took three goddamn hours and everyone was dead asleep

Bali is a whole goddamn island, guys, and it’s huge

By the time you guys arrived in your hotel, it was late and everyone was jet lagged and exhausted to say the least.

Next morning you wake everyone up before the sun even rise, earned some grumble and complain from your children

“Ma, it’s 5 AM why on earth are you taking us to the beach?”

You didn’t say anything and managed to shove everyone into the local fishermen’s boat. The beautiful sight of sunrise is what snapped everyone awake

Choruses of “whoa” and “we never get to see this at home” filled the boat

The sea was really calm and everyone enjoyed moment of serenity as they watch the sun slowly rising in the horizon, admiring the pink streak against the dark sky

“Wait, is that what I think it is?”

“Oh my god, it’s a dolphin!”

Everyone suddenly fully awake and make it into competition who manage to get the most sights of the dolphins

Damian was the most excited out of bunch, he didn’t even budge from his seat. He was busy admiring dolphins swimming in between fishermen’s boat, in their natural habitat and not in some inhuman aquariums

Jason definitely tried to jumped from the boat to swim

Alfred took a bunch of photos of everyone; he was just happy to see everyone relaxed and not burdened by responsibilities

You guys back to the beach by eight to have breakfast together. Everyone kept talking about the dolphin sights and the beautiful sunrise

It was endearing to see your children getting along with each other

After breakfast everyone packed their belongings and moved into another hotel in Nusa Dua and it took two hours to get there by car

This is where you spend the rest of your holiday

The hotel was bigger and a lot nicer. Everyone fought on which room they will occupy and you wordlessly put your belongings in the nicest room

You vetoed everyone’s choices and sent them into their designated rooms, daring anyone who have words against your choice

The hotel had a private beach near the swimming pool, and there is where you spend your time with Bruce, talking. It is rare to have some quiet moment with your husband with your children around constantly screaming

Again, Alfred is nowhere to be seen. He wander around by himself but still, show up at the right place and the right time at the right moment. Nobody really ask any question

Dick was baffled with the lack of toilet paper in the toilets

“Apparently it’s not the norm to use toilet papers here. They use... jet showers.”

It took him a while to warm up with the idea but he didn’t hate it. He actually quite prefers it rather than toilet papers

Jason challenged Cassie on who can do the most laps in swimming pool. Cassie wins.

Dinnertime was spent in a famous beach restaurant in Jimbaran while watching the sunset by the beach

Tim complained a lot about the sands

“Shut up, Drake.”

Alfred brought his little camera everywhere and took bunch of pictures of everyone and the sunset

You and Bruce spent time walking hand in hand by the beach, enjoy the way the sand dipped underneath your feet and how the sea washed your feet

Dick somehow managed to attract locals a lot. A lot of them asking him to take some pictures with him. Which he didn’t mind, he found it amusing

Cue everyone’s eye roll

The reason Dick willingly to took pictures with locals was they definitely don’t have any slightest idea who he is. Not even a little bit. They just thought he is some random handsome international tourist. Or “bule” as the locals called it

“That kind old lady over there called me a handsome bule and pinched my cheek. I feel so oddly loved somehow?”

Everyone was actually a little surprised to find a lot of foreigner here. But then again, this is a famous tourist attraction

Dinner was served, and today’s menu was seafood. Damian frowned a bit but brightened up a little when you told him you bought him a lot of vegetables stir-fried

The portion was... huge

But everyone managed to eat every single of your orders. Clean plate society over here

“Ummi, the vegetables here are tasty. It has a lot of flavor.”

You’re just happy that he is happy

Dinnertime was actually nice, everyone was happy and satisfied with their food. With the sight of the sky slowly darkens as the sun sets, with the sound of the wave hitting the beach, and the sand beneath your feet as a constant reminder of where you are. You cannot be happier

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bastillewolf · 5 years ago

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Midnight In Sheffield (I)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Not sure if this is going to work out, but I’ve made the creative decision to write a series of Alex Turner fanfics, going down each album and all most likely lightly based off movies. Like the Grand Tranquility Hotel from the Grand Budapest Hotel, this one is based off Midnight In Paris. No need to have seen either movies to read these fics. It won’t take place around the same time, as Sheffield has been through some stuff in the early 1900s. I will keep it all a bit old-school themed, but just won’t name a specific era, so you can take your own spin on it. I’m not familiar with Sheffield at all, never been there, so I’ll keep locations vague and add the Paris theme a bit in there. Hope you tag along for the ride, and let’s have one for the road.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter I - AM

“I don’t see how this could be more important to you than meeting my parents,” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she had planted her face in. The sheets of the bed were soft and had a pristine white colour, much to her dismay. The entire hotel room was much too extravagant to her liking, but it was Mark who insisted on paying extra to make their stay most comfortable.

“Please don’t be difficult now, sweetheart,” her fiancée replied, as he set one of his neatly folded trousers in the dresser on the shelf next to where his ironed shirts hung. “You know how much it means to me to be able to see James and Rachel again after all these years. I’m sure your parents will understand. If not, I’ll beg for their forgiveness.” He dramatically bent down to his knee, as if to gallantly portray his apology, making her roll her eyes.

“That wouldn’t be the first thing you’d have to apologize for. First of all, you’re going to have to tell my dad why you didn’t ask for his permission to marry me-“

“You already said yes!”

She shot him a look. “And secondly, you’re going to have to explain to my mum why you didn’t want to stay at their home. I think she would’ve been very happy to play hostess to the man who’s going to marry her daughter in a few.”

He crawled on top of the bed, his curly brown hair hanging over his face as he hovered above her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be sure to make up for it. Now, please get changed. We’re having lunch.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be at that ritzy restaurant we went to last time. I’m still not over the way that waiter felt the need to explain everything to me like a five-year-old whilst pointing everything out with his little finger.”

“Well, you can’t speak French, darling. I think he tried his best at explaining the menu to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, please stop drooling on the pillow and put on something nice. For me?”

Seeing the convincing puppy look on his face, she gave in with a sigh and a very loud slurping noise as she lifted her head from the pillow, making Mark huff.

Meeting with James and Rachel wasn’t the worst thing in the world, because she didn’t see them very often and they were overall nice people. At least, if you didn’t count every time James tried to be the smartass of the group by giving some random fact about anything and everything they came across, or if you ignored the way Rachel was evidently very flirty and touchy with Mark, or if you turned your head away every time the couple made those wretched kissing noises as they shared what should be an intimate moment.

What Mark had with Rachel was something she could never come between, something she also shared with many good friends of her own. They were the type who would always share that bond with you, no matter how long you hadn’t seen each other, and she could only be happy that Mark still had friends like that.

His work as a lawyer didn’t allow for him to make all that many mates, as most try to stab him in the back just to be able to get that promotion they wanted. He’d often come home with his head hung low after days like that, when loneliness took over the pride he had of his usually exhilarating job.

And thus, as she watched Rachel hug him extra tight, she kept her mouth shut. It was for the best, and it was only one afternoon she had to endure.

But she vowed to herself to not let it happen at her wedding. That was her day. Fuck Mark and fuck Rachel. She wasn’t going to be left alone dancing with James, who seemed to be known for having two left feet, by her own husband. But that was something she’d have to worry about in the future.

Her worries now were trying to translate a French menu without asking a waiter, deciding which fork to use, and refraining from telling James to shut up about the painting that hung behind him, of which he was giving an entirely unnecessarily intricate description.

“As you can see, the painter made sure the flag of the boat is standing diagonal to the man in the front, to make the artwork a treat for the eye with this interesting form of composition. It makes the scene all the more dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mark and Rachel hummed thoughtfully, but both were looking at the painting as if it was some Professor Layton puzzle they had yet to solve.

“What do you think?” James turned to her directly, catching her off guard. James usually wasn’t one to ask others for their opinion, so she could only guess it was an attempt to test her bare knowledge on the subject to make himself look like the smarter one.

“I think you said it all, James,” she decided to answer with, “I’m afraid I haven’t thought about art in that way since my classes in school. As of now, I have more important things to worry about than what the composition in a painting is like.”

It was low of her, she knew that, but someone needed to teach him a lesson.

“Ah,” James said, seemingly unfazed by her subtle insult, “Now that you mention it, how’s your book coming along?”

She sighed. Of course, he was going to play that card. She could’ve seen it coming.

Being a published writer of a few mediocre novels she’d written back in school, she was still in search for her new muse, and things were getting a bit desperate, to say the least. She had absolutely no idea what her next story was going to be about, finding everything in her life to be inexplicably boring and explicitly dull.

Not so much to say she wasn’t happy. No, she liked being with Mark. But she couldn’t say her life was a real adventure with him, or anyone for that matter. They lived in an apartment in the big city, where Mark had his day job and she her comfortable bed. He’d come home and she would’ve cooked – whatever attempt it was each time – and cleaned, and perhaps even written down a page or two only to never look at it again.

“Oh, you know. It’s getting there,” she lied, “Inspiration is lacking a bit these days, unfortunately.”

“I’ve always found inspiration to be a bit of a myth,” James said thoughtfully, “Why is it exactly that one particular thing that’s so inexplicable yet so necessary to create something? It seems a bit… I don’t know, like an excuse for some writers. I’ve heard many talk about it seriously, and many call it pure laziness. But then again, I wouldn’t really know much of the matter.”

There was the comeback.

She smiled tightly. “No, you wouldn’t. I can agree that some writers use it as an excuse to hide their laziness, as I find that a lot of characters write their own stories as soon as you sit down and start typing. However, inspiration is indeed something vague, and could be considered a writer’s virtue or downfall. It’s however you approach the subject, and however you try to deal with it or rationalize it as an artist.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I wouldn’t know much about it, since I’m only an art consultant, after all.” He threw his hands up degradingly.

Fucker.

“Oh, come on, let’s not be so childish. All of our work is equally as important, as long as we’re happy doing it,” Rachel intervened, before raising her glass, “Here’s a toast to inspiration and art!”

Though she was relieved the argument was over and the attention drawn away from her, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar itch from the downgrading undertone in Rachel’s voice. Call it jealousy if you might, but she wasn’t one to let something like that slip from her mind, however many years may pass.

“So, if I may be so bold to ask,” Rachel continued, and the writer had almost collected her guts to blatantly reply with a ‘no’ when the woman was already speaking again, “What are your plans after the wedding? Are you moving? Already thinking about having kids? No pressure, of course.” She laughed with a pitch so high it nearly shattered the wineglass she was bringing to her lips to pieces.

“Oh, she always gets a bit icky talking about having kids,” Mark chuckled, “But if it were up to her, we’d be moving to some remote village in the outskirts of France, living in a tiny apartment until we grow old and turn to dust.”

She shrugged at her fiancée, “Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

“That’s because you came up with it.”

“Don’t you want to be closer to your friends?” Rachel asked, “Why move to the middle of nowhere, when you have everything out here?”

“I don’t know. I guess because of the peace and quiet. A simple life, with the bare necessities.”

“I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t for my job,” Mark added, which was a blatant lie. She’d heard him cut off her dream many times over for many different reasons. “Unfortunately, my French isn’t good enough to be a lawyer, and certainly not in the outskirts somewhere.”

“I thought you barely spoke a word of French, anyway?” James asked her.

“I know, but I would learn it there. It would be a part of the adventure.”

He snorted, “I’m sorry darling, but adventure is for children. It’s time to grow out of that. Perhaps you should find something you like in a proper job.”

She’d prompted to walk back to the hotel, through the rain, as Mark, James and Rachel – mostly Mark – had tried to convince her to share a cab with them. But no way in hell would she spend another unnecessary moment with that couple, and Mark knew better than to follow her out, for she would only be walking too quickly for him, and he would have quietly trailed after her the whole way back.

So, when she finally reached the building, he allowed her to soak in the tub for a few hours before finally approaching her.

“He has a point, you know.”

The look she gave him was an evident warning, yet he still had the guts to continue. “I’m not saying you should stop writing. I know that’s your passion. But, I’m asking you to maybe find something that could come close to that in the meantime, at least until you find something to write about. And perhaps, after we get married-“ he kissed her wrinkly palm, “-we could afford ourselves a nice vacation cot somewhere in the outskirts of France, and we could visit it as often as we’d like.”

She pursed her lips, turning her eyes away from his pensively. “I’m not sure your job would allow that. Your vacation days would be limited, and my desires to go on a holiday always growing.”

He smiled gently. “I’m sure we could work it out after I get that promotion.”

She looked at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m giving up.”

“You’re not giving up, sweetheart. You’re only taking measures to be able to do the things you like, and when things are going well you can set your priorities straight. It’s the better thing to do.”

Her mind might be relieved to hear this solution, but her gut remained ridden with unease.

“Mark? Are you coming?” she called out, her hand hovering over the doorknob of their room.

“I’ll be right after you!” she heard him say, “Work is phoning me, you go ahead. I’ll take the next cab.”

“Alright, but don’t be too long!”

They were supposed to meet with their parents that evening to share the big news, but after hugs were shared and multiple cups of tea were had, Mark still hadn’t shown. She was beginning to grow worried when he didn’t pick up his phone, and even went as far as to step outside to frantically see if the connection was better.

After eight missed calls, she finally reached him.

“Can you believe it?” she heard him slur, “I stepped into the same cab as James! We’re at the pub, you should come join!”

Hearing faint noises of protest from others on the other end of the line, she quickly grew more and more bothered. “Mark, we were supposed to see my parents tonight.”

“Oh, we can see them again tomorrow! I figured you needed some catching up to do.”

“You could’ve joined in on that catching up, as they’ve barely seen you three times over the past four years we’ve been together.”

“Please don’t be like that sweetheart, you know I adore your parents. In fact, I’ll come over right now if that’s what you-“

“No,” she quickly cut him off, not being able to stand the mental sight of her parents having to deal with her drunk fiancée. “You know what, have fun. I’ll stay at my parents’ for the night.”

“Sounds like fun! Call me-“

She’d hung up the phone before he could finish his sentence, and had dropped to her knees as she felt her bottom lip tremble. Not wanting to alert the neighbours, she quickly forced her numb legs to work again and strode in the direction of town, a walking route she usually took whenever she was upset when she was young. She sent a quick text to her mum, telling her she’d meet again with them tomorrow and explain what happened. She really couldn’t be bothered right now.

Tears streamed down her face at the thought that her feet were so unwilling to go back to face her parents, who she’d have to disappoint yet again with a disappearing soon-to-be son-in-law. It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell her parents about her problems, it was the thought of disappointing them once again with a mistake she was making.

A horrible, horrible mistake.

She was no longer aware of which way she’d gone, as all shops around her seemed unfamiliar, yet she could’ve sworn she hadn’t messed up any turns in her route.

Wherever she was though, was a beautifully quaint, with antique streetlights and a cobbled road. Shop windows held curtains made from white lace, and showed off vintage clothes and items for a real bargain.

Must be one of those vintage sales, she figured, as her eyes grazed along cars with brands that were so old she couldn’t remember the names of them. Stores like these must attract the more interesting people with vehicles like those.

It was when she saw a polished and brand-new-looking typewriter in one of the windows, she paused. Above it, she saw her own reflection; a puffy reddened face stained with an ongoing array of tears.

“I really hope you’re not crying because you want that typewriter so awfully bad,” a voice spoke.

She whipped around, coming face to face with a man who was giving her a kind look. His eyes were hazel, matching the brown suit he wore, and his head shaved to a buzzcut. He had sharp features, and still looked awfully British.

“I- Uh… No, I’m not,” she stuttered, trying to wipe the waterworks away with her sleeve.

The man then held out a folded cotton handkerchief to her, along with a smile as an attempt to cheer her up. She gratefully accepted both.

“Not any bloke I’d need to beat up, is there?”

She laughed blubberingly, “I don’t think that would be the solution to my problems, but thank you.”

“Thank god,” he huffed, “Because to be quite honest, I can’t throw a punch for the life of me. I would’ve had to ask one of my mates to do it for me, and cheer him on as he’d won my own fight.”

“I don’t think that would count as your fight,” she chuckled.

“Defending a lady’s honour is always my fight,” he replied. He shook his head, “Apologies for the rudeness, miss. Haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Miles.”

She gave him her own name, “and it’s nice to meet you, Miles. May I ask what you’re doing about this late?”

He gave her a strange look, “Why, it’s the perfect hour, why wouldn’t I be about? The night has only just started, and one of my close mates is preforming in the pub nearby. Want to join?”

She only took a moment to hesitate, before wilfully agreeing. “Sure.”

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner #Alex Turner x Reader #Matt Helders #Miles Kane #TLSP #The Last Shadow Puppets #Nick O'Malley #AM #TBHC #Jamie Cook #Wpsiatwin #Humbug #Suck It And See #Fanfiction

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friendlylocalwriter · 5 years ago

Text

thank u, next pt. 2

Pairing(s):Timothee Chalamet x fem!reader

Warnings: angst (i love pain what can i say), kind of fluffy? (my idea of fluff is just softer angst fmknfsknfns)

Word Count: 2,043

author’s note: ok im ACTUALLY back this time LMAO. yall wanted, so yall shall receive. enjoy :-)

p.s. it’s not essential to read part 1 before reading this as i wrote it as a stand alone, but if you want a little more context check out pt. 1! :)

It was early on a cold Sunday morning, and I had just stopped into my local cafe for some much-needed caffeine. I stuffed my frozen fingers into my coat pocket and rushed inside to escape the chilling New York air, and was immediately bombarded with the bustling sounds of the shop.

“The usual?”

I was pulled out of my thoughts and looked up to see the barista smiling widely at me, already plugging in numbers.

“Yes, Vivian, thanks,” I said softly, fishing out a crumpled ten dollar bill from my pocket. She handed me my change with a bright “Coming right up!”, and a few minutes later I was standing with a bagel and a coffee in my hands, wondering where to eat.

I ended up deciding on the second-floor seating- the designated study area. It comprised mostly of adults typing away furiously on laptops, quickly downing shots of espresso and periodically letting out exasperated sighs. I sat down at a little table in the back and took a bite of my bagel, people-watching. My eyes laid on two teenagers in the corner seated on a little beanbag chair. The boy’s fluffy hair meshed with the short pixie cut of the girl he was laying beside, both nose deep in a book. The girl pointed at something in the thick novel, and the boy nodded, quickly jotting down something in a journal. Curious, I inch towards them to see if I could get a glimpse at the title, and my body freezes when I read it. “The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe.”

TWO YEARS PRIOR

“’ The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe? Could you get any more pretentious?”

Timothee let out a hearty laugh as he settled into his chair and brushed his brown locks away from his face., He watched Y/N thumb through the stacks of books arranged haphazardly in his bedroom, lingering on those she found interesting. His eyes trailed down her body, settling on her dirty, doodled-on Converse.

“Sick shoes,” he chortled, feigning surprise when she flipped him off.

It was only the second time Timothee and Y/N hung out, and Timothee impulsively asked if she wanted to come over after they spent hours walking around the NYC streets, talking about everything and nothing. He realized how much it sounded like he just wanted to bang her, but (although he did want to do that eventually) he genuinely just ached to spend more time with her. She was funny and blunt and made random weird jokes and just made Tim feel warm and fuzzy all over.

“Huh. Never really pegged you as a self-help book kinda guy,” she muttered, so quietly that Timothee almost couldn’t hear her. But he did.

“Well, what kind of guy do you peg me as?”, he asked, leaning forward in his chair with a grin on his face. Y/N turned around, rolling her eyes when she saw that shit-eating smirk.

“The kind who probably asks every girl he likes to come over to his apartment so they can ‘talk about books.’“ she says with air quotes, walking towards him. Timothee rolled his eyes as she stationed himself in front of him, her legs pressed together in between his spread ones. He said nothing, lightly grazing his hand on the fabric of her jeans.

Y/N looked down at him and instinctively started running her hands through his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp. He looked up at her with a confused yet entertained look on his face.

“I can’t help it, I like your hair” Y/N giggled, letting her hands sit at the back of his neck.

“Well, I like you,” Timothee said, moving his hands from his jeans to her hand, gently interlocking their fingers. Y/N said nothing for a couple of moments and Timothee looked up at her, nervous.

“Shit, that might’ve been too soon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Timothee’s words were cut off by Y/N pressing her lips against his.

PRESENT TIME

“Hey, lady, your phone is ringing,”

I shook my head and realized that my phone was, indeed, ringing at full volume and every person within a 5-foot vicinity was giving me the death glare. I scrambled to stuff my bagel in my purse and let out a rushed “Sorry!” as I grabbed my coffee and sped down the stairs and out of the cafe. Once I was outside, I let myself rest on the window and looked to see who was calling.

‘An unknown number. Weird,’ I thought. ‘I’m pretty sure I blocked all those telemarketers.’

I answer the phone call with a short “Who’s this?”

The line is silent for a few seconds until I hear something I thought I would never hear again.

“Hey, Y/N it-it’s me, Timothee.”

My breath hitched and soared back into my body. Everything came running forward- the late night talks, getting McDonald’s at 4 A.M, the kisses, the hugs, the night he left.

Left. He left me.

“What the hell do you want?” I spat. Silence fell again, and I shifted against the cafe window, ready to hang up the phone. Then, I heard a deep sigh through the phone and something I didn’t expect- crying.

“Please, can we talk in person. I ... need to see you,” he choked out. I shut my eyes hard, feeling tears welling beneath my eyelids. No matter what, him crying always made me cry. Always.

I wasn’t going to crack, though.

“I don’t deserve this, Tim,” I laughed with no humor. “I just started to get used to having a life again, and you just call me out of nowhere asking to see me? You ruined me, T. I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

“Of course you don’t, that’s not what I meant, I-I’m sorry this was stupid. Sorry, sorry,” he rushed out with a quiet voice and the phone call disconnected. I let my head hang and a shuddered breath left my mouth, trying to wrap my head around what happened in the last minute.

I knew I didn’t deserve this, so I deleted his number and went on with my life. I found another boy who cherished me, respected me, and loved me. I had kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids. I had peace.

I wish that were the truth.

3 DAYS LATER

Paul Anka’s “Put Your Head on Your Shoulder” was the first thing I heard when I pushed open the double doors to my local diner. The 50s-themed restaurant was a favorite of mine, and the food was to die for. I glanced over at the modern-style jukebox to get a glimpse of the time.

2:14 A.M. Jesus.

The diner was empty, and the bored teen behind the counter looked at me with lazy eyes when I approached him.

“Table for two, please,” I asked kindly, giving him a small smile.

“You with the weirdo?” he questioned unenthusiastically, pointing over to a booth in the corner. I turned, confused, to see Timothee hunched over a cup of coffee. I felt my pulse quicken when he looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine.

“Yeah, sadly. Thanks,” I mumbled, dragging my feet as I trudged over to the booth. I took in a sharp breath when I saw Timothee up close.

His eyes were bloodshot red, dark circles prominent coating his undereye area. His face was sunken and his cheekbones were a lot more prevalent than I remembered. His billowy shirt barely hung on his frame, his collarbones peeking out from the top. I cringed; he looked so unhealthy and broken that I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. I settled into my side of the booth and kept my eyes on my hands in my lap.

“I know I look a little rough around the edges,” he muttered, a bashful tone to his voice.

“Well, little isn’t exactly the word I would use,” I joked, not being able to stop myself. Timothee looked up at me and laughed, his hair bouncing along with him. I chuckled along, looking him in the eyes. I’m not sure how many moments passed where we were just gazed at each other, taking it all in.

“Are you guys ready to order, or...,” the teen from before came up to our table with his hands crossed over his chest and an annoyed look on his face.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll take a slice of cherry pie and a root beer,” I said, glancing at Timothee from above the menu to prompt him to order.

“I’ll just take another coffee.”

“Don’t know why’d you come to a diner just for coffee but whatever,” the teen said before snatching our menus and walking away. Timothee shook his head and I couldn’t help but snort at the kid’s actions.

“He’s probably pissed that we are coming in to eat at two in the morning,” Timothee hypothesized. I hummed in agreement, the smile on my face falling when I remembered the situation I was in.

An awkward silence took over the booth and I focused my eyes on anything except for the curly haired boy in front of me.

“Look, Y/N, I know this is kind of shitty for me to ask you out to eat and bring up all these bad memories but I just needed to talk to you. I’m not even asking for forgiveness, or for us to get back together, I just,” his voice trailed off and I peeked at him, his head low and his lips pursed together.

“I feel like shit. Like, absolute shit for what I did to you. Not only did I make the biggest mistake of my life, but I was a huge dick about it. I’m sure nothing I say can ever make it better, but I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry,” he cried, pushing his hair back and violently shaking.

“Christ, Tim, relax, you’re gonna make yourself sick breathing like that,” I hesitantly placed my hand on his face, making him look at me.

“Breathe, T. Breathe”

Timothee closed his eyes as he focused on taking in healthy amounts of air. I moved my hand to take it off of his face and he quickly reached up to put his hand on top of mine, leaving it on his damp cheek.

“Timothee-”

“I love you, Y/N. With everything I have, every bone in my body,”

“Then why did you cheat on me?”

I think he was shocked I actually brought it up and said those words out loud. I jerked my hand back and put it back in my lap.

“Hmm? That’s why we are here, remember?” I sneered.

He took a big breath and his head bobbed against the back of the booth as he leaned back.

“Honestly? I have no fucking clue. You had all these great opportunities at university and you were out so much and I felt so... neglected, I guess?”

“So, it’s my fault. Incredible,” I scoffed, grabbing my purse.

“No, no, no, of course not, wait- don’t go yet. Please” he scrambled to grab my hand.

I yanked it back and stood up.

“It was good to see you, Timothee. But I never need to again,” I tried to get out the sentence without crying, but I choked on the last word.

“Please, remember when you said we can fix this? I need us, I need you. I can’t live without you,” he begged, tears flowing down his face. I closed my eyes and exhaled quietly in an effort to catch my breath. In a few quick moves, I pressed my lips against Timothee’s temple, then dug fifteen dollars out of my purse and threw it on the table.

“That should cover the food. Goodbye, Tim,”

My name left Timothee’s mouth multiple times with increasing despair as I turned my back to him, making a beeline for the store.

“The food’s about to be ready, dude,” the teen behind the counter said as I had the handle on the door. “You can’t wait a couple minutes?”

“Give it to the weirdo for me, please,” I said over my shoulder as I walked into the night, not knowing that would be the last time I’d ever see Timothee.

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pucks-no-fucks · 5 years ago

Text

Long Distance: Kaapo Kakko X Reader (part 3)

*gif isn’t mine, I am sure I found it on here, I have scoured everywhere, can’t find the owner, if you made it tell me so I can give credit where it’s due*

Authors Note: OOP- I think I know where I’m bringing this now (I have 2 ideas) but you guys will hate me for it for a bit if I go with one of them

Summary: Kaapo and the reader are in Vancouver for the draft.

Warnings: *Possibly a curse or two I can’t remember. Also there’s a passive comment in here, I ain’t got anything against New Jersy btw.

Requested: Yes | No

Word Count: 1,060

It took a lot to convince your mom to bring you to Vancouver. She was pissed about what happened in Slovakia. She was really mad. But you were able to do it. The plane ride over you were giddy. You were excited. You were staying in Vancouver for a week. Plenty of time.

When the plane landed you practically bounced off. Your mom starting becoming suspicious about why you wanted to come to Vancouver. You decided to send Kaapo a text to let him know you were here.

You: Hey I’m here, what are you up too?

Immediately you got a text back.

Kaapo: press

You: oh fun

Read

This was going to be a busy time and it wasn’t necessarily his fault. Besides, he just told you he was working with press. You were too happy for him to possibly be upset about it.

The hotel you and your mom were staying at was nice. Fancy. Gorgeous. Had a nice restaurant beside it too, so your mom treated you there.

Mom was giving you weird vibes however.

You were seated at the table and the second you ordered and the waiter took the menus she gave you a look.

She swished the water and ice in her cup. “So. When were you going to tell me you chased a boy here?”, she said simply. She didn’t sound mad or upset.

You slumped I your chair. “Mom I-“, she cut you off.

“Hey hey. I get it. Sometimes you fall for the wrong person at the wrong time. Sometimes the right person at the wrong time. I just would of liked to know why you had Auntie Aada almost call the police for your return”, she said with a chuckle, taking a sip of her water.

Visibly relaxing, you told her everything. She listened and laughed. She sided with you on most of what happened.

“Aada just worries. Long distance is hard”, mom told you. You knew it was true.

“Yea, but Mom something about this feels right. Not like he’s my soulmate or anything. I mean he very well could be, but that’s not the point. Everything is calm between us. There’s a peace and appreciation that no one else has ever shown me. There’s something there. I haven’t known him long enough to say I’m in love with him but Mom I think that spark is the start. That little something is going to be bigger. I know it’s not going to be easy, but life isn’t easy”, you took a deep breath. Mom looked at you in adoration.

“My Baby is growing up”! Her eyes watered as she said this and her hand grabbed yours. “If long distance is okay with you, then I’m okay with it”.

You blinked back happy tears. She got it. Your mother got it. She was going to support you through it. Dinner was calm after that. Conversation flowed easily.

“Draft is tomorrow. Are you going to be there”?

“Of course”.

~~~~~~~~~

You and your mom sat up with Kaapo and his family. You waited patiently with him, soothing and comforting him. This was big. Obviously, his childhood dream was coming true.

“Your okay babe”, you whispered to him. He had a straight face and was thinking hard.

“Thank you”. He looked over at you and some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared. But not all of it.

You massaged his hand. It always helped you calm down when you were younger. You hoped this would help him. The pad of your thumb ran along the palm of his hand, rubbing slow circles.

“You have small hands”.

You looked up at him with a smirk. “No my hands are average sized. You just have really big hands”.

He smirked but quickly returned his attention to the stage. You rested your head on his shoulder, continuing to massage his hand. Everyone was talking and being loud but the two of you were content with being silent.

New Jersey had taken their place on the stage to announce their selection. Martin Brodeur was announcing it. “For first over all, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select from the US program”, Kappos face fell, “Jack Hughes”.

“New Jersey sucks anyway”, you whispered while clapping for Hughes. You doubted it would help comfort him but it was something. They took their pictures and whatever.

It was a no brainer when the New York Rangers have Kaapo as their selection. It all blurred together, him getting up and hugging you first and then everyone else around him, his walk up, the pictures. The everything.

You were fucking proud.

You knew he was going to be occupied for a long time. You took your phone out and opened Instagram. Multiple notifications came up quickly on your phone.

“Was that you”?

“Are you at the draft”?

“You went to Vancouver”?

You ignored them. Your followers started slowly increasing. You changed your account to private for the time being. Kaapo has found your account making you smile and follow him back.

Opening the explore page, you searched for the Rangers. You followed them. Their page was already quickly filling up with Kakko posts.

New notification: “Is Kakko your boyfriend”?

You didn’t know what to say. Was he? No, the two of you haven’t talked about that. You read it over and over. The question upset you more then it should of. What were you guys? You were too easily upset, you pinned it on a lot of change.

You exited and started scrolling through your feed. Nothing interesting. Basic selfies, basic vacation pics, basic ads.

It was getting late, you had to leave with mom to go back to the hotel. You hugged the Kakko’s congratulations, and left. Kaapo was still busy with the rangers team and press. Mom talked about how much she loved the draft and how she wanted to go to another one.

That made you happy. When you reached the hotel room, only then you realized how tired you were. Almost immediately you fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~

You slept in, but woke up well rested. Quickly, you noticed mom wasn’t in the hotel room. She left a note for you on the clock.

‘Out with the girls, will be back before 5’

It was 11 am. What felt like hundreds of messages spammed your phone. Kaapo had texted you too.

Kaapo: When you get up text me?

You: Sorry I slept in. What’s your plan today?

Your phone dinged almost immediately.

Kaapo: No plans yet. Waited for you.

You: Think we could go somewhere to talk?

You left your phone on the nightstand and started getting ready. Your favourite summer clothes was a good choice. Flip flops and you were almost ready to go. Your hair was put into a lazily done bun before you sat back onto the bed.

Kaapo: Sure

You both decided to meet at the Tim Hortons closest to where he was staying. It wasn’t a far walk for you. Even though you could of taken the bus, you wanted to enjoy Vancouver.

The bell dinged as you opened the door. A quick scan of the Tims was all you needed. An awkward, out of place Kaapo sat in the back corner. You smiled but walked over.

“Is this seat taken”, you said in a deep voice.

Kaapos head snapped up to look at you. He chuckled, but motioned to the chair. You slid into the chair with ease. You rest your chin on your hand and looked intently at Kaapo.

“What are we?”, you asked loudly.

Kaapo went tense. “What do you mean?”, he mumbled, tracing random patterns on the table.

“Like. Are we together? Are we not?”, you sighed.

“I-“, he paused. “I don’t know. What do you want to be?”, he finished.

You smiled softly at him. “I want to be your girlfriend”, you said in a teasing tone.

He smiled. “Y/n, will you be my girlfriend”, he smirked.

“I, Y/n, agree to be your girlfriend”, you said dramatically. You both stopped for a second before bursting into loud fits of laughter. It wasn’t even that funny, so you weren’t sure why. You were wiping tears from your eyes, still trying to hold back laughter.

You reached for his hands. He reached for yours. Locking fingers together, you both giggled. Stupid teenager babble.

“Oh my god! Tell me how everything was for you!”, you exclaimed. You jumped out of your chair and almost leaped across the table to embrace him. His arms wrapped around you as he hummed in delight.

“Was good”.

“No no like TELL me about it”, you said excitedly.

So he did. He sat there and talked to you about it. He tried to be conservative about it. It was obvious he didn’t want to make everything about him.

You loved it. You loved hearing him talk about something so important to him. You loved just hearing him talk. You loved that this was a big part of his life, and inevitably yours too.

“I love you”, you blurted.

He froze. Kaapo looked at you like you had three heads. You were mentally beating yourself up over it. You didn’t even mean it. You didn’t know if you loved him yet. It was all too fast and all too soon. It was a spur of the moment. Your face went red. You regretted it immediately.

“You what”?

#kaapo kakko #kaapo #kakko #hockey #nhl #kaapo kakko imagine #kaapo kakko x reader #new york rangers #new york rangers imagine #nhl draft day imagine #hockey imagine #nhl imagine

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amarits · 6 years ago

Text

Are We There Yet?

Summary:

Bruce does not look forward to traveling with his ever-growing menagerie of children

Also on Ao3

***

Tim was a quiet child. He always had been, ever since Janet dropped him off at barely a year old and he didn't even ask where his mother had gone. Most of the time it worried Bruce. When traveling, it was a blessing.

Cameras clicked around them as he stood near their gate with Tim propped on one hip and his phone in his other hand, talking Chinese sales with the European marketing team. He was so many levels deep in the conversation that he’d lost the thread, but he kept answering questions and spouting figures in the hopes that they could all move on with their lives.

He’d had primary custody of Tim for over a year now (sole custody, really, except for when Janet deigned to make an appearance) and the tabloids still hadn’t gotten over it. They ran any picture they could get of Bruce and Tim with headlines like, “America’s Most Eligible Bachelor Turned Single Dad?” It was ridiculous. Tim wasn’t even his first kid, but apparently the media found it much more likely that he’d father kids than that he’d raise them.

First class was supposed to be boarding by now. He tilted the arm holding Tim to check his watch, and Tim shifted easily with the movement. He was perfectly content to just sit there and watch the crowd. A little bit of jostling had never bothered him. Sometimes Bruce thought it was because he was a good kid. Sometimes he thought it was because there was something wrong with him. He didn’t actually know anything about raising a child. He’d managed, with far more of Alfred’s help than he liked to admit, but there were still so many little things he was sure he was doing wrong. Dick had never been quiet like this, that he was sure of. He tried to spend as much time with Dick as he could, even with the kid’s constant international touring, and at two Dick had talked so much he could have powered all of Gotham with the sound of his voice. Tim was just… quiet.

Now the European marketing team was asking about the budget for steel in South America. This couldn’t possibly be important to their jobs.

“I’m afraid the plane is boarding,” he said, even though it wasn’t. “Email me any further questions you have and I’ll address them when we land.” That was a dangerous invitation, but hopefully they’d sort through their questions and only send the ones they actually needed answers to.

According to the flight board they were still on schedule, but he didn’t think there was even a plane out there.

He really should stick to chartered flights, but a certain nosy reporter kept accusing him of damaging the environment. Commercial flights were more environmentally friendly, especially for international travel, and made him look more down to Earth, but he hated the lack of control. He and Tim were supposed to see Dick’s show two hours after landing. That should be plenty of wiggle room, but if the flight was late and customs took longer than expected, they could miss it.

He sighed loudly. Beside him, Tim echoed his sigh a bit more dramatically than Bruce thought his own had been. Bruce looked down at him and Tim looked back with a serious expression that Bruce thought probably mirrored his. Oh boy. Bruce didn’t think mimicking him encouraged healthy behavior. He forced himself to smile.

“Are you looking forward to seeing your brother?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” Tim replied in a voice much too serious for the conversation.

“Are you looking forward to seeing the clowns?”

“No,” Tim replied in an equally serious voice. Bruce thought that was fair. He had never liked clowns either.

“Do you want to play a game?”

Tim nodded and Bruce looked around for something that could entertain a toddler. He vaguely remembered his own parents playing games with him when they traveled. There were societal expectations for how Waynes should behave when in public, but in private they could be as loud or boisterous as they wanted. His lips twinged at the memory. They would have known what to do with Tim.

Tim was watching him expectantly, so he said, echoing a memory of his mother playing in his mind, “I spy with my little eye, something that starts with…” Wait, Tim couldn’t spell yet. “Something that’s the color red,” he amended.

Tim studiously inspected the gate’s waiting area, his eyes narrowed. After a minute of him silently searching, Bruce said, “It’s okay to guess. It doesn’t have to be right.” Tim gave him a scandalized look like he’d suggested eating the dog. Bruce was doing something wrong with this kid, he just knew it.

Bruce let him continue to search for another two minutes until Tim said with absolute certainty, “The bag,” pointing at a blue bag with red birds scattered across it.

“That’s right, champ,” Bruce said quietly, rustling his hair. Tim beamed proudly.

“First class can now board,” the hostess said.

Thank god, Bruce thought, checking his watch. They were only ten minutes behind schedule. They’d make the show.

They were the first ones on the plane. He settled Tim into a chair almost three times as big as he was. Tim immediately shifted over to watch out the window even though the only things out there were baggers loading the plane. His eyes flit back and forth, following their movements. Bruce put his bag of picture books next to him on the seat. Tim could entertain himself, Bruce knew. He did it for hours while Bruce was working on cases or reading files for work, calmly sitting in a corner staring at pictures in books he couldn’t read yet. Bruce knew he should be doing more, but he didn’t know how.

Visiting Dick would be good for Tim. For both of them.

***

At four, Tim was still the perfect flyer. He was quiet, calm, and content to stay right by Bruce’s side.

Dick was not.

“Get down from there,” Bruce said sternly. He did not yell. Yelling was for bad parents. He sternly, and very loudly, just so Dick could hear, told him to get down.

Dick pouted down at him from his perch on top of the flight board like Bruce was the worst villain he had ever encountered.

“I’m serious, Richard.” Dick hated the name Richard. Calling him that was a more successful punishment than grounding.

Dick grumbled but climbed down. They weren’t even halfway to their gate yet. He definitely needed to start exclusively flying private. His heart wasn’t made for this.

They made it another few steps before Dick started walking on his hands instead of his feet. Bruce could hear the clicks of cameras surrounding them but he’d long since given up on keeping his kids out of the media, and Dick loved the attention. Bruce thought it was half the reason he acted out. At least if he was walking on his hands, he wasn’t getting into trouble.

Dick flipped forward onto his feet. “I’m bored,” he whined. Bruce knew he was bored. He was always bored. Dick could be doing five things at once, one of which was life threatening, and still be bored.

“Okay,” he said. “I spy with my little eye—”

“A burger place!” Dick said, swerving towards a dingy looking restaurant near their gate. “Can we get burgers?”

Bruce picked Tim up, bag and all, and followed. “There will be food on the plane.”

“But I want burgers.”

Bruce sat Tim at one of the few tables surrounding the burger counter. It was one of those places that you ordered and got your food at the counter and took it to the table yourself. Not exactly his normal scene. Dick was already studying the menu with the concentration of a stock trader though, so Bruce resigned himself to cheap diner food. Tim pulled a book out of his bag and started flipping through it. He was such a good kid. So easy.

Bruce approached Dick at the counter. “Do you know what you want?”

“A triple bacon and onion bbq burger,” Dick said. “Or the one with a fried egg and hash browns on it.” Bruce’s stomach twisted at the very idea. “Yeah, let’s do that one.”

Bruce didn’t know having children would test him like this. He pulled out his wallet and said to the cashier, “One—” he winced “—Breakfast on Beef Burger.”

“No, you have to get two,” Dick said. “One for you too.”

“I’m not going to eat that.” It was possible that if a villain held Gotham hostage in exchange for him eating a Breakfast on Beef Burger, Gotham would fall.

“You need to be more adventurous,” Dick insisted. “Two,” he told the cashier. She obediently rung it up. Bruce was quickly losing control of the situation if she thought Dick was the authority here.

“I’m plenty adventurous.”

“No way. You even manage to make jumping off buildings boring with all your rules and regulations.” Bruce side-eyed the cashier, but she looked like someone thoroughly used to ten-year-olds saying weird things.

“You can get two burgers if you will eat two, but I’m not eating any.”

“We’ll see,” Dick singsonged as Bruce paid.

They hadn’t even waited one minute before Dick got distracted by something else. “Is that a Disney store?” he asked, going from standstill to a full sprint in a split second.

“Dick, come back here!” Bruce called, following quickly behind him. Dick was already inside, browsing through the stuffed animals.

“Look at all of these, Dad,” he said, voice awed. There were rows of Dumbos, Tramps, Stitches, Nemos, Simbas, and Tiggers. “I need at least one of each.”

“You need no such thing,” Bruce said, trailing behind him as he walked down the row. He knew Dick wasn’t serious. He’d always been willing to give Dick whatever he wanted, but Dick hadn’t wanted much. When he was with the circus there wasn’t room, and he’d brought the minimalist lifestyle with him when he left. Of everyone in the manor, he was the one who could most easily pack everything and leave, Alfred included.

Dick put on a tiara as they passed through the clothing section. “Board games!” he exclaimed. “Disney Monopoly, look.”

“We already have Gotham Monopoly.”

“Yeah, but that’s just depressing. All the tiles are like, abandoned fairgrounds and murder dock.”

“That’s not true.” Actually, Wayne Enterprises was one of the properties. It always amused him when one of the kids got it.

“You’d rather have Disney Monopoly, right Tim?” Dick asked.

There was a silence as they both turned to the empty spot behind them.

“Where’s Tim?” Dick asked.

Bruce’s heart froze in his chest and he raced back out of the store. It hadn’t been long, but there were more than a few people who would happily snatch a Wayne kid.

Tim was still sitting at the burger table, his book closed neatly in front of him. The cashier was leaning over the table talking to him, and Tim pointed as Bruce approached. “There he is.”

Bruce flushed. The cashier seemed nice enough, but he just knew this was going to end up on her blog or Twitter and be on the evening news by tonight. “Thank you,” he said, picking up Tim. She smiled in response and held out his bag of burgers. He’d entirely forgotten about that. Less important than forgetting his four-year-old, but still. He was losing his mind.

“Where’s Dick?” Tim asked.

Bruce turned around. Dick hadn’t followed him. Of course Dick hadn’t followed him. He didn’t know why he thought Dick would. He jogged back towards the Disney store. He thought he heard the cashier giggling behind him. At least most people would assume this was more ditzy Brucie stuff, but he did at least try to look like a good dad.

Dick wasn’t at the Disney board games. Bruce almost had a heart attack before he saw Dick playing in a large castle with a couple of other kids.

He slumped into a Queen-of-Hearts-style throne. “I have your burgers, Dick,” he called.

“I’m good!” Dick called back, climbing the side of the castle. “You eat them.”

By the time he managed to herd both children to the plane, they were the last to board. They had two seats on one side of the aisle, and one on the other side. He hesitated. Logically, he should sit with Tim, who was younger, but Dick was far more likely to wander off if left to his own devices. He was certain he shouldn’t let the four-year-old sit on his own though, no matter how well-behaved he was.

“You two take the seats together,” he told them, making a snap decision. Dick was good with Tim, and he always behaved better when given responsibility.

“You hear that, Timmy? We get to hang out,” Dick said, leading him to the seats. Tim looked a mix of cautiously excited and concerned. Bruce understood, he thought tiredly as he sat down. Dick could be overwhelming.

When they got settled, Tim took out one of his books. “Whatcha reading?” Dick asked, scooting over into Tim’s chair. They didn’t quite fit and Tim was squeezed tightly between Dick and the side of the chair.

“Dick!” he whined.

“Sorry, here,” Dick said, lifting Tim so he was half seated in Dick’s lap. Tim was only a foot shorter than Dick, and the position looked awkward. Bruce watched them carefully in case he needed to step in, but Tim settled down as Dick held Tim’s book in front of them. “Let’s read together.”

Bruce knew the flight attendants wouldn’t let them stay like that when it was time for the plane to take off, but for now they looked content. Tim cuddled against Dick’s chest as Dick started to read the book out loud, dramatically acting out the dialogue.

This was a great idea. Maybe Bruce could even take a nap.

The second he closed his eyes he was plagued with visions of Dick climbing into the baggage compartment and doing backflips in the aisle.

Or not.

***

Bruce counted his children again to make sure they were all there. One, two, three. When did he get three children? How did this happen?

Dick was drifting towards a shop. “Stay by my side,” Bruce said.

“I’m seventeen,” Dick replied. His tone was scandalized, but he wasn’t fooling Bruce. Bruce had been doing this for years, and it all went to hell the moment Dick started wandering.

“Yes,” he said, “and keep your seventeen-year-old butt by my side.”

Tim and Jason were walking together a few steps behind them. He could probably trust them to stay out of trouble. Unlike Dick, who was now two feet away. “Richard,” he said.

“Seventeen!” Dick repeated.

“It’s okay,” Tim said, tone comforting. Bruce glanced back at them, but he and Jason seemed fine.

He just needed to get everyone to the plane without any distractions, detours, or disasters. He handled worse things than this on the average night.

Dick eyed a nearby story with more interest than Bruce approved of. It wasn’t even a good store. Just one of those schlocky trinket stores that popped up in every airport.

“It’s okay,” Tim said again. Bruce looked back sharply. Tim and Jason were walking down the center of the hallway. There weren’t any strangers near them. They had their bags. They were staying away from the shops. His gaze caught on Jason’s fingers where they were tapping rapidly against his leg.

“I should get something for Babs,” Dick said, veering to the side.

“No.” Bruce grabbed Dick’s sleeve before he could walk more than a few steps.

“I’m just going to be a minute,” Dick insisted. “I’m old enough to be on my own for one minute.”

It echoed a number of arguments they’d had in recent months, as Dick fought for an independence Bruce wasn’t quite ready to give him. This wasn’t about that though. This was about actually making their flight. “We should stay together. You can get her something later.”

“It’s okay,” Tim said. Bruce spun around. Jason’s fingers were rapidly tapping. His shoulders were hunched up. His face was locked in a scowl.

“Are you scared of flying?” Bruce asked.

“Of course not! Why would you think that?” Jason asked. “And if I was, it wouldn't be embarrassing. Not everyone grew up jet-setting around the world, you know. Some of us didn’t even have enough money for a bike.”

“Do you want a bike?” Bruce asked.

“What? That’s not even... Shut up.”

“It’s okay to be scared of flying, Jason.” He hoped that was the right thing to say. Jason was as likely to snap at him for some perceived insult as he was to take it as the comfort it was meant to be. More likely, actually.

“Dick left,” Tim said. Bruce spun around. Sure enough, Dick was no longer beside him. He breathed in slowly through his teeth.

“Do you think you two can go ahead to the gate?” he asked. “I need to wrangle your brother.”

“He’s seventeen,” Jason said with a tone of disbelief. He didn’t know better. He hadn’t traveled with Dick before.

“He’s a menace,” Bruce replied.

“Come on,” Tim said, tugging Jason towards the gate. “Would it help if I explained how planes work?”

“I know how planes work, Tim,” Jason said. “It’s not how planes work that’s the problem.” But he followed without complaint. Bruce watched to make sure they kept going the right way before heading towards the tourist trap Dick had been eying. He found him looking at gaudy plastic ornaments of Gotham’s skyline.

“Shouldn’t you wait until we actually leave Gotham to buy souvenirs?” he asked.

“Look at this, Dad,” Dick said, holding up a snow globe ornament with a floating yellow bat signal drifting alongside the snow. “I need one. I need one for all of my friends.” He tilted his full body to look behind Bruce. “How’d you lose the kids already?”

“I sent them ahead to the gate.”

Dick looked aghast. “Wait, you trust them by themselves and not me? I’m seventeen!”

“You’re a seventeen-year-old who missed a flight to Baghdad last month despite being in the airport the whole time.”

“I caught up!”

“And how will you explain ‘catching up’ to your brothers?”

Dick snorted but put the snow globe back and followed Bruce out of the store. “There is more than one flight. You know that right?”

Jason and Tim were sitting in chairs near the gate. They’d managed to get there without issue.

“So the wings make the air go down which makes the plane go up,” Tim was saying as they approached, using broad hand gestures that did nothing to illustrate his point.

“I’m less comfortable with how flying works than I was before.”

Tim looked frustrated. “I’m not explaining it well.”

“No, I get it,” Jason said. “The wings create weather magic.”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” Tim whined.

“The plane’s a meta. That makes sense. Does Superman also fly by creating weather magic?”

Bruce was ninety percent sure Jason was messing with Tim. It was heartwarming, actually. Jason was starting to feel enough like part of the family to tease his little brother.

While they devolved into an argument about how Superman flew, he approached the podium. “Is first class boarding yet?” The sooner all of his children were actually on the plane, the sooner he could relax.

“We’re just starting now, sir!” the chipper woman behind the podium said. He gave her his most charming smile to make up for whatever disaster his children were likely to cause.

“Come on, boys,” he called back to the bickering… well, they weren’t all teenagers yet. Oh, god. Tim would turn thirteen before Dick turned twenty. He was going to have three teenagers at once.

“Wait, why are we boarding before everyone else?” Jason asked, eying the crowd of seated passengers.

“First class boards first,” Bruce told him. Jason stiffened and Bruce could feel the argument coming like a shift in the winds. He picked up Jason’s abandoned bag and started down the gangway, trying to at least get on the plane before the inevitable explosion happened.

Jason, thankfully, miraculously, followed. “I don’t want to fly first class. That’s for rich assholes.”

“We’re rich assholes,” Tim said.

“Language,” Bruce said mildly.

“He said it first!” Tim exclaimed with the righteous anger of a kid that got away with far fewer curse words than his dirty-mouthed brother. It was a fair complaint, but Bruce had to fight too many other battles with Jason to worry about his gratuitous use of profanity right now.

“I’m not a rich asshole,” Jason said. Tim gave Bruce a look like ‘aren’t you going to say something?’ then scowled when he didn’t.

“Which part do you disagree with?” Tim asked. “Rich or a-hole?” He emphasized a-hole and shot Bruce a dirty look. Bruce did feel bad. He’d talk to Tim later. He was a smart kid. He’d understand.

Jason floundered with an answer as they entered the cabin before finally saying, “I might be rich now and an asshole, but I’m not a rich asshole. It’s different.”

“How,” Tim asked, his curiosity overwhelming his annoyance for now.

“It’s about what you do with the money. I mean, look at this,” he said, standing in the curtained doorway between first class and coach, where the difference between the two was most stark. First class had large, lush reclining chairs with plenty of legroom, large screen TV’s for each seat, and privacy walls that could be pulled up. Bruce didn’t even think he could fit in a seat in coach. “We’re not better. We shouldn’t get preferential treatment.”

“It’s not about being better,” Bruce said. “If you pay more, you get more. That’s true for anything. Food, lodging, clothes.”

“It’s such a waste of money,” Jason said, scowling at the seats as if their comfort levels offended him.

“We have the money. I don’t see why we shouldn’t spend it.” He knew it was the wrong thing to say when he said it, but he honestly wasn’t sure why. Jason was sensitive about money, having grown up without it. Bruce ached when he thought of all of the things his son had been denied, and that he still denied himself because of it. He’d think Jason would just be grateful to have money now, but instead he always insisted they should have less.

“Then we should give it to people who actually need it!” Jason exclaimed. “Do you know what… what… how much did this cost for the four of us? Three-thousand dollars? Do you know what that could do for a family?”

The total cost of their tickets had been over twenty-thousand, but Bruce didn’t think correcting him would go over well. “We donate a significant amount to charity every year. Denying ourselves wouldn’t result in more money for charity.”

“Well, why not?” Jason asked. “What if every time we were going to fly first class, we got normal tickets instead and you donated the difference to charity?”

“Actually, every time we fly, Dad says we’re going to charter a private plane next time.” Dick said cheerfully.

Jason looked horrified. “I won’t do it. You take the private plane. I’ll fly coach by myself.”

Tim had already settled into a window seat, but he leaned around the barrier to snap a picture of Jason.

“Tim!” Jason exclaimed.

“It’s your first time flying,” Tim said unapologetically. “It should be memorialized.”

“What did we say about asking permission before taking pictures?” Jason asked storming over to him.

“If I asked permission first, I wouldn’t get genuine emotion.”

“Genuine emotion like shock and anger?” Jason asked.

“Yes,” Tim agreed, as he looked at the picture he’d taken with a pleased smile. “Those ones.”

Jason sighed loudly and slumped into the chair next to Tim. Dick was settling into one of the seats across the aisle. Bruce had been debating what the seating arrangement should be, but it appeared they had already decided without him. At least the argument about money seemed to be allayed for now.

Dick pulled his legs up onto his chair as Bruce walked past him to the window seat, and left them there in a crisscrossed position. “It’s going well, I think.”

Honestly, it was going better than Bruce expected.

***

Four kids. Four rambunctious kids in a crowded airport. Bruce remembered how easy it was back when all he had was Tim. That was nice. He could get work done. When was the last time he managed to do any work while traveling?

His eyes swept over his children again, taking stock. Tim and Jason were together, which probably meant they were getting into trouble. He watched them drift towards one of the large bay windows, talking conspiratorially in low voices. If he left them alone long enough, they’d somehow end up stowed away in the luggage compartment of a hijacked plane. He didn’t know why that would happen, but it would. He just knew it.

Dick was, miraculously, still with them, cheerfully pointing out shops to Damian. The younger boy’s expression had been stuck in a scowl since they arrived at the airport and he realized they were joining the masses of holiday travelers instead of going to a private terminal.

“I don’t understand,” he said again, ignoring the latest wonder of the airport Dick was pointing at. “Are we poor? Why are we flying with these commoners?”

“It’s fun!” Dick insisted. Bruce suppressed a small smile as Damian sputtered indignantly in response. He had to admire Dick’s ability to find joy in the mundane.

“Can I trust you to stay with Damian?” he asked Dick. “I need to check on your brothers.” Tim and Jason were now staring contemplatively out the window at the planes driving by. He was almost positive they wouldn’t steal an airplane but they’d surprised him enough times over the years that he’d rather not risk it.

“I’m twenty!” Dick exclaimed.

Bruce gave him a look. He did not stop giving him a look.

“You trust the ten-year-old more than you trust me,” Dick groused.

“As he should,” Damian said. “I would not wander off.”

“Keep an eye on him,” he told Damian. Dick made a high-pitched offended noise, but he’d brought this on himself. Damian nodded, solemnly accepting his duty.

Tim and Jason stopped talking as he approached, which was always cause for concern. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison. It was enough to send an icy spike down his spine.

“Let’s all do nothing together by the gate then,” he said, herding them back towards Damian and Dick.

“Jason wants to get a pilot’s license,” Tim said, which Bruce knew was an attempt to distract him from whatever they’d actually been talking about. He’d allow it for now.

“Maybe you should get a driver’s license first,” he said.

“Sure,” Jason agreed easily. “Car license, motorcycle license, then pilot’s license.”

They made it to the gate in one piece. Early, even. Dick looked like he was itching to explore the closest shop, but either his instinct to stay with Damian or his desire to prove Bruce wrong kept him in his seat.

“Father, this is infuriatingly slow,” Damian said, standing and pacing back and forth in front of their seats. “We shouldn’t be required to wait.”

Bruce rubbed at his temple where a headache was starting. “Why don’t we play a game? I spy with my little eye, something that starts with—” He looked around for something to say, but Damian didn’t let him finish.

“Your eye is not small,” he said, coming to a stop in front of Bruce and crossing his arms. “This game is childish and stupid.”

“I spy with my little eye something that starts with a b,” Jason muttered.

“A brat?” Tim asked.

Damian twirled on them. “How dare you. I am trying to uphold this family’s respectability, something that has clearly been lacking.”

“Come on, Little D,” Dick said, patting the chair next to him. “It’ll strengthen your observation skills.”

Damian brooded. “Fine,” he said, sitting down again. “But only because it’ll improve my already outstanding abilities.”

Tim rolled his eyes and Jason didn’t even try to hide his laugh. Damian glared at them both, but settled against Dick, curling up a little closer than necessary as Dick picked a letter. He still wasn’t comfortable with his place in the family, Bruce knew, but watching him with Dick, he was sure it was only a matter of time.

The hostess announced first class boarding and Damian stood up, then looked around at them confused when they didn’t join him. “Is this not us?” he asked.

“Nope,” Jason said, with a delighted pop on the p. “We fly coach.”

“Why?” Damian asked with dawning horror.

“Because we’re not rich assholes,” Jason said.

“We donate the difference in cost between first class and coach tickets to charity,” Tim explained. “Jason picks the charity. I think we’re doing End Homelessness right now.”

“Children’s Protection Group,” Jason corrected. He put a lot of time into researching which charities did the best work and needed the most help. Bruce was proud of him. He’d spent years doing his best to carry on his mother’s charity work, but nobody in the family had her spirit as much as Jason did.

“Father, please,” Damian pled, turning to him. “We’ll look ridiculous. We’re Waynes. We’re better than this.”

Actually, Wayne Enterprises stock had jumped significantly when the media caught wind that the Waynes were flying coach. Apparently Jason wasn’t the only one who thought first class was for rich assholes.

Bruce held out an arm to him and Damian sat beside him, curling up like an angry kitten as Bruce put an arm around his shoulders,. “It will be good for you,” Bruce said.

Damian tutted angrily, but didn’t protest further.

A benefit of flying coach was that all five of them could fit in one row. Tim went straight to a window seat as usual, Jason took the middle, and Dick sat in the aisle, where he’d most easily be able to get up and walk around (and probably make five new friends before the flight was over). Bruce let Damian have the other window seat and squeezed into the seat next to him. His knees pressed uncomfortably against the seat in front of him.

“I am not pleased,” Damian grumbled, staring out the window.

“We’re doing good in the world,” Bruce said. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

Damian was silent for a few minutes, staring glumly out the window, before saying, “I suppose.”

Bruce remembered sitting in the large first class seats with a tiny, quiet Tim, who kept to himself and let Bruce work. It was a pleasant memory, but as he watched Dick already chatting it up with someone in the seat in front of him, Tim and Jason resuming their plotting now that Bruce was safely out of earshot, and Damian, who he was certain had a huge heart underneath his rough exterior, staring out the window beside him, he knew he wouldn’t go back to it for the world.

#batfam #batfamily #bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #dick grayson #common people #i never know what to tag these things #happy new year!#mine #mywriting #fic #batfic #hall of fame

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ladyjanstories · 4 years ago

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Let me tell you a story...

For over 15 years, I worked at Tim Hortons. When I started, the registers were these annoying devices that couldn’t list off anything beyond the last thing punched in. Almost every button had a “level 1,” “level 2,” and “level 3” option so one button could be used to select up to three different products or modifiers but not at the same time. If a mistake was made, there was a lot of deleting done by a supervisor or the whole order would have to be printed out, receipt marked, correct order punched in and new receipt printed with the reason for the mistake. Preferably the writing on the receipts was done without a customer present so it didn’t hold up the line.

Food was timbits, donuts, bagels (a recent addition), other pastries and more. Soup and chili. Even chili in bread bowls but that ended soon after I started and never returned though people still remember it fondly. Not to mention the coffee. Timed to be 20 minutes fresh and poured out at expiry.

Temperatures of cold food was taken and written in a log book.

The DT times were recorded at the window. The company goal was 25sec average at the window. The franchise goal was 19sec.

By time I left, the registers were computer screens. There would be prompts to add things to an order or select modifiers. One could delete mistakes easier, if the register was set up that way. Some needed a supervisor to approve the fix. Receipts might still need to be printed and filled out, still preferably not slowing the line.

Food consisted of breakfast sandwiches (and all their variations) with fresh eggs, bagels, pastries, donuts, specialty donuts, Tim bits, soups and chili, wraps, and more.

Log books tracked temperatures of cold food, hot food, how often different parts of the restaurant were cleaned, what was cleaned, when, and there were deadlines to fill it out. There had always been production tracking but it had been digitized and there was better tracking of what was made and certain timeframes to enter info. All tracking product expiry times so nothing was too old on the shelf.

The DT times goals were the same but focus had shifted to order times as well. 19sec was the franchise goal for taking an order.

Cleaning standards never faltered. Floors cleaned every couple hours if not more often. Coffee machines cleaned at least 3 times a day. Wares were more often. Different machines got at least daily cleaning. Others deep cleaning weekly.

The drinks had expanded to two types of brewed coffee, iced coffee, smoothies, chills, espresso drinks, and more.

The menus are quite extensive and all staff are expected to know it. Basically, the wait staff have to be the cooks/bartenders as well. Less labour-intensive to make— it’s not the same level as wait staff and cooks, but the idea is what I’m suggesting. It’s not enough to know how to make a smoothie, staff has to make that smoothie too.

But if one is lucky enough, a long-term working can be full-time with benefits and a constant pay cheque from a business that’s unlikely to close. Even a pandemic didn’t do the trick.

So a typical day, by time I left, easily included deep cleaning, paperwork and logs, preparing food, stocking, checking dates, regular hourly and daily cleaning, something from the weekly list, along with helping customers from taking orders to preparing drinks and food to making sure they leave happy, making sure everything is stocked, food rotated, coffees are fresh (still 20 minute limit) but with new coffee brewers.

I’m sure if anyone listed everything that is required in their job, it would be long and surprising since it’s easy not to see all the work in any job. But I know the job changed a lot in 15 years and what was once a much easier job became far more involved. Advancing in technology made certain aspects easier, but it also added to work. There’s always a belief that any worker can do more. It’s not in the sense of hidden potential, but more along the lines that any worker shouldn’t be paid to be doing nothing. “If there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean.” There’s also bosses that mistake people talking with people not working when that’s not always the case. “Less talky, more worky.”

When I left, the staff age range was impressive. A few from high school— though that hiring preference wasn’t as big as it once was. The desire was for long-term workers. More staff were in college or university— they had more flexible schedules which was a bonus. The other half, maybe third, were people older than 30 or getting close enough to the number they’d begun to really look at their life. There were more international students and there’s a few theories as to why they’ve become appealing— the least unflattering that they’re least likely to speak up if a business is doing something wrong, the most flattering that it’s good for diversity. Still the overall ages aren’t that of young kids looking for their first job. “Open availability” is highly recommended and no high school student has that unless they aren’t actually going to school.

The attitude from people outside of the restaurant never exactly changed. The job was still seen as a good “first job.” It was seen as easy. Anyone could do it, really. How hard is it to make a sandwich or pour a coffee? Despite how much the job had changed— so much timed, so much to record, so many more products, so much more to clean, etc.

In the morning, drive-thrus could easily push through over 130 cars in an hour. Once, I think there were 170 in an hour. Sometimes that average time was less than 15sec. That’s how efficiently morning crews could work, how fast seasoned staff could be. One of the reasons long-term workers have become more desired.

Sure, there were sick/emergency days but one was reminded at review time how many days they’d taken— as if it were frowned upon to not be physically able to come to work.

Then the reviews. They were no different than any other employer with rating system that no one can ever get a perfect score because “everyone has room to improve” which sounds understandable until one realizes this would be like saying no one could get a 10/10 in the Olympics because “everyone has room to improve.” So the reviews will always say an employee is never good enough.

Despite all that, I can still here the attitude that it’s a good “first job” while knowing that it’s pretty much just a low-paying job now. There’s heavy lifting and constantly busy and no real time to be looking at Facebook or reading book while on the clock, unlike some jobs I hear about.

It’s just something to keep in mind.

#jobs #minimum wage #low paying #let me tell you a story #how things change

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floryalfonso · 4 years ago

Text

Love in the Time of Shelter-In-Place Pt. 2

We don’t get to have a real conversation until day 23. In part because my boss can’t understand how little we’re accomplishing during our mid-morning conference calls, we’re always going over, but mostly because she seems to be avoiding the possibility of sighting another dog on her walk with Pretzel. By the time I switch off the video and look up from my computer screen, she’s dragging Pretzel around the corner while he longingly looks back at the baby pink blooms he just soiled. I haven’t attempted my own front-of-the-house gardening to tempt her dog just yet. I’ve been burned by my lack of green thumb twice already during this time of shelter-in-place, and my even weaker attempts at reviving said plants are withering on the ledge of my back porch.

Our first conversation, I’m happy to say, happens purely organically. I’ve been patiently awaiting a speaker system I ordered (two weeks ago!) for the house to pretend that my living room is not just my living room. I have every intention to play a different playlist daily so it feels like I’m hopping to a new coffee shop every time I sit down to work on my couch. It’s the first brand new thing I’ve bought for this place. I step outside the minute I get a notification of delivery. Immediately, I hear a “Pretzel, NOOO!!!” and look in the direction of the voice. It appears Pretzel may have gotten into the neighbor’s lunch delivery, as his paw is currently pushing around an open container of pico de gallo across the front porch. As if the dog couldn’t get in any worse trouble with Tim. I hop over to run interference without hesitation and realize how close the pretty lady is once she speaks up (safely six feet away, but close enough for me to notice her dimples). “Oh my gosh. This man is going to officially hate me. First, Pretzel ruins his gorgeous daisies daily, and now he’s eaten half of his lunch,” she sighs.

“Tim isn’t home yet if that helps,” I say, pointing to the empty driveway. “Y'all could make a break for it, and he’d never know you two are to blame.” She pretends to furtively look around, contemplating this as she strokes her chin, but then shakes her head laughing. She then looks down at Pretzel, who is now panting happily with sour cream stuck to the end of his snout. There are wrappers scattered everywhere behind him. She pushes her mask (which matches today’s red sundress perfectly) back up and gets to work cleaning up Pretzel’s mess while I keep my hold on his collar. “This dog has a mind of his own, huh? Seems to really like Tim’s favorite things.”

“Ugh I’m just terrible at controlling him. My friend told me I should foster a dog, so I don’t get lonely while I’m stuck working from home, and I thought it was a good idea. I still think it is, mostly. Until we get to this street, and Pretzel can’t help himself around your neighbor’s mailbox. If it’s not pretty flowers causing a problem, it’s other dogs. I know he doesn’t look like it, but he’s still a puppy. He gets so excited to do just about anything,” she explains as she gathers the scraps of everything and places it in the large kraft paper bag the lunch was delivered in. “I’m Elena, by the way. Sorry I haven’t introduced myself yet! This dog makes me forget my manners.”

“Frank,” I say, holding up a friendly wave with one hand, while I try to wipe the sour cream off of his snout with the other. “No judgment. I can barely maintain a house plant. He’s also too cute to be mad at.” I think she’s smiling (her eyes are twinkling anyway) while she listens to me talk and then looks to the bag’s side for the lunch receipt. A second later she’s typing in Tim’s order into a food delivery app. Ah. So thoughtful.

“There. Lunch will still be served to Tim, even it’s a bit late. I hope he likes extra chips and salsa. I’ll wait here until he gets home so I can explain to him what happened. He can’t be too long if he got hot food ordered.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand. He’s not that grumpy if his daisies are safe. So are you new to this neighborhood? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” I ask while she settles down on the top step. I realize I’m still holding Pretzel’s collar even though she has the leash reattached and let go sheepishly, moving down to the front of the lawn to maintain a safe (and not too creepy) distance.

“I’ve actually been here for a year now. But before this shelter-in-place business, I was rarely, if ever, home. Especially never early enough for a walk. You’re the fifth neighbor I’ve met in the past two weeks!”

“What kept you away?”

“Work. I’m in interior design. I do mostly restaurants and bars within the metro area, but sometimes I venture a little further. What about you?”

“I’m home for the usual amount.”

“But what do you do for work?” she laughs.

“Oh heh,” I give her an awkward smile, “I do research and development for Beans.”

“Just to be clear, do you mean Beans as in the local coffee chain or the food group?”

“Coffee!” My smile is much more genuine now. “I basically get paid to follow drink trends, read up on the "it” coffee bean and come up with new ideas for menu items.“

"Whaaaaat,” she stretches out the a’s in the word in the cutest way. “That sounds like so much fun.”

“It is until you remember more people than you’d think only want some variation of pumpkin spice or caramel to flavor their coffee with. But I’m trying to get the company to branch out a bit. You know that whipped coffee trend?”

“Not worth the carpal tunnel,” she shakes her head, laughing.

“Right? Well, I figured out a way to make it a little more worth it by adding cardamom, black pepper and cinnamon to the coffee before whipping it.”

“Now that sounds much more intriguing. When can I try this concoction?”

“How much more time do you have to wait for Tim?” I counter, and she ponders this while I look down at my phone, making sure my boss hasn’t left me any messages during this now twenty-minute break I’ve allowed myself. What’s a few minutes more?

“Probably ten more minutes. I have a client call at two I need to prepare for.” she decides, smizing (I hope!) when she looks back up at me.

“Be right back,” and I walk briskly towards my own front door as Pretzel starts to bark at the sudden movement.

#short story #fluff #quarantine fluff

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earpdearp · 7 years ago

Text

just coffee

Wherein Waverly and Nicole try to make good on being just friends following the spat in Nicole’s cruiser in episode 1x09.

Sort of an AU? But more like a filler? …It can be both! And all fluff. That’s all I write, really: fluff.

Also on AO3. Approximately 3,486 words.

Other friends fic: just another tuesday (Topic: Waverly’s birthday)

“…Well maybe… just friends…”

“Yea, sure, Waverly. Whatever you want.”

Coffee. They agreed to coffee. Shorty’s Saloon. 3:00PM. Between lunch and dinner when the bar was closed. Waverly didn’t feel like setting up for the night alone and Nicole had a few hours between her first and second shifts.

Easy. No pressure. Familiar spot.

Easy.

Nicole Haught stood outside the diamond-shaped windows of Shorty’s front doors. She shifted the duffle bag in her hand, a change of clothes she hadn’t had time for at the station. She also held her white Stetson respectfully to her chest.

Instead of eagerness, Nicole’s heart felt heavy.

It was all too familiar.

High school. College. The academy. Lather, rinse, repeat, Friends. Once in a blue moon did the cycle break. Just not this time, apparently.

It had been stupid to think this was gonna end any differently. All those little breadcrumbs of hope Nicole had been feeding on, those little smiles and glances and touches…

Stupid stupid stupid. I blew it.

If only she hadn’t been distracted outside the station the other day. If only she had been listening to what Waverly was trying to confess, instead of frustrated about Purgatory being its weird Purgatory self. She did get the chance to apologize, but the damage was already done. And here Nicole was. Standing outside Shorty’s to hang out with her Just Friend, Waverly Earp.

God. Damn. It.

Taking a deep breath, Nicole pressed into the heavy doors but they didn’t budge. She rapped a knuckle against the window and waited. After a few seconds, she heard the click-chunk of a deadbolt. Enough time to smooth her frown into an easy-going smile.

Waverly poked her head out, relief etched in her features. She twisted at a white bar towel in her hands. “Oh thank God,” she chirped with a broad smile. “I was afraid you weren’t gonna show.” Waverly held the heavy door open for Nicole to slip in before relocking the deadbolt behind them.

“Promise is a promise,” Nicole replied, hopefully managing to mask her bitterness. She held up her duffle. “Mind if I change? Hoping to squeeze in a run before evening shift. Gotta be fresh for all that paperwork.” She shot Waverly a mock-serious look and was rewarded with a smile.

“Of course!” Another chirp as Waverly tossed the bar towel over her left shoulder. She pointed at the back “Staff” door. “I’m almost done cleaning the coffee machine. How do you take yours?”

“I’ve heard good things about that Shorty’s cappuccino. Two sugars?”

A sunshine smile with a finger-gun. “You got it,” Waverly replied as she swept behind the bar over to a partly disassembled machine, chrome pieces glistening from a recent rinse.

The Staff room was hardly more than an over-sized closet with a safe for cash, an old computer for inventory, and a cracked window with an ashtray on the sill for smoke breaks. A shitty toilet latch secured the door, enough privacy for Nicole to peel off/fold her uniform shirt and khakis and swap over to running shoes, blue-striped pants, and a long-sleeve Purgatory Sheriff’s Department henley.

Threading fingers through long red hair, Nicole pulled out the French braid and snapped a hair tie to her wrist as she exited the break room.

Back at the bar, Waverly was struggling to kneel on an unstable bar stool to reach a high cabinet. A tan wrist barely crested the edge, fingers feeling blindly as Waverly’s tongue stuck out the side of her mouth in concentration. Her hockey-style Shorty’s shirt rode up higher than normal, Nicole noticed, before dismissing that thought immediately.

“Just friends.”

Nicole strode up as she finished binding her hair in a simple ponytail. “Need some help?”

Hazel eyes lit up in response. “Could you? The lunch crew likes to hide the espresso grounds in the back to screw with me. Still as hilarious now as it was three years ago.” Waverly rolled her eyes before spinning playfully on the bar stool on her knees.

“Three years, huh?” Nicole asked, light and conversational. She dropped her gym bag and Stetson on the counter then flipped the small wooden divider to reach the inside of the horseshoe-shaped bar.

Where the shorter Earp needed a stool, the Officer stood up on tip-toes before her fingers wrapped around a crinkling bag of coffee in the cabinet. When she turned, Nicole could have sworn she saw Waverly’s gaze… somewhere else. For just a second.

“Just friends?”

“Since I was 18.” Waverly accepted the bag (which smelled of a rich dark roast) then measured out a few cups into the coffee machine. The device fired up with a steaming hiss accompanied by warm bubbling sounds.

Turning back to Nicole, Waverly started counting on her fingers. “Before here, I worked at JD’s Restaurant down the street. Didn’t pay as well, but more time to read. I bagged groceries at Safeway before that. And I delivered pizza for one shitty week when I was 16. Hated that job. And in between, I taught some summer gymnastics and dance classes at the rec center for really little kids. That was fun.”

“Busy and popular girl,” Nicole remarked as she leaned her backside against the bar. It was strange being on this side of the counter, like she didn’t belong. Like they were equals instead of customer/server.

Like… friends?

As she started steaming the milk, Waverly shrugged off the compliment. She shot Nicole a curious look. “What about you? What did Pre-Officer Nicole Haught do?” There was a strain to Waverly’s smile, like it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Not as rich a life, I’m afraid.”

“Try me.” There it was. That warm smile returned as Waverly scooped sugar into a coffee mug.

“Well,” Nicole started, her hands running along the counter edge behind her. “I worked at Tim Horton’s almost every weekend from high school through university. …Not the same one. Transferred to a different store when I went away for college. But the same routine. Still remember all the menu numbers by heart.” She smirked at another memory. “I was also a lifeguard for a miserable summer when I was 16.”

Long hair swept over a shoulder as Waverly looked over at Nicole. “Ooo! How was that? I always wanted to lifeguard but the pool is too far away.”

Reaching up, Nicole pulled at her ponytail and to show Waverly. “You see this red hair, right? I spent more time bathing myself in sunscreen than I did watching the pool. When one sunburn ended, another would begin. But I was trying to buy a car so I had to stick it out.” She tossed the red strands back over her shoulder and shook her head. “I’m just happy I didn’t get skin cancer… that I know of.” She shot Waverly a theatrical, fearful look.

The smile on Waverly’s face was hard to read. It was a soft, thoughtful crinkle. And just as a faint red started to touch her cheeks, she turned back to the coffee machine. Waverly deftly mixed the espresso into the cup before topping it with foam. She started to slide the mug over to Nicole, but suddenly thought better of it. Waverly snapped her fingers and started digging around under the bar.

Nicole leaned over to reach for the cup, but a hand appeared from below to gently slap her knuckle.

“Just a second! I keep forgetting I bought these.” Waverly appeared a second later with a small container of cocoa powder and a couple of round stencils with simple designs. She offered the metal, paddle-like set to Nicole. “I saw ‘em on Etsy. …I tried the foam pouring trick from YouTube, but I couldn’t even do like a basic heart.” She sighed and rolled the cocoa powder cylinder between her palms.

It was hard for Nicole to hide an endearing smile. Because she had just pictured Waverly hovering at the bar, making cup after cup of espresso and trying to artfully pour milk in. It also made her select a stencil without thinking it through.

Nicole held up the flat metal stencil of a heart, then had to bite her lip to keep the blush from spreading. The choice was not lost on Waverly, whose eyes widened.

Scrunching up her face, Nicole tried to hide the stencil behind her back. “Sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—I just thought since you said you had trouble doing a heart the other way… this could count as a success.” She closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh.

God. Damn. It.

Waverly’s voice was soft and small, but confident. “Okay.”

Nicole’s eyes shot open. The other woman wasn’t awkward or blushing. She just held out her hand and offered that crinkling smile. “…okay?” Nicole repeated.

“The customer is always—mostly—right… right? And I said I owed you a coffee, right?” Waverly made a grabby motion with her hand.

“Fair enough,” Nicole said with a small clearing of her throat.

With that, Waverly turned and dusted a (slightly lopsided) heart over the top of the steaming cappuccino. She presented it back with a dramatic flourish. “And thus, the debt is repaid.”

Nicole nodded her thanks and took a sip. She could feel the foam coat her upper lip, but it was hard to take her eyes off Waverly, who stared back intently.

“So? How is it?”

Warm. The cocoa powder adds a nice flavor. Sugar cuts the acid of the espresso. All in all, solid.

“Pretty good,” Nicole said with a nonchalant shrug. She allowed herself another deep sip before swiping her thumb over her lips.

Waverly scowled. “’Pretty good?’ That’s it?” She crossed her arms over the bold SHORTY’S type on her jersey.

Well, we are just friends… Friends can be honest, right?

Nicole tried to soften with a lilting question. “I’ve had better?”

An offended (if good-natured) scoffing noise. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

“I’m kidding. It is really good. A good pick-me-up before my run. Thank you, Waverly.” A pause. “…I have had better, though. If I’m being completely honest.” Nicole allowed herself a teasing smile.

Waverly poured herself the rest of the espresso, unruffled by the critique. “Where at?” She wrinkled her nose in thought with one eye skyward. “I think the best coffee I’ve had is in the city at the fancy hotel we had for Prom. So good with like homemade whip cream and everything.”

“There’s this amazing café in Las Vegas where…”

Oh.

No, we are not going into that right now. Not on a first—er, not on a chill friends hangout between friends and only friends.

Nicole cleared her throat. “…well, they made a mean mocha cappuccino.”

“Did it have a fancy—?” Waverly trailed off as she made a gesture over the top of Nicole’s coffee.

“…It did. The logo of the café with lots of swirls.”

That faux-scowl returned. “Damn it. I knew it. Back to YouTube, I guess.” A smile curled across Waverly’s cheek as she patted the cocoa container over her own coffee, this time a sprinkled star on top. She settled in next to Nicole, mirroring her lean against the bar counter. They were just far apart to not be touching.

“I’ve never been to Vegas,” Waverly said thoughtfully with a loud sip. “Never left the Ghost River Triangle, actually. Been here my whole life.”

“Not even for, like, a family vacation? Or a school trip?”

A derisive laugh in reply. Waverly’s nose wrinkled with the barest hint of a scowl. “Just to the city. School trips to the museum or the stockyard for 4H stuff. And no family vacations. Daddy died when I was 6 and Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis were too busy with Shorty’s or their farm to bother with something like that. Though now with Uncle Curtis gone…” She trailed off, long hair slipping over her cheeks as her head tilted down.

Reaching out, Nicole gently touched Waverly’s wrist. She was slow and careful, trying to avoid the awkwardness that happened in her cruiser. Two soft strokes before the hand returned to Nicole’s coffee mug.

We should go somewhere, Nicole wanted to say. She could even mean it in a friendly way… sort of. Mostly. Maybe.

“I never did much as a kid either,” Nicole said instead. “Didn’t start seeing any of the world til I graduated college. And that was mostly training camps and emergency management excursions sponsored by the government.”

After a few moments in silence, Nicole nudged Waverly’s side with a gentle elbow. “Well, I’m glad you stuck around Purgatory.”

Waverly gave a small sniff as she reached up to push her hair back. “Me too” was barely audible past a soft smile.

An alarm on Nicole’s phone chimed, a reminder to start her workout soon so she’d have time to return to the station to shower before paperwork. But she wasn’t quite ready to leave just yet.

“Gotta go?”

“…I’ve got time.” Nicole took a slow sip, smiling into the cup. “So, what is a day in the life of Waverly Earp?”

Chuckling, Waverly stroked her chin. “With Wynonna? I don’t even know anymore.”

“Hard to plan around?”

“Impossible,” Waverly confirmed with a sigh. “Used to just be yoga, study, Shorty’s, sleep. And occasionally I’d go out with—well…”

Another nose wrinkle and tight smile. Waverly certainly did that a lot, each with a different meaning. This one seemed a mix between embarrassment and a scowl.

…Champ. Of course.

Waverly did not elaborate. Instead, she took a deep sip of her coffee before continuing. “…but with Wynonna and Dolls and their coming and going all hours of the day and night… Some days I’m grateful I make it to work, if only for the familiar routine.” Her face fell as she glanced behind them.

Nicole followed her gaze to an empty booth near the door with a large spread of paperwork. Official looking documents were arranged in haphazard stacks.

“Anyway.” Waverly cleared her throat and pushed up from the counter. “I’m keeping you from your run.” A tired, evasive smile as Waverly busied herself with stowing the cocoa and stencils back under the bar.

Rumbling out an “Okay,” Nicole relinquished her empty coffee mug to the busy woman. As she started to gather her duffle and Stetson, a snapping noise turned Nicole’s attention.

“Hey! What are you doing for dinner?” Waverly stood with her arms crossed, hip thrust out, expression neutral.

Oh!

It was hard for Nicole not to stare back, heart stuck in her throat. “I—I was… I don’t—“

Waving a menu, Waverly skipped over to Nicole. “You’ll probably be hungry after a run, yea? I could ask Martin to fire up the grill early so you could take something back to the station?”

Oh…

“Oh. That would be… really great, actually. Lunch was forever ago.”

Not as great as—well.

Waverly smiled broadly. “And you could save the trip to your car and just pick your stuff up when you get back, right?”

Finally regaining her composure, Nicole managed a smile of her own. “You just want an excuse to try on my hat.”

“Maaaaaybe,” Waverly returned with a singsong. She walked her fingertips over to the white cowboy hat. But instead of trying it on, she stowed both under the bar in a clean, safe spot. “…not while you’re looking, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Surveying the menu, Nicole asked, “Which is your favorite?”

“Oh! Hmmm!” Her long hair swayed with her head-tilt. “Probably the nachos, though only because it’s like the only vegetarian thing on there.” A nose wrinkle and a shrug.

Vegetarian. Noted.

“Pass,” Nicole replied with a grin. She pointed at an item under SANDWICHES. “How’s the chicken salad?”

“I’m told it’s great. I’ll get Marty on it when he’s up from his nap.”

Pulling her wallet from her pocket, Nicole waved a $10 bill.

Waverly shrugged it off. “On the house. I know the manager.” She winked and flicked a towel at Nicole to vacate the bar. “Get going, Haught! No rest for the wicked!” And just like that, Waverly pushed through the double doors to the kitchen and was gone.

Folding the bill, Nicole tucked it into the large glass (empty) tip jar before pulling her wireless ear buds from a zippered side pocket. A hard guitar riff started up in her playlist, “Bury Me With My Guns On” escorting Nicole down the Purgatory street.

Nicole rapped on the glass once more, out of breath and feeling the chill of the air through her henley. She smiled broadly at the sound of the deadbolt. That smile froze on Nicole’s face when she was greeted not by Waverly, but a stern older woman.

“Mrs. MacCready.”

“Officer Haught,” the woman returned cooly, dark eyes hard. She did allow Nicole entrance, but with sharp, abrupt movements. Gus called for Waverly, who was apparently in the kitchen.

There was an awkward silence as Gus headed to the closest booth, paperwork waiting at the table. She continued writing for a few moments, allowing Nicole to quietly catch her breath and rub the chill from her arms.

“So.”

“Yes, ma’am?” Nicole replied with respect, stretching out her calves on the wooden steps. She smiled awkwardly.

Gus did not return her smile. “You know, Champ used to come around. Begging for freebies. Free food. Free booze.” It was a loaded, simple statement. She glanced over at Nicole significantly before returning to her papers.

Defensiveness burned in Nicole’s chest. “I’m not Champ, ma’am. I offered to pay. Waverly wouldn’t let me.” She gestured to the tips jar, her folded $10 bill from earlier balanced upright.

Gus’s dark eyes flicked over to the jar, an impressed pull at her cheeks before her stoic expression took over. “Hm.”

The comparison was not lost on Nicole. And it felt like she’d just passed a test of some sort. Especially since this was the longest conversation she’d ever had with the matron of Shorty’s.

A shout drew Nicole’s attention to the kitchen. “You’re back!” Waverly grinned wide, holding a styrofoam container in triumph. “Perfect timing! Just pulled the fries from the deep fryer.” A plastic bag rustled at her wrist as she bagged the container with a few packets of ketchup.

With Gus watching, Nicole pushed away the temptation to go back to the familiarity behind the bar. She fixed a smile to her cheeks and met Waverly at the apex of the horseshoe counter. Nicole’s duffle and Stetson were already waiting for her.

“Have a good run?” Waverly asked.

No. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I ran away so hard from this place that I was out of breath for 10 minutes… then I had to run all the way back.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

“It was fine, thank you. Everything okay here?”

Waverly’s voice was a warm chirp. “Perfect! Thanks for keeping me company earlier.” She patted Nicole’s collection and pushed it over. “Good luck with all that paperwork tonight!”

“Thank you, Waverly,” Nicole said warmly. “For—well—everything.” Her fingertips accidentally brushed Waverly’s wrist, but the woman didn’t flinch. In fact, she smiled wider.

Setting her Stetson on her head, Nicole tipped it at Gus MacCready as she padded up the steps. The woman’s chin raised in acknowledgement, but she returned to her documents.

Outside in her cruiser, Nicole opened the passenger door to stow her food and duffle. A flash of pink caught Nicole’s attention out of the corner of her eye. Inside the bag stuck to the Styrofoam container was a post-it note. On it was Waverly’s SnapChat handle with a doodle of a cowboy hat.

Nicole smiled and settled into the driver’s seat before pulling out her phone. Tapping into her own app, she added a “Waverly95” and sent an invite from “NHaught.”

Nicole turned on the cruiser on and angled towards the municipal building (a quick 5 minute ride a few streets over). She would have plenty of time for a shower and change before starting on her evening work. The day off tomorrow would be a welcome distraction from… all of this.

Except her phone pinged as she pulled into the private lot. New SnapChat from “Waverly95.”

A series of images streamed onto Nicole’s phone. All of Waverly at Shorty’s in her Stetson.

Waverly at the piano pretending to play.

Waverly making a face next to the grainy image of Wyatt Earp, her finger a pretend-moustache.

Waverly with an arm around Gus, who looked to be mid-conversation and confused by the phone in her face.

Waverly pursing her lips with the hat tilted over one eye.

Waverly pretending to talk to a beer mug wearing the Stetson, a fake laugh frozen on her face.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

…What?! What was that second to last one?!

But it was gone, the app timer ticked down to zero.

God. Damn. It.

#wynonna earp #wynonna earp fanfic #wayhaught #waverly earp #nicole haught #waverly and nicole #shorty's #1x09 #trying to be friends #and failing #because they are mushy idiots #would love prompts or ideas from people!

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24hourchampagnediet-blog1 · 5 years ago

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DAY BY DAY - Midland Reporter-Telegram

New Post has been published on https://bestrawfoodrecipes.com/day-by-day-midland-reporter-telegram/

DAY BY DAY - Midland Reporter-Telegram

Healthy habits keep these Midlanders on the right track

Updated 4:21 pm CDT, Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Erica Mann, owner of the Blue Door and a health coach, normal diet consists of vegetables and proteins

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Erica Mann, owner of the Blue Door and a health coach, normal diet consists of vegetables and proteins

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

In recent years, Midland seems to have been claiming its healthy side. For every big box gym such as TruFit, Planet Fitness and the soon-to-be open Crunch Fitness, there are even more specialty and boutique gyms and studios. Health food has made its way into the restaurant and food scenes with meal prep services, food shops and menu options.

Whether it’s the influence of transitional residents to the area who may come from health-conscious cities such as Austin or Dallas, or just a natural trend to embrace heath and wellness, Midland is increasingly steeping into it. A healthy community can mean a healthy city, and there are so many options.

These Midlanders have incorporated daily habits that have led to healthy living. They’re not trainers or super athletes, either. Fighting the daily grind of work like most everyone else, they show that a healthy outlook can be a good thing.

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Erica Mann, owner of the Blue Door and a health coach, normal diet consists of vegetables and proteins

Erica Mann, owner of the Blue Door and a health coach, normal diet…

ERICA MANN, health coach

Erica Mann, 44, may offer craft cocktails at her lounge, the Blue Door, but her healthy outlook is far away from maraschino cherries and sugar syrup. Before her days as a business owner, the Houston native was a high school counselor at an at-risk charter school and ESL tutor for adults. She is also an advocate for the spaying and neutering of cats in the community. She is in the process of becoming a health coach, but at the same time enjoys a bourbon old fashioned, a bold cabernet or a reposado tequila with Topo Chico.

A MENTAL START LEADS TO A HEALTHY DAY

Mentally, it is important that I start my day with calm and intention. I make a cup of coffee, sit down, and allow myself 30 minutes to an hour to sip, read whatever interests me in the moment and go over my goals and plans for the day.

I eat primarily paleo, mainly filling my plate with quality protein, vegetables and healthy fats. I keep my fridge and pantry stocked with nutritious items that make these quick meals easy and convenient to put together.

I also attend spin and weight-lifting classes at the YMCA four days a week. Choosing a healthy lifestyle that works for me has elevated my energy levels in ways I never thought possible; I have more energy at 44 than I did at 24.

EARLY HABITS STICK WITH SOME ADJUSTMENTS

I grew up in a house that valued a healthy lifestyle, and I was an athlete through college, so it has always been part of me. However, what I view as healthy has changed over the last four years. I grew up during the non-fat, grain heavy, margarine-is-better-than-butter, fake-sugar era. This approach to health left me exhausted, bloated, anxious and prone to shaky hands and blood sugar swings. Once I switched to a diet based on real food, that welcomed protein, good fats and loads of vegetables, everything about the way I felt changed. Once you feel good after feeling so bad, going back isn’t an option.

MAKING IT WORK WITH TIME MANAGEMENT AND PRIORITIZING

As far as meal times, I take an intuitive approach to eating, and only have a meal when I’m hungry. There are many times when it is technically “time” for my first meal of the day, but if I’m not genuinely hungry; I push it off until I am. I’m able to do this on a consistent basis by planning out my meals in advance and focusing on dishes that will only take 10-30 minutes to prepare.

I schedule workouts into my day, just as I would an appointment, work, or happy hour with friends. Doing this signifies that my physical health is just as much a priority as every other “to do” on my list.

CLEAN EATING IS SIMPLE MATH

I cook at home for almost all my meals, but I typically keep it very simple and quick. Protein plus veg plus fat, is my usual motto, but if I am physically craving a carb, I’ll add something like half a potato or a plantain. I cook without recipes much of the time, but when I do use them, the blog Defined Dish is my favorite source.

What I choose when I’m eating out depends on the circumstances. If it is a special night out, I pretty much order what looks good to me, but I’m mindful not to select something that will make me feel terrible. While a big plate of pasta might taste like heaven, I know that I will feel awful later; instead, I might order a side of gooey mac and cheese and split it with the table. I still get the yum, without sabotaging the rest of my night.

For a regular random day of eating out, my go-tos are bunless burgers or big salads topped with some sort of protein. You can get them almost anywhere, and I never feel like I’m missing out; both options are delicious and filling.

CHEAT? NEVER!

My philosophy is that if you eat nutrient-dense foods most of the time, then an occasional plate of Tex-Mex or a big chocolate brownie isn’t a cheat; it is just food. No need to feel guilty or punish yourself on the treadmill tomorrow; enjoy it, then do your normal thing the next day. A friend said it well: that there are always foods and sometimes foods.

HAVING AN INFLUENCE

My approach to food and working out has been influenced most by Mark Sisson who wrote “The Primal Blueprint” and “The Keto Reset Diet.” Based on the feedback I get from my health-based Instagram account, I have even influenced others. I believe this so strongly that I have become a certified Health Coach and a 21 Day Sugar Detox Coach so that I can begin helping on a wider scale.

LAURA METZGER, martial arts practitioner

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Actor Laura Metzger has worked as a stage combatant and fight choreographer, which align with her interest in martial arts.

Actor Laura Metzger has worked as a stage combatant and fight…

I wake up early before the rest of the house gets busy and I do a focused study. I read my Bible and I also read inspirational and motivational literature and select a portion I can apply to that day. Maybe not so quick to react? Which comes in handy in current Midland traffic, or how can I better someone else’s day?

I’m a list-maker, so in the morning I create a list of daily goals in order of importance, and as I go through the day and tic off my list, I feel accomplished:) My “sigung” (technically a master’s master) Monica Morse of Matthews Martial Arts taught me the importance of continuous goal- setting. I wouldn’t be wearing a third-degree black belt without it.

YEARS IN THE MAKING

My son and I began on a journey in martial arts almost a decade ago, I was spurned to do so because I missed doing stage fight choreography and was seeking an activity my then-young son would love. We started doing the martial art Kajukenbo as an activity and the dojo (school) became our family. He now has his black belt, and my 9-year-old daughter is a green belt.

We get a ton of physical activity, but the mental activity is just as gratifying. Martial arts is kicking and punching but it’s also mental control. When you have to put your fist or foot through a board, you have to believe you can. When you have to take down a person twice your size you have to know the technique and believe you can.

Our art has a saying, “Nothing is impossible to a willing mind,” and it’s true. The body is capable of doing anything if the mind allows, so we get a double workout, mind and body!

FINDING THE RIGHT CHANNEL

When I started martial arts, I had no clue how to channel my energy. After years of training, I’ve learned from my sigungs Monica Morse and Jason Matthews how to eliminate the things that were pulling me away from my goals and well-being and stay focused on my vision for my life. What a concept.

MAKES TIME TO GIVE TIME

Ultimately, martial arts are fluid. You can train twice a week, or you can be up there every day.

I use 30-45 minutes for my morning preparation, and I’m currently training in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu at our dojo every Monday for an hour to hour and a half. Then I give back, which is super rewarding. I teach our “little dragons” throughout three 30-minute classes ranging from age 2 to 7 years old. Then, if I can make it, I like to hit the ladies’ martial arts class on Wednesdays.

Many times, I find myself walking through a form, or kata, while waiting for dinner to cook, or my kids might go through self-defense with me. We recently confronted a bullying issue and precepts of martial arts helped me guide my child through it. It’s this physical and mental marriage that’s also an individual and family activity for us.

BURN THROUGH THOSE CALORIES

I have tracked my food since college, but nowadays I track my food and water intake. I cheat just like everyone else, but the best part is, I can go spend time at the dojo and it doesn’t seem like a workout and it burns huge numbers of calories.

I could always do better with snacking, but my recent addiction is Skinny Dipped Almonds. They’re a desert and healthy snack in one.

We are a busy family, so we do get takeout; however, but with my tracking app I can figure out my healthiest options. We love to use the grill or small smoker for less fried foods. If I just want to indulge, I love Luigi’s. The restaurant is a staple here in Midland and they have a killer White Russian — and I love a good White Russian.

FROM DOJO TO STAGE

For my influences, Sigung Monica Morse taught me how to prioritize my life and keep doing so, while Sigung Jason Matthews taught me how to fight for what I want.

CAITLIN MILES, dancer

Caitlin Miles, 30, is a human resources representative for Kinder Morgan Inc. Originally from Post, she grew up in Midland. She is a graduate of Lee High School and West Texas A&M University with a degree in musical theater. She and her husband, Jared, share their home with two cats and one golden retriever. She’s active on stage and choreographing with Midland Community Theatre and Summer Mummers. Dance has helped with her theater pursuits and has been a foundation for her physical fitness.

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Caitlyn Miles has been dancing since she was 2-years-old; last year she incorporated yoga into her exercise regimen.

Caitlyn Miles has been dancing since she was 2-years-old; last year…

A NEW EXERCISE IS NOW A REGULAR THING

Yoga has become a huge part of my healthy lifestyle. I had taken classes intermittently for years; however, I chose to make it a regular part of my exercise regimen last year. Not only has it benefited me physically, yoga has helped me alleviate stress and promote relaxation and peace of mind.

A YOUNG START DEFINED MILES’ NEEDS

My mother put me in dance classes when I was 2 years old, and it’s been an important part of my life ever since.

While I played other sports like volleyball, basketball and softball, the artistry of dance truly spoke to my soul and kept me motivated to keep pursuing it. I minored in dance at West Texas A&M University. I’ve continued it with shows at Midland Community Theatre and taken adult dance classes offered at Midland Festival Ballet and Dance Elite.

Because I grew up with an active lifestyle, I have a built-in need for physical fitness. But, just like with sports, regular exercise classes and machines can’t hold my interest. Yoga has been a great substitute and supplement for dance. It combines fitness, flexibility, and the movement and flow of it is beautiful and dance-like.

MELTING AWAY DAILY STRESS

Yoga has definitely helped me reduce tension and stress from work and life, in general. Yoga gives me a chance to step away from my phone, focus on my breathing and follow a guided meditation session at the end of each practice. I’ve tried different types of yoga styles, from Yin Yoga to Vinyasa Flow, and I always feel refreshed and revived after every class, no matter the intensity.

DAILY GOALS HELP WITH AN ACTIVE LIFESTYLE

Sometimes it’s hard to justify making time for exercise. I have to tell myself that if I have time to binge-watch a show on Netflix, then I definitely have time for healthy habits. It’s easier to manage when I make health an integral part of my day. Plenty of studios and gyms offer classes throughout the day to accommodate anyone’s schedule. I aim to do some sort of physical activity every day, and that might mean that I go to a class right after work or during lunch (I just can’t wake up early enough to go to a morning class; kudos to those who do!). I also don’t skip weekends. When I’m dancing in Summer Mummers that is a good workout and covers the weekends. Midland Yoga Works has fantastic classes during the weekends. I love their Vinyasa Flow classes and Aerial Yoga.

A COOKING COUPLE KEEPS FOOD ON CHECK

My family loves to cook, and I grew up eating a lot of home-cooked meals. I’ve always been able to bake; however, I didn’t think I had inherited the cooking gift. I could make pasta, but I overcooked or burned a lot of other dishes. Recently, I decided that I wanted to improve my cooking skills, and a work colleague suggested that I try Blue Apron. My husband and I have so much fun making dinners with home delivery meal kits. We love having all the ingredients we need delivered directly to us, and we’ve made a variety of meals that I never would have attempted on my own.

We don’t frequent restaurants often, but, when we do, I see them as a treat. If I’m craving a burger or pizza, I’m going to eat what I want. I’ve found that if I deny myself something I want because it’s “unhealthy,” then I’m only going to desire it more and make myself miserable in the end.

THE RARE FOOD COURT INDULGENCE

I love Stir Fry 88 at the Midland Park Mall, and it’s so perfectly placed near the Great American Cookie. My favorite thing to grab is the Mandarin Chicken with half rice, half noodles, and a fudge brownie for dessert.

FRIENDS INDEED

I don’t mind working out by myself, but I love when I can go to class with my friends. I’ve gotten some of my friends into aerial yoga, and I love laughing with them while hanging upside down from silk hammocks.

I also find that working out is much more enjoyable when I get to participate with my husband. He doesn’t mind trying some of the less intense yoga classes with me, and we both participate in Summer Mummers. We also just started playing golf, and it has been really fun struggling with learning a new sport with him.

CHRIS STONEDALE, super dad

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Chris Stonedale, resource development director for the Boys & Girls Club of the Permian Basin, works out daily and eats a healthy diet so he can keep up with his kids, daughter Harlowe, 6, and son, Burke, 3 months.

Chris Stonedale, resource development director for the Boys &…

Chris Stonedale, 36, serves as the resource development director for the Boys & Girls Club of the Permian Basin. The Arlington native moved to Midland more than a decade ago and has been involved in nonprofits either on staff or on boards and committees. While he works to raise funds and awareness for Boys & Girls Club, he also is a coach at Midland Christian School. Health and fitness are a daily habit for Stonedale and his wife, Cassie, but mostly, he sees it as a tribute to his family that includes his daughter Harlowe, 6, and son Burke, 3 months old, and two dogs.

ROUTINE IS CRUCIAL; TEAMWORK HELPS

That is one of the most important things for me regarding staying active and with my food choices. My wife and I count our macros and limit ourselves to a calorie count each day. That forces me to make each meal and snack deliberate; it also keeps me from accidentally polishing off a whole can of Pringles in a sitting.

Being active is also a super important part of my day. The older I get the easier it is to be more and more sedentary. I try and spend my lunchtime at the gym rather than eating out. This allows me to recharge both physically and mentally at the midpoint of the day and allows me to come back strong in the afternoon.

At the end of the workday my wife and I then work out together. We motivate and keep each other accountable in our fitness goals. The couple that lifts together, stays together. It’s also very important to me to spend some time at the end of the day in prayer and silent reflection. Just taking that moment each day to get your mind right, think about all your blessings and forget about all the trivial things that pop up is paramount to mental and spiritual health.

FAMILY LED HIM TO A HEALTHIER LIFESTYLE — AMONG OTHER THINGS

Old age and old injuries had started to catch up to me. Add in bad eating habits, and I was seeing my mobility and energy levels suffer. I realized I didn’t want to be that dad and husband watching his kids play and have fun, but rather be out there running and playing with them. I owe it to my family to be as active and healthy as I can.

HEALTHY LIVING HAS REAPED BIG REWARDS

I have seen that even as I get older, my energy level has stayed pretty high. I love the opportunity to run around with the kids at work and do fun things with the family. The diet and the counting calories aspect are awful, but a routine makes it easier. We also have gotten involved with our fitness community like working out at TruFit and being part of a macros-counting community on Facebook. That has made everything easier and fun.

TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE

You absolutely have to make time. As my wife constantly reminds me, you make time for things that are important. If that means going to the gym late at night or early in the morning because you have a scheduled lunch meeting, then that’s what you have to do. With a newborn baby in our house, we have had to do some pretty imaginative scheduling. But it is important for us to keep ourselves physically, mentally and spiritually healthy.

DINING OUT? NO PROBLEM

Unless we are deciding to cheat on our diets, which will happen occasionally, we use websites to plan out what we are going to get before we arrive. There are so many sites and available resources now that you can plan your macros and calories for almost any local restaurant.

HOME IS WHERE THE INFLUENCE IS

The biggest influence for me has been my wife. She truly pushes me to be the best possible version of myself. That doesn’t mean she expects me to be 2 percent body fat or have an amazing physique. She expects me to be healthy, live a long time, and be good example of spiritual and mental health for our family. In that aspect, we push each other. It’s definitely important to have that kind of mutual understanding for the importance of healthy lifestyles.

JASTIN TAYLOR, pro wrestler

By day, Jastin Taylor, 36, is an adviser with the Texas Health and Human Services Commission. By night, or rather on certain dates, he’s body slamming opponents in the squared circle. Jastin “The Living Proof” Taylor is also a professional wrestler who has worked locally with OSW Wresting as well as with World Wrestling Entertainment. He has wrestled in Canada and throughout the U.S. He has to keep his body strong and in shape for those matches, which requires him to pursue a life of fitness and strength.

SIMPLE HABITS

I drink a gallon of water a day. I exercise five to seven times per week. And I always try to end the day with something I like doing whether it’s playing video games, watching a film or catching up on America’s current events.

Jastin Taylor is a professional wrestler. His daily routine includes working out and drinking plenty of water.

Jastin Taylor is a professional wrestler. His daily routine…

THE RIGHT CHOICES

Speaking from the perspective of a professional wrestler, you have to have a good amount of athleticism, power and stamina to perform at a high level. So, for me, the healthier choices are necessary for me to accomplish my goals.

Plus, it’s about the quality of life. Life is harder when you are fatigued, stressed and have no outlets of release. A healthy lifestyle allows you to combat those things with activity, stress-relief and the positivity of knowing that you accomplished something daily.

MAKING A COMEBACK

Not too long ago, I was in a darker place, I lost a special person in my life and things weren’t quite going my way as far as wrestling is concerned. My eating habits got worse, and my time in the gym lessened. For that two to three months, I noticed a real difference in my mentality. I secluded myself from others and invited negative thoughts into my world. As a result, my body suffered, and my confidence waned. I know from experience how much harder life is when you live like that. Now that I have rediscovered that part of my life, I feel more motivated and stronger than ever. It’s really amazing how much of a difference physical and mental health make.

LIVING LIFE IN THE FASTING LANE

I am currently using a technique called “intermittent fasting,” which means I have a limited window of time to eat my meals for the day, and then the rest of the day I’m fasting or not eating. Based on my fasting schedule, I can’t have my first meal each day until 2 p.m. It definitely affects my entire schedule at work, and I go almost my entire work day without eating. Since most people lunch around noon, I still can’t eat at that time. But, that allows me to utilize that break to go to the gym instead. Every day I can at least hit the gym once because I know that is basically a free hour for me. That small change has led to gym consistency, which is really something you need to stay on track.

MAINTAINING COOL WITH FOOD

At home, most of my food sits in the freezer instead of the refrigerator. I don’t know about anyone else, but when I was unhealthy, that was the opposite. Since I am cooking most of the time, my salmon, chicken, veggies and steaks completely fill my freezer. My fridge, on the other hand, just contains water, liquid egg whites or fruits. It’s sometimes a pain to have to cook all the time, but the Foreman grill at least makes it easier!

When I go to restaurants, I try to pull from the healthier options. I try to do a sweet potato if I need a carbohydrate, and I tend to stick with steaks or salmon dishes. I also will order an unsweet tea and a water for my drinks, that way I can add stevia or something low-sugar to the tea and I have a water there to limit the number of refills I ask for at the table. For me, it wasn’t about making drastic changes, but you make small changes and build upon that. It’s getting a regular meal instead of a supersize meal, doing a can of soda instead of a big bottle. Practicing these habits helps when you go to restaurants or stores as well.

CHEAT MEALS ARE WELCOME

I’m constantly traveling for wrestling, and Midland doesn’t have this restaurant called Raising Cane’s, which serves primarily chicken fingers. I absolutely love to go there and will often save my cheat meal for when I can get to one of those. The better question might be: what won’t I eat on a cheat day? I’m a typical American guy. so I love pizza, burgers and chicken fingers.

PEER PRESSURE

If anyone has influenced my choices it would just be wrestlers, celebrities or just people who have gotten to better places with their consistency. It’s inspiring to see your peers working hard and showing discipline to be where they are. Just when I think I can relax, I see someone posting about a workout or flexing in a photo and I will immediately say to myself, “I guess I could be doing more.” Staying motivated is key when trying to change to a healthier lifestyle. m

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fuckyeahtattoogirls-blog1 · 5 years ago

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DAY BY DAY - Midland Reporter-Telegram

New Post has been published on https://bestrawfoodrecipes.com/day-by-day-midland-reporter-telegram/

DAY BY DAY - Midland Reporter-Telegram

Healthy habits keep these Midlanders on the right track

Updated 4:21 pm CDT, Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Erica Mann, owner of the Blue Door and a health coach, normal diet consists of vegetables and proteins

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Erica Mann, owner of the Blue Door and a health coach, normal diet consists of vegetables and proteins

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Erica Mann, owner of the Blue Door and a health coach, normal diet consists of vegetables and proteins

Erica Mann, owner of the Blue Door and a health coach, normal diet…

ERICA MANN, health coach

A MENTAL START LEADS TO A HEALTHY DAY

EARLY HABITS STICK WITH SOME ADJUSTMENTS

MAKING IT WORK WITH TIME MANAGEMENT AND PRIORITIZING

CLEAN EATING IS SIMPLE MATH

CHEAT? NEVER!

HAVING AN INFLUENCE

LAURA METZGER, martial arts practitioner

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Actor Laura Metzger has worked as a stage combatant and fight choreographer, which align with her interest in martial arts.

Actor Laura Metzger has worked as a stage combatant and fight…

YEARS IN THE MAKING

Our art has a saying, “Nothing is impossible to a willing mind,” and it’s true. The body is capable of doing anything if the mind allows, so we get a double workout, mind and body!

FINDING THE RIGHT CHANNEL

MAKES TIME TO GIVE TIME

Ultimately, martial arts are fluid. You can train twice a week, or you can be up there every day.

BURN THROUGH THOSE CALORIES

I could always do better with snacking, but my recent addiction is Skinny Dipped Almonds. They’re a desert and healthy snack in one.

FROM DOJO TO STAGE

For my influences, Sigung Monica Morse taught me how to prioritize my life and keep doing so, while Sigung Jason Matthews taught me how to fight for what I want.

CAITLIN MILES, dancer

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Caitlyn Miles has been dancing since she was 2-years-old; last year she incorporated yoga into her exercise regimen.

Caitlyn Miles has been dancing since she was 2-years-old; last year…

A NEW EXERCISE IS NOW A REGULAR THING

A YOUNG START DEFINED MILES’ NEEDS

My mother put me in dance classes when I was 2 years old, and it’s been an important part of my life ever since.

MELTING AWAY DAILY STRESS

DAILY GOALS HELP WITH AN ACTIVE LIFESTYLE

A COOKING COUPLE KEEPS FOOD ON CHECK

THE RARE FOOD COURT INDULGENCE

FRIENDS INDEED

CHRIS STONEDALE, super dad

Photo: Tim Fischer/Midland Reporter-Telegram

Chris Stonedale, resource development director for the Boys &…

ROUTINE IS CRUCIAL; TEAMWORK HELPS

FAMILY LED HIM TO A HEALTHIER LIFESTYLE — AMONG OTHER THINGS

HEALTHY LIVING HAS REAPED BIG REWARDS

TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE

DINING OUT? NO PROBLEM

HOME IS WHERE THE INFLUENCE IS

JASTIN TAYLOR, pro wrestler

SIMPLE HABITS

Jastin Taylor is a professional wrestler. His daily routine includes working out and drinking plenty of water.

Jastin Taylor is a professional wrestler. His daily routine…

THE RIGHT CHOICES

MAKING A COMEBACK

LIVING LIFE IN THE FASTING LANE

MAINTAINING COOL WITH FOOD

CHEAT MEALS ARE WELCOME

PEER PRESSURE

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