#flooring service in Allen

[floorsblvd]

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[bookshelf-dust]

promise to take care of my heart

carmy berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,830

warnings: nothing? a little swearing, but this is pure fluff and that’s all

synopsis: carmy wants to cuddle with you for the first time.

a/n: hi! new character, i know. but i’ve become rather attached to carm in the past few months and i had a cute idea for him and here we are. he’s bringing me so much comfort right now and now i’m gonna share that with you <333

————

“Why don’t you pick out a movie or somethin,’ bub?” 

“If I could find your damn remote, Carm, I would.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes on his hands where they sit deep in the dishwater below. Good luck, he thinks. 

You scan the coffee table, the rug below the shabby couch. It’s not like there’s any use checking the tv stand because it’s still a fucking table tray. You know he doesn’t even own the full set of four table trays? He’s just got the one? That knowledge keeps you up at night. Just like how he doesn’t have a ceiling fan pull and has to get tweezers to change the speed.

You find the remote nestled in a stack of freshly organized books. You helped Carmen assemble a very simple bookshelf so that his stash of cookbooks wouldn’t have to live on the floor anymore. 

Just getting to help him turn his apartment into something other than a place to sleep brought you a contagious giddiness. Carmen’s chest aches with how much he’s laughed since he met you. 

Look at all my muscles, Carm. I’m practically ready for my dick now, don’t you think? 

Where’d you even get these? He’d looked down at the little allen wrench in your hand and said I don’t know, they were just here one day. 

Now you have a bookshelf, Bear. What a grown up. 

Carmen wouldn’t let you help him with the dishes after he cooked you dinner. He’d just kissed your shoulder and said, “Let me take care of it, alright?” with that little raise of his brows and quirk of his lips telling you not to argue because you’d never win. 

And when Carmen tells you to let him take care of something, well…you listen. 

You haven’t been dating very long, but it’s been enough that you’ve both developed this rhythm, this way of moving around and with each other and you just…work. 

He doesn’t understand how you can dial his shyness, his hesitance, so quickly, how you can make him feel like a human again so easily. But you do. 

You settle against the back of the couch, flipping through the tv guide (because Carm has never subscribed to any streaming services) until you find something worth listening to. It’s already a few minutes in, but you’ve seen the movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter. 

The overhead light in the kitchen switches off and Carmen pads out to the living room, socked feet dragging on the hardwoods. Your biggest pet peeve is people who don’t pick up their feet, but somehow it’s more tolerable when it’s him. 

He sits down on the edge of the couch. Just sits. On the edge. That means he wants to say something. You give him the time to psych himself up. 

Carmy chews on his thumb nail and rubs his nose before he turns to you, placing his hand on the couch. His blue eyes burn into yours, and the intensity of his gaze, trained on you, makes you feel like the most important person in the world. 

“H-hey, um…can we—could we snuggle, maybe?” He flushes at the fact that he just used the world snuggle. Richie would have his ass so quick if he’d heard him say that. 

Your grin is brilliant. You’ve never cuddled properly with Carmen before. Maybe a head on a shoulder or a leg tossed across another, but never a real cuddle session. “Fuck yeah, we can, Carm.” You giggle and the sound softens that bubble of fear in his chest. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, letting out the barest laugh. 

“How did you want t-to lay, Bear?” You blink at him. “Were you just gonna—” 

He starts to nod. “I was just gonna lay on your chest, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Y-yeah.”

You snort. “Lemme’ stretch out for you and then you can be a teddy bear.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Carmen shakes his head at you. He lets you pull that shit because he likes it. Secretly.

When you have a pillow under your neck and are laid out on your back, Carm slips beside you against the back of the couch and clumsily settles on top of you. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything, so he settles between your legs, only allowing the weight of his torso to envelop you. 

One arm wraps around your back, the other cradling your hip, his curls brushing your chin. He turns his head to face the tv and lets out a satisfied sigh. 

On instinct your hand threads through his tangled hair, scratching at his scalp gently and sorting through any piece that feels knotted. 

“What is this?” Carmy asks, nodding in the direction of the screen. 

“The Wedding Planner. It has Jlo and Matthew McConaughey in it.” 

“Chick flick?”

You hum in agreeance. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t hate it. Jlo’s character is like you but if the restaurant was a wedding planning business and you were, you know, a chick.”

He laughs lightly against your stomach and you can feel the puff of air over your shirt. 

The weight of Carmen’s body on top of yours is easily the most calming feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can’t get enough of him. 

“This okay?” you ask, scratching his scalp a little more for emphasis. This is a new way of showing affection. Uncharted territory. 

“Hm?” He looks up at you briefly, blue eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yeah, feels nice. I like it.”

You grin and continue to play with his hair. He’s right. It does feel nice. It is. 

The next few minutes go by without any conversation, just silence. But it’s so comfortable. Carmen’s tired gaze is on the tv. You can feel him breathing, feel the way he scratches over your back absently. You don’t know if he’s aware he does it, but he nuzzles his nose against the soft of your stomach every now and then like it’s keeping him safe. 

“You know I thought about being a wedding planner?”

Carmy pushes up onto his elbows, looking at you with the smallest smirk playing on his lips. “Really?”

You playfully bat at his shoulder and he moves to lay back down, but not before pressing a kiss to your sternum over your shirt. “Mhm. Still think about it sometimes.” You pause, but Carm doesn’t say anything yet because he knows you aren’t finished with that thought. 

“I guess I just thought it’d be nice to help put things like that together? The organization would make me feel…complete, I guess. And you know I don’t like to help people in such an extroverted way? I like to be behind the scenes.” You laugh, a little self-deprecatingly. “Does that make sense?”

Carmen squeezes your side. “‘Course it does. And then you could come home and tell me stories about all the family drama you eavesdrop on.”

You giggle, and Carmy loves that he can feel it where he lays on your chest. He can feel your joy, and that’s fucking cool. “That I could.”

He rubs your back in small, gentle circles. “And you know, I happen to have some friends who make pretty good food and would be happy to help if you ever needed.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Berzatto. You’ll have to give me their number.”

Carmy laughs into your chest. A pure, genuine laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, and you truly think you’d have it tattooed all over your body if that was even remotely possible. His glee makes you laugh, and then you’re both snickering like you’re teenagers doing something that’ll get you in big trouble. 

You reach for his hand, the one that’s resting on your hip now, and he lets you lift it towards your face. He bites his cheek, fighting the smile that rises when you press your warm and chapstick covered lips to his knuckles. 

“You have such pretty hands, Carmy.”

He pinches your back. “I still don’t get why you’re so fascinated by them.”

“Because they’re pretty. And, look—” You hold yours up to his. “—they’re so much bigger than mine. And I like your tattoos, obviously. I like that I know how talented you are with your hands and how capable. I’m very lucky to hold such capable hands, Bear.”

“Capable, huh?” He gives you a look, one that makes you want to both tackle him and smack him on the arm. Instead you roll your eyes and he raises up to kiss you. 

“Capable of being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

Carmy laughs. It’s that little chuckle, light and airy and like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but he wants to hear more anyway. He flops back down on your chest, making you let out a rather loud oomph. 

You take Carmen’s hand in yours again, rubbing over the dry patches on his knuckles, the scabs on the insides of his fingers, the scar on his palm. His whole life is written in these hands. 

You start massaging the pads of his fingers without even thinking about it. No one’s ever been that gentle with him—definitely not with his hands—and a little part of him melts at the feeling. 

You kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand and just look at his skin. You’re determined to memorize each line and freckle and fucked up cuticle he’s got. 

“At least your nails don’t look like Richie’s, Carm.”

His chest moves with the giggle that travels throughout his body. 

“Trust me, they didn’t look like that when he was still with Tiff.”

You grin, your eyes falling back on the television. Maybe Carm would be open to setting it on the bookshelf? That table tray has put in a lot of work. It deserves a break. 

Carmen can see why you’re so fond of this movie. It’s one of those that doesn’t require much thought, that has humor and feels more human than most. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but you having said what you said before makes him wonder if you’ll plan your own wedding…with him. 

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself. But maybe we’ll get there. 

You catch him smiling when they fuck up the statue in the garden and pretend not to notice. You both keep quiet now, but Carm reaches up and puts your hand back on his head.

Your fingers thread through his curls again, scratching at his scalp gently. Your other hand does the same thing to his back. You know it’s going to lull him to sleep. 

When you say it, he’s already dozed off. But you are so happy that you get to make him feel safe. That he’s comfortable enough to sleep on you like this. Lucky is an understatement. 

“Thank you for letting me in, Bear. I don’t think my life has ever been this beautiful.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[scaredeverything]

Transitional Family Room - Game Room

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 3.0 | Jake Seresin x Reader

previous chapter | epilogue | masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, distressing themes throughout but especially towards the end of the chapter. Graphic violence, dangerous situations, inaccurate injuries, major character death revenge, wc: 3.8k

There’s no rush to open your eyes. The ache and throb, and painful dryness of your lips brings you no respite from the way things had been before you had fallen asleep. Blacked out. Whatever you want to call it— it hadn’t helped. 

Your nose wrinkles at something offensive. Sterile and sharp smelling. Wrinkling it comes with a crunch, and sharp pain. There’s a dry feeling in your nostrils where old blood still sits. 

The smell is chemical, antiseptic. It’s so strong smelling through all of that blood and pain that it forces your eyes open. That’s worse. That hurts more. Fluorescents above you. You’re left with no choice but to squeeze them shut again— and the sudden realization that you’re not where you were before, at all.

There’s no hard, painful metal chair holding your weight. The burden of being held now falls to something much softer, so soft that it feels like you’re sinking into it like sand. It doesn’t hurt much less. 

Your legs hurt, a prickling static feeling. Your ass hurts from however long you were sitting there like that. Your back hurts, a numb and stiff feeling. You attempt to turn your head and your neck reminds you suddenly not to overlook it— a gasp tears from your mouth and makes your lungs burn almost as much as your bruised throat.

Two voices say your name at once. A chair scrapes across the ground, two sets of shoes hit the floor. People are coming. The gasp, despite your burning throat’s protests, becomes a choked whimper. 

“Don’t— Don’t touch her,��� Allen. You’re dreaming again, just like you had been when you heard Jake’s voice. “Maybe we should get the doctor.” 

You try once again. The bright, blinding white stuns your sore, unadjusted eyes. You squint through it, determined as ever. Allen’s weathered face steadies and becomes more clear. His mouth hangs open, watching your bruised face start to move with recognition.

“Stay still, sweetheart, don’t move.” He’s speaking to you. He lifts his hand and reaches. His fingers extend towards you and your skin comes alive, buzzing with electricity like you’re being shocked as you tear back from his extended palm.

He winces as you cough out a choked cry, doubling over in pain from the sudden movement. 

“Doctor Owens?— Doctor Owens!” Your mother. Her voice is further away, growing in urgency. She’s barely recovered herself. She shouldn’t have come.

The monitor beside your bed beeps wildly as your heart rate kicks into another spike, and footfall echoes in the hall as people rush for your room. So many shoes hitting the ground at once that you can’t place how many of them there could possibly be.

“Don’t.” It comes out choked and horse, but loud. “Don’t touch me. Allen. Don’t— I don’t want—“

“Calm down, it’s alright,” He tries, he really tries. The footfall grows closer and you thrash as Allen’s fingers graze the curve of your shoulder. You’re just hurting yourself more. “Stop. Try to stay still, alright? — You’re — Stop. Stop!”

There’s nothing peaceful about the way you’re sent back to sleep, thrashing and crying and screaming as your IV is adjusted and filled. With everything that you’ve been through, they had warned your loved ones that recovery was going to be far from linear.

Over the course of the next two days, you wake three more times and are put back to sleep in a similar fashion. With your stitches and recovering internal injuries, they need you to be still. For now, every time you have opened your eyes has been another fight that your body just isn’t ready to take.

The fourth time comes easier than the rest. Your broken nose has started to heal by now. Under the hospital gown, your ribs are black and blue. Your lungs have stopped making that rattling sound when you inhale deeply now. Still, everything hurts.

The fluorescent lights are off. The curtains are open, the television is on. You blink heavily, your chest aches as you breathe in. 

Allen looks up at the soft rattle of your first breath in. His brows furrowed slightly, green eyes widening as he watches your eyelids blink heavily. 

“Hey…” He whispers cautiously, like he’s afraid to spook you. Your gaze settles on him, the fuzziness of the picture dissipating with each heavy blink. His face is sullen, tired. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s just me. It’s just us, you’re okay.”

Just us. The idea is more comforting than anything you’ve heard in a long time. It’s not really just the two of you, but Allen keeps that to himself. You don’t need to know the amount of security posted around this building.

You want to answer him, but your throat is dry and hoarse when you try to speak. Allen sits forwards, grabbing the underside of the chair with his good hand and pulling it closer.

“It’s alright.” His voice voice croaks. It’s not alright, but you will be. He hopes you’ll understand, when it’s time for you to learn how it all went down. 

Stubble coats his jaw and his hair is longer than he usually ever lets it grow, salt and pepper all the way through. Your fingers twitch and your arm aches as you force it slowly upward, reaching for him. Allen grazes the tips of his fingers over yours. He slides his hand slowly into your palm, and watches your eyes fill with sudden tears.

“What… happened?” You whimper.

“I’ll tell you everything once you’re feeling a little better,” He whispers, thinking back to the strict orders from your mother not to upset you. He lowers his mouth just slightly and presses his lips to your knuckles, squeezing your hand tight. “You scared the shit out of me for a second, there.”

A burning sensation behind your eyes makes you wrinkle your nose, your bottom lip trembling as your chest flares with heat. There’s real fear in his eyes. He shouldn’t even be here, he’s supposed to be retired — there’s no money in this for him.

And yet, he’s the only person at your bedside.

He’s holding your hand, and holding your gaze firmly. Letting you think it’s all okay. Your throat hurts as you swallow softly. 

There’s a news broadcast on the television to Allen’s right. The skyline buzzes, alight behind him. It plays on as he opens his mouth to speak again, he seems to have forgotten that it’s playing.

“Following the events of Thursday evening, we have received word that due to complications, a second surgery would be necessary — which is underway as we speak,” The reporter explains solemnly. She and her co-anchor are both wearing black. “The nation’s thoughts are with you, Mr. President.”

You blink at the fuzzy television screen. The picture they used of your father is from your kindergarten graduation. He’s younger there, his hair dark rather than they grey it has been growing into more recently — he’s got an arm around you, and he’s grinning proudly.

“Shit.” Allen breathes out, sitting up suddenly straight.

 The news broadcast is gone with an abrupt beat. Allen drops the remote down onto the side and scrubs a hand along his salt-and-pepper stubbled jaw, studying the ground.

Your lips flatten into a firm line, your muscles screaming as you lift your head from the pillow. 

Your gaze hardens. “Is he alive?”

Allen swallows. He gives you a small, serious nod. “Yeah. He’s upstairs, in surgery.”

The tone of his voice makes your chest ache. Serious in a way Allen rarely is.

Creeping into his office in your pyjamas. Scolding him for all the times he missed you teddy-bear tea parties. Sitting with him on the swing set in the backyard of the first house you remember. All the times you had told him you hated him as a teenager. How strongly you had meant it the last time.

Your gaze flickers back to the blank television screen, losing yourself in its sudden darkness. 

“How?” You croak out.

Allen hesitates. He presses his lips together and shakes his head softly. “I’ll explain everything when you’re feeling better.”

You turn your head, blinking heavily as you look around the sprawling hospital room. Your parents really spared no expense. Well, your mom— you guess. 

“Jake?” You ask.

“He’s here,” Allen nods solemnly. “He’s sleeping.”

And you can’t see him. It wouldn’t be good for you to see him, not until you’re feeling better.

“Is he—?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Allen sounds sure, and not in a sugar-coated way. He sounds more positive than he had about your father. “You should rest. He comes to see you in the mornings.”

Being on a ward himself, Jake’s been getting on the nurses’ nerves around here, trying to break the rules so he can wander out and see you for as long as possible. His shoulder is just about fine now, he can almost roll it back the way he used to. The doctor says an injury like his doesn’t heal that fast, but Jake has always been ahead of the curve.

He has spread his time between your room on the fourteenth floor, and where the President has been falling in and out of being classed as critical on the fifteenth with little regard for the fact he’s recovering from a surgery on his shoulder himself. With you breathing, he couldn’t care less about being hit himself.

If the bullet hadn’t caught his shoulder, it would have torn through your father’s lungs and killed him right then and there.

You shoot a quick glance toward the darkened hallway. Allen sighs.

“No.”

“I want to know what happened.” You don’t. Not really. You want to pull these foreign covers up over your head and hide and cry your eyes out, scream this whole place down. There’s no easy way to say it, and really, no one knows how you’ll handle it.

You close your eyes for a moment and wait. 

Somehow, you’re safe — you’ll be okay. Jake’s okay. Your father won’t make it through the week. You don’t remember a thing. None of it makes sense.

Jake remembers every detail. He sits awake too, not in his own room but in the hallway of the twelfth floor — as close as he can get to the operating room without being put on his ass by a serviceman. 

In the mornings that he’s able to visit you, Jake likes to talk to you. You’ve been out of the woods for a while now, everyone knows that it’s just a waiting game until you’re stable enough to be awake. Really awake. On the Monday just passed, you had opened your eyes for a few seconds and just blinked at him.

Brows drawn together all stern, your lips pursed, your eyelashes fluttering. He never thought he would be so grateful to see you frowning at him.

He has heard about the past few days. The panic and stress. He has made a strong case for himself to be allowed to be there, but the people who make the calls won’t budge. It’s just not the right time. 

That’s not true. It’s his punishment. 

It’s his punishment, for not being the one in that operating room with his chest cracked open and twelve surgeons fighting to keep his heart beating.

Having spent most of his adult life working in environments where he was the expendable one, Jake had heard a lot of stories. He had heard, most frequently, that time always slows down in the moments that matter.

Not that day. It had been a blur. He had walked into that exchange with certainty; you would be leaving there with him. 

To an extent, he had been expecting Elias to be bluffing. No man on the planet couldn’t be bought — Jake had been expecting a bidding war, and he knew your father had the right amount of money to make this go away.

It hadn’t been that at all.

His stomach twists when he thinks about how they had paraded you before them. The look on Matthew’s face as he studied the dried blood in your hair, and the fresh blood trickling from your temple.

They had hurt you to prove a point. Almost killed you, to send a message. It was too far gone to be about the money.

Jake knows that he isn’t responsible for this, he isn’t the one that put your father in this situation. He’s the only reason that those surgeons are even trying right now — if he hadn’t been there, you’d both be dead. 

He’ll never not be there again.

Jake sits there through the surgery. On the floor with his elbows on his knees, his head rested back against the wall, he sits there for six hours. It should have taken six hours.

At a little after seven, Jake is startled awake by an orderly rushing past him with a rattling metal cart. He checks his watch, which is now settled on the wrong wrist due to his sling, and clumsily pushes himself up from the ground.

“Hey, buddy,” Jake strains, sighing at the ache through his side and clearing his throat as he finds his footing. “How’s he looking?”

The twenty-something year old in scrubs whips around to look at Jake, his eyes wide with heavy blue marks under them. He looks like he’s been up even longer than Jake has.

“You’re the bodyguard.” The kid seems to realize, blinking as his rattling cart comes to a stop. He glances back in the direction of the theater, then at Jake. “Uh… I don’t know. It’s going to be a while before they can say, I guess.”

A muscle in Jake’s jaw ticks. At seven, Jake walks to your hospital room and usually starts to bug whoever is in charge of watching you until they let him visit early.

He glances towards the operating room, and then back at the orderly. This could take hours, something urgent could happen in the next few minutes. He hesitates.

Then, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his sweats. Jake takes it from his pocket and glances quickly down at the screen, with every intention of answering the kid in front of him.

She’s awake. Asking for you too. 

And Jake’s mind is made up. He can’t wait a second longer. His heart feels like it’s in his mouth by the time he’s pushing open the door to your hospital room.

He has seen the bruises fade from blue to yellow, and the IV lines and monitors all around you every day for almost a week. It does nothing to prepare him for the sight of all of those things once you’re awake and staring at him.

“Honey…” His breath catches in his throat, his brows drawing together.

The comprehensive list of your injuries is still typed up at the foot of the bed. Jake could list them off by heart, by now. Fractured eye-socket. Broken ring and middle finger on your right hand. Soft tissue damage to your left foot. Extreme bruising to the abdomen. The fracture in your rib. Every single one of those god-damned bruises.

Your right eye had been swollen shut that first day. Now, it’s wide open. The bruise is yellowed and sore looking, your eyes filled with fear. 

“Jake.” Your voice cracks and your breathing hitches.

It doesn’t matter that Allen is standing right there, sitting back against the window ledge with his arms folded over his chest. Jake couldn’t care less that your mother is watching him like a hawk. 

She has been every single time he has visited.

The security guard steps out of the way as Jake charges forwards. He takes slow, long strides. He’s trying so hard to remember what you’ve been through, and remind himself to be slow with you, but every fibre of his being wants to pull you close and never let you go again.

He stops at the side of your bed and hesitates, just for a split-second. His eyes scan across your face, searching for doubt or fear. As he makes his decision, you make yours too.

 He leans forwards swiftly as you ball your not-injured hand into his shirt, his fingers curling gently around the nape of your neck and pulling you against him.

The room falls silent. Your nose fills with his smell, your cheek presses firmly into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His thumb strokes at your skin.

For all you care, the other people in the room could have disappeared from the second that Jake touched you. He holds you close, silently. He doesn’t know how much you know yet, whether it’s all or nothing, and he doesn’t care. For now, you’re okay, and you’re with him.

It takes a moment before you notice that he’s only got one arm around you.

Jake watches as you pull back, searching for answers and landing on the blue sling resting around his shoulder, covering his right arm.

“I’m fine,” He assures you instantly, already shaking his head as his palm moves to cup your jaw. He holds your gaze, certain. “I’m fine. It’s superficial. We’re okay.”

Superficial. Allen bites his tongue, but can’t help but disagree. That bullet tore through ligament and bone, and Jake is lucky to be recovering so well. It was far from superficial— the surgery had taken all night. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, weak sounding and trembling. You drop your head forwards to rest against his unbandaged shoulder. “This is all my fault. This is all my fault, you shouldn’t ever have even met—“

“Stop.” Jake whispers, turning his face towards yours and trying to coax you back to look at him. He closes his eyes, pressing his mouth to your temple. “It’s over now. I’m never going to let anything happen to you again. It’s over.” 

Your mother watches. There’s a cautious, nagging feeling that tugs at her that she really doesn’t know you at all. There isn’t much that feels familiar about watching you with him — she wouldn’t have a clue how to calm you the way that he does.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, balling your hands tighter into his t-shirt. If he didn’t know any better, he’d guess that you’re trying to pull him right into your hospital bed with you.

“Yeah, a couple more days, honey,” Jake nods his head. He’s been speaking with your doctor. Once they’re certain that you’re stable enough, you’re free to go. “We’ll get you back to the house.”

“No.” You rush out, so fast that it almost makes you hiccup. It’s then that your head turns, your eyes wide and searching as you look around the room. Just as quickly, before you’ve even met the gaze of Allen or your mother, you bury your face into the crook of his neck and squeeze your eyes shut. Just quiet enough for Jake to hear, you whimper softly. “I don’t want to go back there. I want to go with you.”

Jake feels your mother’s gaze burning into his back, and knows what she must be thinking. She’s about to lose her husband and she thinks that Jake’s going to take you too.

“With me?” He murmurs, stroking a hand over your hair. Your mother has been taking pride in maintaining it — she has cared for you in so many quiet ways recently. Jake will tell you all about it, another time.

“Could — maybe we could see your mom again?” It feels ridiculous to ask, and from the second that the words leave your mouth, you’re already worrying about the kind of danger you could be putting them in.

But for Jake, it makes his heart catch with sudden relief.

“Yeah,” He hums. “Yeah, we can do that.”

He perches on the edge of your bed, draping his good arm around your shoulders. Your mother watches as you curl against him, closing your eyes and finally unballing your fists.

The room falls quiet, and stays that way. 

Allen lets the two of you have the peace and quiet. Your mother, simply, has little to say. 

An hour later, a little after eight, there’s a commotion in the hallway. Jake watches the bustle between the security guards silently, a heavy feeling settling in his gut as he braces for what is coming. 

He feels you perk up at his side as their voices grow more hushed, trying to peek over him.

He turns his face towards your hair and kisses the top of your head softly, wrapping his arm tighter around you. “It’s alright.”

He pities the poor guy who opens the door to the room, forced to meet your mother’s gaze with a sullen expression. He clears his throat weakly, hands tucked behind his back. “Ma’am.”

Your mother isn’t a dumb woman. She doesn’t need it explained to her. The doctors had explained the risks, and explained that he might not make it. Her husband is dead.

…

[hotmentransformed]

The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse... you were all alone for the holidays. While your friends managed to get home and were with their families or decided to spend the night partying until sunrise, you were stuck alone at home. This wasn't your plan for this year. Your stupid boss wouldn't let you take off the day before, so you had to work on Christmas Eve. You had planned on flying back home to your family after work had finished, but a surprise snowstorm canceled your flight back home, and you had no way of getting there. While your parents were obviously upset that you wouldn’t be joining them, they couldn’t be angry at you, because it wasn’t your fault. You couldn't control the weather. 

Trying to find something to keep you occupied, you had spent the evening baking cookies for Santa Claus. Obviously, you were old enough to understand that Santa didn’t exist, but you had baked cookies for him every year with your mother since you were a kid, and Christmas Eve would feel incomplete without the smell of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. However, once the baking was done and the kitchen was cleaned, the silence that filled your house was deafening.

Placing the tray of cookies and a cold glass of milk by the fireplace, you poured yourself a large glass of eggnog and headed into your bedroom to put on a Christmas movie on your laptop. Maybe watching other people in the festive spirit will bring you some joy. Scrolling through all of the streaming services you had, you were unsatisfied with the array of films. You had seemingly seen everything. Finally, you stumbled upon that old 90s movie with Tim Allen, The Santa Clause. The idea of this toy salesman turning into Santa and learning the true meaning of Christmas was so insane! But nonetheless, you remember liking the movie when you watched it many years ago, so you decided to press play. As the movie played, you continued to drink your eggnog. Eventually, you finished your first glass and went back to get a second. With every sip of the eggnog, you found yourself becoming more and more relaxed. The movie was funny enough, but you found your eyes gradually getting heavier. Slowly, everything faded to black.

Cough cough 

You awoke suddenly to the sound of coughing. You jolted upwards. Your laptop was still warm on your legs, and the movie was still playing; it was only halfway finished. Throwing your computer off to the side, you hurriedly stumbled out of bed to see what was happening. As you turned the corner, you saw it. There, standing in your living room, was some fat old guy dressed as Santa Claus. In one hand was one of the cookies you had baked earlier, and the other was clawing at his throat. His cough had stopped, but he was still gasping for air. He was choking. Before you had time to react, his knees gave out and he stumbled backward, landing on the floor. His massive body shook the house, and then, everything was still. It was silent. He wasn’t moving. Stepping forward and raising your foot, you tried to nudge him, to see if he was still alive. Instead of meeting his leg, your foot seemed to move right through him, instead catching the fabric of his red suit. Before your very eyes, this dead man who had broken into your house seemingly dissolved into thin air. All that was left of him was the half-eaten cookie and his outfit.

You had to call the police. A man had just broken into your house. Running to your counter and grabbing your cell phone, you raced to the front door to see that it was locked. Running to the side windows, you saw that they were… locked. Walking to the back door, sure enough, it was locked too. Looking at your alarm system, you saw that it was armed. How did this guy get into your house? You put your phone down. Walking back into your living room, you stepped over the red suit and stuck your hand up the chimney. Sure enough, the flue was open. Oh my god. Did the real Santa Claus just choke on your cookies?

Now what? You definitely can’t call the police. They wouldn’t believe you that Santa just died in your room and his body vanished. Sure, you were a little tipsy from the eggnog, but knew what you saw. No one would believe you, still. Hell, you wouldn’t have believed yourself! It sounded like something directly out of a Christmas movie.

You paused. Like something out of a Christmas movie. Looking down at the outfit the fat old man had just been wearing, you thought back to the movie you were watching. It could have been the eggnog talking, but why couldn’t you just try his clothes on? I mean what was there to lose? It’s not like there was actually a dead person in your living room; only his clothes.

Looking at his hat, that had once been on his head, you picked it up and placed it onto your coffee table. You sat on your couch to deliberate what your next course of action should be: call the police or try on Santa’s clothes. Staring at this hat and looking beyond at the full outfit which lay strewn on the floor, you made up your mind. If nothing else, maybe this will put you in a festive mood.

Standing up and placing the hat on your head, you instantly were overcome by an intense gurgling in your stomach. You felt so incredibly bloated. You rubbed your hands on your stomach, only to feel it rapidly expanding outwards in front of you. Bringing your hands to your chest, you felt it sag as your pecs grew into mounds of fat drooping from your torso.

Your ass grew enormous, stretching the fabric of your pants and tearing the seams. Falling backward onto your couch, you heard as the legs buckled under your growing weight. Your thighs splayed further and further outward, ripping your pants and pushing your legs farther and farther apart. Your fingers swelled into large sausages and your feet grew massive. 

The hair across your body lightened to a gray, before becoming as white as snow. Your upper lip itched as white hairs pushed their way out, growing long and meeting up with the hairs forcing their way from your chin. Soon, you sported a large, white, bushy beard. Wrinkles began etching their way across your face and body as you aged rapidly. Standing up from the couch, you stumbled as your center of gravity changed with your massive weight gain. Slowly, you managed to bring your body to the clothes of the former Santa Claus. Reaching down and grabbing the fabric, you pulled your blubberous legs through the velvet pants, shoving your giant feet into the brown leather boots. You lifted the heavy suit jacket over your shoulders and massive beach-ball stomach, before adorning it with a buckled belt. You brought your massive fingers into the white gloves and lifted his glasses onto your face.

You looked exactly like him. You were the spitting image of Santa Claus. Looking at the tray of cookies that you had baked earlier and the big guy had just choked on, you decided it’d be best to pass on the cookies tonight. Instead, you turned towards the chimney, ready to get back to your sleigh and deliver the rest of the presents before sunrise. Bringing festive cheer and joy to the world was enough to make an old man like you laugh gaily with glee:

Ho, Ho, Ho!

[steviewashere]

To Be Cast Away and Brought Back In

(also on ao3)

wc: 1,986, Steddie Tags: Post Season 4, Post Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Minor Sick Character, Mentions of Chronic Illnesses, Established Steddie (For the rest of the tags, they're on ao3. No content warning.)

--------

Eddie Munson moved to Hawkins, Indiana at the age of ten. He was picked up by social services with a good portion of his belongings, carted into the back of an unsuspecting little black Cadillac, escorted to Forest Hills Trailer Park, and practically pushed into his Uncle Wayne's floundering arms. Wayne knew that he'd be getting a new roommate, but the softness after all the commotion didn't make Eddie's anxieties lessen any.

There was a point in time where he could accurately tell somebody that he was being taken care of at home by both of his parents. His dad would play catch in the front yard. Mama Munson would read illustrated books and prep his bubble baths. They were tight knit, for a while, they could expect one another to be there. As present as ever. With dinner on the table and a new funny story and a mountain of homework on Eddie's part.

But it wasn't made to last. Eddie didn't expect for it all to come crumbling down before he had the chance to even start junior high, but it happened anyway. Papa Munson, better known as Allen "Al" Munson to authorities, had been in and out of jail a good portion of young Eddie's life. Usually on several counts of theft. One time for grand theft auto. But he would come out of it, be put on parole, and eventually make his way back to their little home in the outskirts of Indianapolis.

What tore into Eddie, however, was his mother.

Eleanor Munson, or Nora as she liked to be called, had always been sick in one way or another. Whether it was physically—coughing fits that led to incessant gagging and sometimes what seemed like endless bouts of vomiting, or chronic nerve pain that forced her to lay still in bed for far too long, and more often than not, the migraines. And then there was of course some town cries of her being emotionally inept or mentally ill or a basket case on legs or a nervous, psychotic break. Whatever clever thing they could think of at the time, when it would later be "manic depression," but that wouldn't come until some years after Eddie had already relocated.

Most of Eddie's growing up was spent taking care of his mother. Bringing her ice packs, heat packs, the hot water bottle, warm towels. Some days he'd draw her a bath. Other days he'd just tiptoe with some painkillers, a glass of water, and a plate of plain toast—she'd send him off to play on his own. He had toys and books and art supplies, a small bicycle and a baseball, but he didn't want to do any of that. Not on his own. And since his dad was often out and causing mishap or landing himself behind bars, his growing up had been desolate and desperate and all too lonely.

He hates to acknowledge some of his true feelings now. The rise of pent up resentment. Simmering anger and that gnawing sadness. It attached to his ten year old heart and didn't want to let go.

Not even when he moved in with Uncle Wayne.

On the first night at the trailer, Eddie simply threw his bags to the linoleum floor by the front door, stomped over to the couch, and landed so that his face was digging into one of the seat cushions. He remembers muffling some screams, definitely a few wet sobs, even some disgusting snot rockets. Yet, and he finds himself appreciating it even now, Wayne just leet him do his thing. Let him cry and yell and choke for what seemed like an eternity.

And when he came back to his present body, sitting up with the effort of a brand new body builder loading on too many weights, Wayne simply brought him a cup of hot cocoa in the Garfield mug set aside just for troublesome nights like these. Though, the troubled nights ended up being near daily.

Could you blame Eddie? He was dumped off. It felt as if he was something being abandoned at a junkyard. Though, Wayne's trailer has always been too nice for that comparison.

Even later on that night, when Wayne had shown him to his bed and gave him a warm comforter and a full glass of ice water, Eddie had asked, "When do I get to go home and be with my mama?"

Wayne tucked him in. Huffed a hot puff of breath. And he whispered, "You ain't goin' back, Bubba. You're 'ere with me now."

Eddie's lip trembled, brown eyes growing wide and wet. "This is my home?" his little voice squeaked. "But��Mama...Mama is at home."

He watched as his uncle shook his head. Clicked his tongue against his teeth. And sat heavily next to Eddie's side. "Did those people not tell you why you're 'ere?" Eddie shook his head. "Bubba—" He sighed. "Bubba, you couldn't get your mama to wake up, right?" And Eddie nodded. "So you called me. And...I helped you get people to come check on her. They—" Wayne sniffled and wiped a hand down his face, dragging his features. "Your mama isn't at home anymore. She died, Ed."

"Died?" Eddie whispered, horrified. Wayne simply nodded.

He remembers getting a conversation a few months ago, something about his mom not doing too well. What to do, just in case. To call his Uncle Wayne.

"In case she dies," was one of the first things talked about. His dad had told him. He knows what it means. They had a dog at one point, he had died in an accident. A goldfish, too, that died from old age. Even the cat they took in from the street, she died from an illness.

"But—But what about Papa? How come I don't get to go with him?"

"Your daddy is in a lot of trouble, kiddo. Remember how he was always getting in trouble for things?" Wayne asked, once again, Eddie nodded. "He did something bad again and now he's doing a lot of time for it." Another weary sigh. "We'll talk about it some more, okay? I promise. Tonight, you just need to get some sleep."

Eddie shuffled further under the comforter. Before Wayne could get too far, Eddie called out, "Can you read my book to me, please?" He gestured to a battered up copy of The Hobbit on his bedside table.

"You're reading The Hobbit?"

"Mama used to read it to me; before she got super sick," Eddie whispered.

And that became their nightly tradition. Nice dinner, hot cocoa in the Garfield mug, warm shower, tucked into bed, and Wayne would read aloud The Hobbit. Until eventually it turned into them trading off chapters. Eddie would do the character voices and Wayne would compliment him.

Eddie's life truly began in the sanctuary of Wayne's trailer. Given items for Dungeons and Dragons, the rest of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, and more hot meals than he had ever had in his life.

Things were normal, they were fine.

Until Chrissy Cunningham died. Broken and bleeding. Until he ran. Patrick dead too, the same way. More running and hiding and being hunted down. Watching other people nearly lose their lives. Almost losing his own.

The days spent in the hospital, tied up by tubes and ports and constant streams of doctors. Calling him a miracle. His friends calling him a hero. Wayne going back to his habit of calling him Bubba.

And then, though there was the nightmares and the flashbacks and the other issues that arose from the ashes of the Upside Down, things became okay again.

Eddie fell in love with his high school crush, Steve Harrington. And Steve Harrington fell in love with someone unsuspected in Eddie. They shared a constant space. Holding each other through blood soaked nightmares. Getting high to a bearable level, not going far enough to push Steve into a corner.

What Eddie wasn't prepared to handle were the migraines. Not from him. Though, he definitely had days where his scars felt too tight or there was the phantom sensation of those things biting into his flesh. No, Steve had them.

As severe as Nora Munson did. Leaving Steve Harrington bedridden, nauseous, in pain that only worsened unless he could sleep it off. He was tired a good portion of the time. And when he wasn't, he was in pain.

In fact, it's one of those migraine attacks right now. It comes full force in the early hours of June 16th, 1986. Eddie hasn't been around for one before, but he knows immediately what to do. Grabs ice packs and a cold wet rag. Makes a plate of plain toast with butter. Fills a glass with ice water and the center of his palm with some extra strength painkillers.

Eddie makes quick work. Draping the rag on Steve's sweaty forehead. Gently setting the icepack at the back of his skull. Helping him take his medication, leaving the food and water on the bedside table.

Just as he tiptoes to leave the room, however, he hears from behind him in a hushed voice, "Where you going?" Granted, the syllables are slurred, a lot tired. He can realize that it must take Steve a great amount of effort to just speak out, even something so mundane. Eddie winces in solidarity.

"I'm giving you some space," Eddie whispers back.

"You don't ha-fta go," Steve whines. "Come lay with me," he offers, patting the empty space beside him.

Though it goes against all of what Eddie knows, he obliges anyway. He hesitantly climbs back into bed. Stiff on the mattress. Body barely covered by the blanket, just in case. Then, Steve scoots close and wraps himself along Eddie's side. And because he can't help himself, Eddie brings one of his hands to tickle over Steve's spine. The other traces the moles on his forearm.

"You can talk," Steve whispers. "I don't like the silence."

Eddie hums. Squeezes Steve's bicep before trailing back down to his forearm. "My mom used to get migraines. Knew how to take care of her," he murmurs. "She made me leave her alone. But...If that's what she wanted, then I did it. Even if I wanted her to play or read with me."

"I'll never make you go away," Steve breathes into the exposed skin of Eddie's neck. "Reminds me that there's somebody here that cares." Eddie hums again. "My parents didn't like taking care of me when I was sick, I was kind of a lot as a kid."

"Could never be too much for me." Eddie carefully leans down and presses a kiss to Steve's hairline. "I'll do anything you need. It's just hard for me to do sometimes, puts me back in that mindset, I guess."

"That's okay," Steve sighs.

They let silence lapse around them.

It's nice, to stay in the room. To be there. Knowing that he's needed, especially. He was needed when he was a kid, there's no doubt about that. But it's different, somehow it's a different kind of necessity.

"Can you tell me a story, Eds?"

And so Eddie does one of the many things Wayne taught him. He builds an elaborate story from thin air. About pleasant things and badass knights and princesses with gorgeous dresses and hair. He weaves elaborate plot lines about the characters saving one another, being there for one another. If the inspiration comes from him and Steve, nobody has to know, but he feels as though Steve caught on.

He can hear Steve yawn at some point. When he glances down, catching Steve trying to keep his eyes open, he snorts. "You can go to sleep, baby. I'll be right here when you wake up next."

"Promise?"

"Promise, Stevie. There's no place I'd rather be."

[deadpresidents]

Exactly 100 years ago, President Warren Gamaliel Harding escaped the sweltering summer weather and increasingly dark political climate of Washington, D.C. to embark upon a lengthy cross-country trip through parts of the American West still relatively unaccustomed to frequent visits by the nation’s Chief Executive. Billed as a “Voyage of Understanding”, Harding’s trip was seen as a prelude to his potential campaign for re-election the following year, and an opportunity to put some literal and figurative distance between the President and the rumors of rampant corruption swirling around some of Harding’s friends and closest aides from Ohio, as well as several Cabinet members — rumors eventually proven to be true, resulting in indictments, convictions, prison sentences, and even suicides. As President Harding prepared for his Western tour, he could feel the heat as the scandals plaguing his Administration began to reach a boiling point. Speaking privately to the famous journalist and editor William Allen White, Harding said of the Presidency, “My God, this is a hell of a job! I have no trouble with my enemies…But my damn friends, they’re the ones that keep me walking the floor nights.”

Harding’s planned 15,000-mile Voyage of Understanding began on June 20, 1923. Traveling aboard the private Pullman railroad car Superb, the 57-year-old President left Washington, D.C. accompanied by First Lady Florence Harding, Speaker of the House of Representatives Frederick H. Gillett, new Interior Secretary Hubert Work, and a large retinue of aides, friends and their families, doctors, Secret Service agents, and members of the press. Work had become Secretary of the Interior a few months earlier when the previous Secretary, Albert B. Fall, became the “fall guy” for the Teapot Dome scandal. For his role in the scandal, Fall was later convicted of accepting bribes — the first former Cabinet member in American history to serve time in prison for crimes committed while in office. At later points along the journey, Harding’s party was also joined by Secretary of Agriculture Henry C. Wallace (father of future Vice President Henry A. Wallace) and Secretary of Commerce (and future President) Herbert Hoover.

The last week of June 1923 was spent traveling through the Mountain West — Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, Montana, and Yellowstone National Park. The beginning of July saw the Presidential party in the Northwest and celebrating Independence Day in Portland, Oregon before boarding the USS Henderson in Tacoma, Washington on July 5, 1923 to sail to Alaska. One of the expected highlights of the Voyage of Understanding was the northernmost  leg of the trip, as Harding became the first incumbent President of the United States to visit Alaska and Canada. The Territory of Alaska had been purchased for the United States by Secretary of State William Seward in 1867 when Warren G. Harding was two years old, and at the time of Harding’s visit, Alaska was still 35 years from being admitted to the Union as the 49th state. But the President spent nearly the entire month of July traveling through the state, mixing public appearances with private recreation and sightseeing. On July 15, 1923, Harding hammered a golden spike in Nenana, Alaska to officially complete the Alaska Railroad. And ten days later, the President crossed into Canada, fishing on the Campbell River in British Columbia on July 25th and then making an official visit the following day in Vancouver, where he was greeted by one of the largest crowds of his voyage — estimated at over 40,000 people — and where he also squeezed in a round of golf at the exclusive Shaughnessy Golf Club.

The President returned to American soil on July 27th, arriving in Seattle and making several speeches in a busy six-hour period — first to Camp Fire Girls at Volunteer Park, then to nearly 30,000 Boy Scouts at Woodland Park, and finishing the day addressing over 30,000 people at what is now Husky Stadium at the University of Washington where he predicted statehood for Alaska, where he had spent most of the month. After making a brief appearance that evening at the Seattle Press Club, Harding boarded his train that night to travel to Portland, Oregon.

But something was not right. The President seemed to be exhausted, perhaps from the grueling trip through geography much wilder than Harding’s native Ohio or swampy Washington, D.C. Despite his exciting journey through Alaska and the energetic welcome provided by the Canadian people, Harding was clearly wiped out by the time he reached British Columbia. The President did head to the country club while in Vancouver, but he was so tired that after six holes of golf his foursome skipped directly to the eighteenth hole, seemingly completing the round without tipping off the press that Harding couldn’t play the entire course.

From the White House, nine days before embarking upon his Voyage of Understanding, Harding wrote a quick note to Solicitor General James M. Beck who had wished the President a safe journey on his upcoming trip. Thanking Beck, Harding wrote, “I shall try to remember not to overdo (it) in crossing the continent.” And, on June 14, 1923, six days before leaving, President Harding wrote a short letter to a young girl from Hartford, Connecticut named Vivian Little, who had recently sent the President a four-leaf clover as a good luck charm. “Thank you so much for the four-leaf clover which you were so good as to press and send to me,” the President wrote. “I hope it will bring me good luck and that it will bring you still more of the same.”

However, any luck that President Warren G. Harding still had seemed to be running out. Ill and exhausted after leaving Vancouver, Harding tried to rest aboard the USS Henderson as it sailed to Seattle in the early morning hours of July 27. At some point around 3 AM, Harding and the other passengers aboard the Henderson were jolted awake as the ship crashed into the USS Zeilin, an American destroyer accompanying the Presidential party while they traveled through the foggy Puget Sound. This was not the first mishap of the Voyage of Understanding. While traveling through Colorado early in the trip, three people from the President’s party had been killed in a car accident. And now, after a few weeks in Alaska where Harding was able to at least temporarily forget about his Administration’s many troubles, the President was not only sick and tired but two of his Navy’s ships had just smashed into each other almost as soon as he had returned to the continental United States. While the USS Zeilin was badly damaged in the collision, the USS Henderson was not and there were apparently no major injuries on either vessel. But when the President’s valet, Major Arthur Brooks, came to Harding’s stateroom aboard the Henderson to inform him that the captain was calling for all hands on deck, he found the depressed President lying on his bed with his face buried in his hands. “I hope the boat sinks,” President Harding quietly muttered.

It was just hours later that Harding made his whirlwind tour through Seattle, putting on a brave face at his public appearances, but clearly not feeling well. While he was never considered a brilliant orator like Abraham Lincoln, Benjamin Harrison, or his immediate predecessor, Woodrow Wilson, Harding was a strong speaker and excellent communicator who had a unique ability to connect with audiences, but he was obviously — and unusually — halting and confused while speaking in Seattle on July 27th. As he boarded his train at Seattle’s King Street Station that night, Harding was examined by his doctor and by Interior Secretary Hubert Work, who had once been a physician, and they decided to cancel the next several days of planned activities. Instead of stopping in Portland and then visiting Yosemite National Park, the Presidential party was ordered to proceed directly to San Francisco where Harding could rest before giving a speech on the radio planned for July 31st which was expected to be heard by over 5 million people.

Despite the four-leaf clover that had been sent to him by Vivian Little before his Voyage of Understanding, Warren Gamaliel Harding’s luck seemed to be running out. And, as his train sped through Oregon en route to San Francisco’s Palace Hotel on July 28, 1923, President Harding was also running out of time.  

[bookmansjournal]

hi hello!! i saw ur askbox was open for requests! 🧡✨ how do you think the ot4 would react to/handle a reader whos currently obsessed with a safe food? as an example my current safefood is onigiri (but it can b anything !!) and i eat that a Ton and can get depressed if my rice doesnt turn out right or smth when i cook a new batch! can be humerous too ofc 🥰✨ i hope you have a nice day !!! 🧡 - @alienaiver 🧡✨

You probably meant OT4 at just the main four but you know, I like the idea of a chaotic OT5 with them and Reader. It would be as disastrous as it was loving.

With how Allen eats, he doesn’t notice nor understand the idea of a safe food since he just inhales everything. Honestly you’d have to explain why a dish meant so much to you for him to get it

He likes to bring you whatever it may be when you’re busy so he can make sure you’re eating. He also likes to use it to cheer you up.

God bless him, he’s tried to make it for you himself but it just turned out horrifically awful. An absolute disaster. He refuses to let you even try it so he doesn’t risk upsetting you or ruining the food for you altogether.

He makes sure never to order whatever it is for himself because he’d just feel awful if there wasn’t any left afterwards for you to eat. He’s sure it must be tasty if it’s making you smile like that, he doesn’t need to try it—unless you insist, in which case, how can he say no?

Yeah Kanda isn’t going to notice anything either. If on some odd chance he does, he chalks it up to you being a picky eater maybe, like he is with soba. Needless to say, with this mentality, you can trust him with your food to not steal any, but you can’t trust him to understand when it makes you upset.

And god does he not get it when you’re upset because of your food. He unintentionally may come across as insensitive when he bluntly asks you what’s the matter when you’re sulking at a meal. Patience is a virtue and you’re gonna need it with him when you explain how your safe food is just important to you.

While outwardly he just shrugs it off, you do notice him offering you lunch boxes as peace offerings when you’re in a bad mood—regardless if he was the cause. He’s not good with communicating, so this act of service is a god send for the relationship in an odd way.

You can offer to show him how to make it if you want an excuse to spend time with him but he’s going to suck at whatever you ask him to do. Chop something? More like obliterates it. Stir it together? Well now it’s mostly on the counter and floor. He’s frustrated but he enjoys your company, so it’s a win-lose situation.

“Does it really taste that good? Give me a bite, I wanna try it~” He thinks he’s being cheeky, not realizing he’s kind of being insensitive by making light of it or by trying to take some of it from you. Apologizes with nuzzles and offering to feed you.

Like it or not, he memorizes everything about you, even the tiniest details. When it comes to you, everything is Important Information, and Important Information does not get buried or forgotten, both because of his photographic memory and also because he knows how beneficial the information can be. Like when he orders an extra side of whatever your safe food is just to make sure you get your fill of it.

Unknowingly can be a bit obnoxious at times with pestering you about how it tastes or how it compares to other places or people who make it. Sometimes he even tries to offer alternative dishes to try. It comes from a good place, he’s just getting used to being open and genuine about his love and he can fumble the ball from time to time.

Regardless of what he says or does, he always has a loving smile on his face while he watches you eat. Seeing you light up over something that seems so small and inconsequential really makes his day, especially if he was the one to gift it to you.

Lenalee definitely noticed and understood to some degree the importance of your safe food to you, and she quietly tucked that information away for safe keeping and didn’t bring it up. No need to make a production out of it, after all.

Her primary love language is acts of service because she likes the feeling she gets when she helps people, so of course she learns to make whatever your safe food is just for you. Though she’d be lying if she said she didn’t prefer making it with you, her other love language being quality time.

Your food is safe with her! No gluttonous heathens can vacuum up your food in their black holes of a stomach (ahem, ALLEN) if you happen to be sharing a table. She also won’t stand for anyone giving you hell about it. If Kanda can eat his Soba and Alma can eat his mayo and Krory can eat his akuma—er, well, you know what she means!—then you can eat whatever you damn well please.

Honestly she probably developed a taste for whatever it is as well. Since it was something special to you that you felt like you could share with her, she holds a special place for it in her heart. Of course she’d never take from your plate, but she likes those meals spent sharing your special dish in a peaceful, loving atmosphere.

[suckitsurveys]

What color are your eyes? They are green.

Is anyone you work with currently on maternity leave or vacation? Yeah, a few coworkers are on vacation this week.

Favorite boy’s name? I’ve always loved Eli.

Baked macaroni and cheese or regular? I like both but baked is SO good.

What’s the first thing you learned how to draw? I don’t know.

Name one of your friends’ children: None of my close friends have kids.

What was the name of your 5th grade teacher? Mr. Jacker.

Sterling silver or titanium? Whichever.

How many hours do you work in a day? 8 hours typically but I’ve been working 9 for some extra money.

Have you ever been to a casino? Yes, a few. Some here in the Chicago area and some out in Nevada (not LV).

Who wrote the last book you read? I haven’t read something in a while.

What’s the middle name of your bestfriend? Ann, Marie, Allen, Raymond.

What’s your favorite food? Sushi.

How far away do you live from the closest aquarium? Like half an hour.

Favorite girl’s name? Josie or Alexandra.

Name one of your candle scents: Gardenia.

What’s the name of your favorite restaurant? Any place with all you can eat sushi.

Are you in a relationship? If so, how long? Yes, I am married. We’ve been together a total of 13 years and married for 7.

Who in your family has a birthday in January? My mother’s birthday is the 28th.

When was the last time you lost power? How long was it out and the cause? A few weeks ago because of a storm.

Do you know any twins? Yes.

What’s your favorite flower? Gardenias.

Pick 3 random colors: Purple, orange, grey.

Would you ever dye your hair that color? I’ve had purple hair before. I don’t think I’d do like, straight up orange but I’d do a reddish orange. And I’ll have grey eventually.

Do you own any underwear that color? Yes.

Can this be used as a last name? Grey is a common last name.

What’s your favorite country song? Jolene by Dolly Parton.

Do you drink alcohol? Sometimes.

Do you use any food delivery services such as UberEats, DoorDash, etc? Sometimes.

What color is your mailbox? White.

What age did you lose your virginity? 20.

Dogs or cats? Cats.

Do you know anyone who’s been to prison? Yup.

What’s one thing on your shopping list? Snacks for our road trip next week!

Freeze tag or musical chairs? Freeze tag.

Where did you go on your last vacation? NOLA. I’m going to The Dells next week though.

Have you ever been stuck in the mud? Maybe?

What was the last thing you took a picture of? My cat.

Name someone you work with: Eric..

Chick-fil-A, Taco Bell or McDonald’s? Taco Bell.

Did you ever get an allowance as a child? Not a set amount, no.

What food do you see the most of at baby showers? I haven’t been to enough baby showers to notice a common food, but maybe cupcakes or some sort of sweet treat.

Do you know the capital of your state? Yes.

Have you ever rode on a motorcycle? Nope.

When’s the last time you ate any type of sweet? Yesterday I had one of those Reese’s Big Cups with caramel which is easily my new favorite candy.

Pizza rolls or bagel bites? Both are good.

What kind of flooring is in the room you’re in? Carpet tiles.

Is the internet connection good where you live at? Yeah.

Do you need to do laundry? We need some towels washed.

What’s your favorite scent? Gardenia.

Have you ever lived in a hotel before? Not lived, no.

What kind of pets does your grandmother have? My grandparents are all dead.

Do you follow any type of trials? Not really, no.

What’s the last show you really got into that you have to wait for the next season of? I mean, I’m waiting for the next seasons of The White Lotus and Stranger Things.

SpongeBob or Patrick? Plankton.

When’s the last time you saw fireworks? About a month ago on the 4th.

Have you ever witnessed a car accident? Yup.

Do you own a pair of fuzzy socks? Yes.

What kind of ice cream is your favorite? Butter Pecan.

Have you ever been skinny dipping? Yes.

Sprinkles or frosting? Frosting.

Do you like mushrooms? I looooove mushrooms.

How many tattoos do you have? 11.

Do you own any type of hand sanitizers? Yes, I almost always have some on me.

Have you ever worked in a grocery store? Nope.

What’s your Subway order? I dislike subway.

When was the last time you used the bathroom? Just a few moments ago.

Do you know how to roller skate? Yes, but I have not tried in a very long time.

Can you read sheet music? Nope.

How old is your youngest sibling? I am the youngest.

Do you have an Amazon account? Yes.

What day is payday? Twice a month on Fridays.

What’s one food your family has at Thanksgiving? My dad makes this amazing andouille sausage and cornbread stuffing.

Do you like painting? Sure.

Have you ever been swimming with dolphins? No.

What’s your favorite snack food? Chips and salsa/guac/cheese.

You’re watching Law & Order, is it the regular or SVU? I’m not into that show.

What were you doing last time it snowed? I don’t know, probably complaining about it.

Do you have to sleep with a fan on? Yes, or some kind of white noise.

Chapstick or lip gloss? Chapstick.

When was the last time you took a shower? Sunday night.

Do you know how to play basketball? For the most part.

Name one thing you put on a salad: Croutons.

Do you own anything that’s your favorite color? Yeah.

What’s the last thing you ordered from a Mexican restaurant? Tacos and chips and guac

Do you carry a purse or a backpack? I have a little mini backpack I used as a purse.

What kind of soda is your favorite? Root Beer, specifically Barq’s.

Have you ever cut yourself shaving? Oh yeah.

Penguins or pandas? Pandas. Do you like your in-laws? I FUCKING HATE my brother in law (sister’s husband) with a fucking fiery burning passion greater and hotter than the force of 10000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 suns. BUT my husband’s family is awesome and his mom loves me and is so kind and sweet to me. They’re really great.

What do you usually do for Christmas? Last year we started a new tradition where we do “Christmas morning” with my sister and her family on Christmas eve morning at my dad’s house, and then we have an extended family party. Christmas morning we haven’t figured out yet; we’d usually celebrate with my sister and her family but they got tired of having to rush through to make it to her husband’s side of the family’s party. Last year Mark and I went over to my dad’s and just hung out with him for a bit

Have you ever used any type of Aromatherapy? Yeah.

Toe socks or ankle socks? Ankle. Who’s your favorite Pokémon character? Human? Ash. Actual Pokemon? Pikachu, always.

What’s the temperature range in your area? It’s 67F right now.

Does your trash need to be taken out? No, I took it out last night.

Nachos or chips and salsa? Both.

What’s the name of your pets? Friday, Sake, Ramona.

Have you been around anyone that creeped you out? Yes.

What’s your Chick-fil-A order? I don’t eat there.

Regular or pink lemonade? Both are nice.

Do you know anyone who’s lost their house in a natural disaster? I don’t think so.

What’s your favorite candy? Kit Kats, Sour Patch Kids, and those new Reese’s Big Cups with caramel. Chinese or Japanese cuisine? Japanese.

Colored pencils or sharpies? Sharpies.

Do you own a pair of Crocs? Nope.

Have you ever been to DisneyWorld? I have not.

Does anyone in your family have a birthday in February? Yes, my cousin’s daughter and my nephew-in-law.

How long does it take for your phone to fully charge? I have no idea.

What color is your hairbrush? Pink and black.

Is there any movies out that you want to see? I want to see Wicked and the new Beetlejuice movie.

Do you know how to run a cash register? I did at one point but it’s been a while.

Chicken or beef noodles? Beef I guess, although in general I’m not a fan of noodles.

What year did you get your drivers license? Uhhhhhh 2010.

What kind of makeup do you wear? When I do wear make up it’s foundation, eyeliner, mascara and maybe lipstick.

What’s your Taco Bell order? Crunchy tacos and nachos and a Baja Blast.

Do you wear any type of shimmer spray or glitter? Not usually.

Have you ever lived in a trailer/doublewide? No.

What’s your boyfriends/girlfriends middle name? My husband’s middle name is Allen.

Are you into anime? Eh, there’s a couple I like but I wouldn’t say I’m “into” it.

Pizza or nacho lunchables? I don’t remember having nacho ones, just pizza.

Have you ever been to a strip club? Nope.

Do you know how to play any instruments? Nope.

Have you ever been inside of a courtroom? Yes.

What kind of restaurants do you eat at while you’re on vacation? I mean, depends, but I like to try local foods.

Did you ever participate in any pageants when you were younger? Nope.

What kind of cheese is your favorite? Goat cheese, sharp cheddar, fresh mozz.

Does your phone have any cracks or scuffs? Yeah, but just on the case, which I suppose is the reason I have a case lol.

Have you ever had a professional massage? Nope.

Which would you rather have, twins or triplets? If I had no other choice, twins.

Do you drink energy drinks? No.

Can you swim? Yes.

Make the perfect taco salad: Lettuce, ground beef, salsa, cheese, guac, dressing.

Have you ever lived with friends or a roommate? Just my husband.

Who in your family has a birthday in March? My cousin Kelly.

What kind of pasta do you like? Yes.

Do you know how to play volleyball? I've never tried.

How much decorating do you do around the holidays? I like to deck out my dad’s house since he has the Christmas Eve party every year.

Have you ever been on a cruise? Yeah when I was little.

At what age did you learn how to tie your shoes? I was around 5 I think.

Oreos or chocolate chip cookies? Both.

What did you dress up for Halloween as a child? I can’t remember EVERY costume but I was definitely your basic ghost, witch, vampire, black cat array.

Can you count to ten in Spanish? Yeah.

Name a character from your favorite TV show: Princess Carolyn.

Do you like going to arcades? Sure.

What was the last personal care item you bought from the store? Deodorant.

Airplanes or helicopters? Planes.

Have you ever been camping for more than a week? Not more than a week, no.

What kind of meat do you like the most? Seafood.

Do you actually stop and pet dogs you actually see? No. Unless the dog seems interested in me, I will then ask the owner if I can pet them.

Have you ever been in an ambulance? Nope.

What’s the craziest thing you’ve found at a hotel before? I don’t know.

How far is the closest Target? There’s one a few blocks from us now.

Snakes or spiders? Spiders.

What’s your Panera Bread order? I rarely go.

Do you have any cool keychains? Sure.

How old is your oldest living grandparent? --

Do you watch movies? Sure.

Who in your family has a birthday in April? My dad and two of my cousins.

Have you ever had your nails done professionally? Yup.

What color Christmas tree do you use? Green.

What’s your go to dipping sauces? Definitely depends on what I am dipping.

Do you know how to properly pack a U-Haul truck? Sure?

What was your least favorite math? All of it.

Have you ever been published in a magazine? Not that I know of.

What color is your snow gloves? Black.

How old were you when you last went to the dentist? Oops it’s been a bit.

Do you own a printer? Nope.

What’s your Applebees order? I've been to Applebee’s like maybe 3 times.

Do you bring home seashells from the beach? Sometimes.

What kind of video games do you play? I don’t really play video games. Sometimes Wii Bowing and Super Smash Bros but not much else.

Is anyone in your family in law enforcement? I don’t think so.

How long ago was the last funeral you attended? At the beginning of June.

What color is the blanket on your bed? Navy blue.

Where did you get your name from? A movie my mom liked.

Do you wear lipstick? Sometimes.

What’s a fruit you dislike? Raspberries.

What kind of donuts do you like? Jelly filled or Boston cream.

Do you know how to braid hair? Yes, but only basic braids.

What’s one accessory you wear? I have a permanent bracelet on my left wrist.

How many hoodies/jackets do you own? A good handful.

What was the last name of the road you lived on? Not sharing that as I still frequent that house.

What brand of chocolate do you prefer? I’m not picky.

Nike or Adidas? Adidas.

What will your future wedding colors be? I wore a sapphire blue dress.

Do you have a phone mount in your car? Yeah.

Make the perfect omelet: Mushrooms, spinach, feta, cheddar.

[thestarsarecool]

John Lennon: Please, Your Majesty, Can Our John Have A Free Pardon?

Andrew Tyler, New Musical Express, 19 January 1974

Heavy breathing over the phone as ANDREW TYLER gets the lowdown from LENNON in L.A. Genius is police harassment, says the Walrus

DEAR QUEEN:

I don't know if you ever read the New Improved NME – if not, maybe some hepcat of the Royal Household will pass on the word.

Now that you've seen young Anne married off to her heartthrob cavalier, and what with Charles playing googlies with Lady Jane all around, maybe you'll have time to reflect on the dilemma of one John Lennon, a Liverpool slum-kid genius who used to play in The Beatles and who, at the peak of his career, committed a kind of revolutionary hara-kiri when he returned your MBE medal.

It was a far out medal, your majesty, ace Organic and nice on the chest, but it wasn't actually you as a mum and companion of the horses he was getting at. It was all that Services To Exports/Build A Better Britain/Screw the Man On The Factory Floor bit that brought a lump to his shaving bowl.

Anyway, after the medal-dumping ceremony he kept getting visited at queer hours by squadrons of policemen and, before you could say cold turkey John was being court-martialled for possession of marijuana – a substance he swears was absent from his life around this time.

He now lives in New York City but because of his record the authorities over there won't give him a Green residents' card, which means if he leaves the country he'll never be allowed back in.

So now, our Queen, it's all down to you. All you have to do is say "OK, you nurds, enough's enough. I pardon thee John Lennon, on your feet and have a nice new year", and everything's back to normal.

John's not one to beg and grovel at your Royal appendages, but on the phone recently he did say it would be a great way out. So what do you think? There's a whole bunch of us who'd love to see John over here again for the odd visit.

And you know something, it's the only thing preventing John. Paul, George and Ringo working together again. Paul, you see, also got busted for substances and he's not allowed into the States any more. Ironic, isn't it?

Love, etc.

"I WOULD HAVE thought I've done more good for Britain than harm, wouldn't you?" John enquired over a faint line from Los Angeles.

Yes, I would have thought so.

"Did I tell you about the commerical we've done for the new album? Hah. It's great. We have the Queen plugging the record for us. It starts inside the house with a gate swinging open, over a red carpet and then inside. It's all done in very good taste, Your Majesty. It's a friend of mine in drag, as it were.

"There's 'Land Of Hope And Glory' and someone says" (in a plummy warbling voice) "'I've been asked to do this commerical. It relates to a gramophone record...' and it goes on like that. I'm hoping her Majesty will be able to laugh at it."

He won't say who the friend is but here's a clue. He works for Apple and he's a real queen. The correct answer is not Allen Klein.

"A few vodkas and it was all over." John reports. "His identity will be revealed by himself. I'm not sure how much he wants people to know about it."

Did he see the bonding of Mark and Anne and was he profoundly moved?

"Who?"

Young Mark and Anne.

"Oh yes."

What was your reaction to that?

"I didn't really have one."

Did they show it over there?

"Yeah. They had it on from two o'clock till dawn, or something. So we had the single. We didn't get to see the album though. I thought they looked all right. But I didn't really feel that much about it. I thought Anne's figure looked nice. They should have held it in Belfast, though.

"I was thinking of writing to the Queen, you know. I hope she reads NME. Yeah. I was after a pardon for being planted by the cops and being hassled for three years and everything that happened. That's one way to solve the problem.

"That so-called bust I was involved in has left me with a criminal-record. That's the legal reason they're trying to throw me out. If that was taken away there'd be nothing they could do."

Now here's a weird twist to the murky affair. The cop who starred in the Lennon bust has, himself, been incarcerated for four years for perjury relating to a drug bust case.

Detective Sergeant Norman Pilcher has has just been put down for four years. At the trial all sorts of stuff came up. Conspiracy and the like.

But Lennon suspects the case of the malfunctioning blue meanie is unlikely to directly affect his own case...

"The thing is, that in those days we were clean. We didn't have any stuff. But they kept on hassling and hassling and bothering Yoko and the deal was that if they left Yoko alone – and she was pregnant at the time – I'd cop a plea.

"And now the real answer is for me to get a pardon...but because I'm a naughty boy I don't suppose they want to give me one."

What he's still trying to figure out all these years later is what those gloating reporters and photographers were doing outside his place when he and Yoko were being escorted to their cells. Jack Warner and Edgar Lustgarten had always intimated that an arrest was a reasonably private business...restricted to the "guilty parties" and the officers concerned. Why the jamboree?

Lennon has an explanation: "A friend of mine from Fleet Street gave me a call after he'd overheard a cop in a pub saying how he was going to get The Beatles. Yeah, was was gonna get The Beatles. Which meant me. I mean, he's not about to bust Ringo or Paul. I was really up for grabs what with Two Virgins and living in sin with a foreigner and all."

Is our Queen about to be sympathetic to Lennon's plight? Can she relate to her stone-turning expatriot? They'd hardly make suitable tango partners but they do have at least one common point of interest: The Goons.

Yessir. Like Prince Charlie, Sister Margie and Tony Legsstrong-Jones, the Queen is alleged to have chuckled along with the Goons after her Sunday joint...not unlike Lennon who recently reviewed The Goon Show Scripts for the New York Times.

"It was a bit like doing a school essay." he say. "But like all my generation I was really drawn to The Goons. In many ways they influenced The Beatles as much as rock 'n' roll – Elvis and Little Richard. They were, to my generation, what we were to the next.

"I admire them all – but I've always reckoned Spike was the real lunatic."

WHAT ABOUT the trench-coat warfare. Is he still being visited and molested by the American gendarmerie?

"A year or so back they were following me around everywhere I went But I suppose they must have got bored going to the studio and hanging around for hours at a time. And they were tapping my phone. I think they wanted me to know they were doing it too because I kept hearing heavy breathing. It scared me at first but now it's a bot of a joke.

"No, I wasn't on Nixon's list of unfriendlies but I was on somebody's list, that's for sure."

There's a pattern to it all, he suggests. Not necessarily a coordinated conspiracy but a series of connected happenings that have numbered all the leading 60's cult figures.

Lennon's marooned in America, McCartney outside of it. The Stones are having to tread very lightly indeed, and Hendrix, Morrison and Joplin are dead.

"If they can separate all the big names in pop they effectively cut off the, quotes, "revolution" at its source. No more Woodstocks. No more mass gatherings. The real changes aren't gonna come from politicians. It's going to come from the artists and musicians.

"Even Bowie is a threat in a way."

Explain yourself, sir.

"Well, if you get Bowie on TV and somebody switches on in Ohio or Bradford and they see this person looking out at them, it's going to affect their whole way of life. He doesn't have to say Power To The People Right On. He is the message in himself. It's like holding a mirror up to society. It makes people react in a specific way that's better than having them half dead listening to Sandy McPherson.

"I just think it's all great. I'm not saying I'd do it but people like Bowie are an extension of rock 'n' roll. He still rocks like shit and keeps us going until the next phenomenon, ho ho, which is going to be this year, isn't it?"

Maybe the very next sensation will be curvaceous Ringo whose single is hot stuff in the States and whose album leapt into the Billboard charts at 4 – two better than John's Mind Games.

"I sent him a telegram last week saying: 'Congratulations. How dare you. Write me a hit song.'

"It's the first real pop album he's made and it's a good album. He deserves it. He's going to need all the royalties he can get to paper Ascot" (The home he just bought from Lennon). "He's going to need that hit just to keep up the garden."

JOHN'S OWN album didn't receive quite the same dazzling response, although it's nowhere near the bunch of horselicks Tony Tyler suggested in his review a few weeks back. Tracks like 'Out The Blue', 'I Know (I Know)' and 'Bring On The Lucie' are sumptuous groovers that fairly parallel his work on Imagine. Honest.

Was he after the grumbling T. Tyler's noodles?

"I'm going to send 'im a deaf aid and a book of instructions on How to Write. Obviously I'd prefer it if he, or whoever it is, liked it – but I'm not about to cut my throat, if that's what you mean.

"A lot of times you get critics reviewing themselves, so if they do slag you off it doesn't mean anything or, if they overdo the praise bit, that means nothing either.

"Praise is never satisfactory unless you can be sure the person has actually listened to your work and knows it inside out. I'm not saying people should spend their lives making in-depth appraisals of me albums – but praise, or the other thing, doesn't count for much unless they've take the time to understand what you're doing."

Right On.

Actually John was due for a critical trampling. After the suffocating Best Album In The Universe stuff tipped over Imagine and The Plastic Ono Band LP, coupled with the knifings Paul has had to deflect since The Split. Lennon only had to put one foot wrong – as he did with Sometime In New York City – for the blades to be turned on him.

Critics were feeling remorse at the way they growled at McCartney and Lennon was the obvious target upon which to assuage their embarrassment.

"I would say New York City stands as a piece of work. It sold 200,000 instead of half a million. The whole thing's relative. If I'd been a smaller artist I'd have been pleased to get that amount of sales. I have no regrets...only that it didn't get a lot of airplay on the so-called FM stations of the Left.

"The only one that really got into it was Pacifica which has heavy programmes on politics, lesbians and things like that – anything people want to do. It's a pretty good station. Nationwide. They've even got tapes of Yoko and me from the Sixties singing Japanese folk songs."

Talking of oldies, he is now well into his Oldies Mouldies album, currently being waxed at A & M in Los Angeles with a spellbinding cast of several millions. On the guest list so far are, among others: Steve Cropper, Jim Keltner. Hal Blaine, Jose Felciano, Leon Russell, Jeff Barry, Barry Mann, and Jesse Ed Davies.

We called George the other day and said he was having a great time and wish you were here. George said he was on his way and hasn't been heard of since. Paul, of course, won't be able to make it.

"Yeah, I miss Paul a lot. It's been a year since I've seen him. He came over with Linda to me place in New York. Course I'd like to see him again. He's an old friend, isn't he?"

He says he can move around a bit more freely now...for meals and odd visit to the movvies.

"I still get recognised though. I think it's me nose. But I can generally go to the movies. The last film I saw was Behind The Green Door. (An extraordinarily rude film.)

How was it?

"The first 45 minutes were interesting, then it got a bit boring. When you've seen one cock you've seen them all."

[floorsblvd]

Choosing The Best Flooring in Plano, Texas

The knowledge of the locals is important when selecting flooring in Plano, Texas. Many of the local flooring businesses have years of experience working with various types of flooring and can guide you in choosing the best choice for your house or place of business. In order to guarantee that your new floors look great and function perfectly for years to come, they can also offer professional installation services. For more information, visit our website.

[paintingtips2024]

The Ultimate Guide to Choosing the Right Floor Coating in Allen

When it comes to maintaining the aesthetic and functional quality of your floors in Allen, choosing the right floor coating is paramount. Whether you're a homeowner looking to enhance the look of your garage or a business owner aiming to provide a safe, durable surface for high traffic areas, selecting the appropriate floor coating can make all the difference. In this ultimate guide, we will walk you through everything you need to know to make an informed decision, with insights from Expert Floor Painting and Coating in Allen.

Understanding Floor Coatings Floor coatings are protective layers applied to surfaces to improve durability, appearance, and longevity. They come in various types, each with specific properties suited for different environments and purposes. The main types include epoxy, polyurethane, polyaspartic, and acrylic coatings. Understanding the strengths and weaknesses of each will help you determine the best option for your needs.

Types of Floor Coatings

Epoxy Coatings

Durability: Highly durable and resistant to chemicals and abrasions. Application: Ideal for garages, warehouses, and industrial spaces. Appearance: Offers a glossy finish and can be customized with various colors and patterns. Expert Insight: According to Expert Floor Painting and Coating in Allen, epoxy coatings are a top choice for heavy-duty applications due to their robust performance and longevity.

Polyurethane Coatings

Flexibility: More flexible than epoxy, making it less prone to cracking. UV Resistance: Better resistance to UV rays, suitable for areas exposed to sunlight. Application: Commonly used in outdoor areas, parking decks, and commercial spaces. Expert Insight: This type of coating is recommended for surfaces that experience temperature fluctuations and direct sunlight.

Polyaspartic Coatings

Cure Time: Fast curing time, allowing for quicker project completion. Durability: High resistance to abrasions and chemical spills. Application: Suitable for both residential and commercial floors, including garages and retail spaces. Expert Insight: Expert Floor Painting and Coating in Allen highlights polyaspartic coatings for their efficiency and durability, particularly in high-traffic areas.

Acrylic Coatings

Cost-Effective: Generally more affordable compared to other coatings. Aesthetic Appeal: Provides a shiny finish and enhances the floor's appearance. Application: Best for light to moderate traffic areas, such as basements and residential spaces. Expert Insight: While not as durable as epoxy or polyurethane, acrylic coatings are favored for their affordability and aesthetic enhancement. Factors to Consider When Choosing a Floor Coating

Purpose of the Space

Identify whether the area will experience heavy foot traffic, chemical spills, or exposure to sunlight. Different coatings offer varied levels of protection tailored to specific needs.

Budget

Consider the overall cost, including installation and maintenance. While some coatings might have a higher upfront cost, their longevity and durability can offer better value in the long run.

Aesthetic Preferences

Floor coatings can be customized in terms of color, texture, and finish. Determine what look you aim to achieve, whether it's a high-gloss finish for a showroom or a matte finish for a more subdued appearance.

Maintenance Requirements

Evaluate the maintenance needs of each coating type. Some may require more frequent upkeep than others to maintain their appearance and functionality.

Expert Installation

The quality of the installation can significantly impact the performance of the floor coating. Expert Floor Painting and Coating in Allen recommends hiring professionals to ensure proper application and longevity of the coating.

Why Choose Expert Floor Painting and Coating in Allen

Choosing the right floor coating is only half the battle; the quality of the application plays a crucial role in the performance and longevity of your floors. Expert Floor Painting and Coating in Allen provides top-notch services with a commitment to excellence. Their team of professionals ensures precise application, using the best materials suited for your specific needs. With years of experience and a reputation for quality, they are the go-to experts for floor coating solutions in Allen.

Conclusion Selecting the right floor coating in Allen requires a thorough understanding of the different types available, their properties, and the specific needs of your space. Whether you opt for the robustness of epoxy, the flexibility of polyurethane, the quick curing polyaspartic, or the cost-effective acrylic, ensuring professional installation is key to maximizing the benefits of your chosen coating. Trust Expert Floor Painting and Coating in Allen to provide expert advice and superior service for all your floor coating needs, ensuring durable, attractive, and functional floors for years to come.

[forensicated]

Smiffina Episodes: Deadly Intent

"Who's Macca?" "Everybody knows Macca!" Smithy tuts to Nate, who has been at the station all of two eps! "Only his mum calls him Eamonn." * Smithy smirks as Macca asks Nate to call him Macca. (*reminds me of someone else who left a voicemail for his mum on Killer In The Run 😉 *Cough* Dale! )

Smithy has been called to a disturbance at the youth club on the Jasmine Allen Estate. A girl from the club sold tickets for a non-existent raffle (bad print rejects from a raffle the year before) and when Mr Chadhar turned up for the draw he found the club closed and he's not very happy. Smithy dismisses the kids who were gathered around the argument and tries to help explain to Mr Chadhar that Macca - the man who runs the youth club - knows nothing about it, but he and Smithy will get to the bottom of it. They get him to accompany them on a drive around the estate to see if they can spot her.

Two guesses who it is...!

Hello again, Carly! Carly does a runner before they can speak to her, so they run Mr Chadhar home and then return to give Carly a home visit. Sods law she lives right on the top floor of the block and the lifts are not working!

Smithy tells Nate that Carly is bright and has potential. Nate chuckles. "Potential to move onto more serious crimes." "What happened to 'innocent before proven guilty?' After all that, Carly isn't home but her mother, Leanne Samuels arrives just after them. She's managed to make it up the stairs with a pushchair containing a 1 year old and her shopping and isn't out of breath unlike the two police officers 🤣. Smithy is surprised to learn that Brooke is Carly's daughter. He's also surprised to be handed her. "She likes men!" whilst Leanne answers the phone. Smithy definitely does not have a lot of experience with babies, much to Nate's amusement! 😂😂😂

Brooke does settle in his arms rather quickly to be fair! Carly returns home and the two officers corner her and ask her about the raffle. She's caught redhanded and Smithy is obviously disappointed in her. She insists the money was for her mum to get stuff for Brooke but she's already been shopping and the clothes and make up are definitely not for a 1 year old. Smithy and Nate have to take them - and Brooke - down to the station.

Leanne reasons with Smithy, telling him she has enough on her plate without Social Services getting involved. She trying to get Carly to grow up, but Smithy tells her he can't caution her as Mr Chadhar wants to take it further. He'll see if he can reason with him. Smithy gets Carly into a room with Mr Chadhar and Macca and returns the money and the tickets. She tells them she's very sorry for what she's done and will return the make up and clothes and donate the cash to the youth center. Macca agrees and she's banned from the club for one month as a punishment.

Smithy gives Carly an almost paternal telling off, warning her that she's at risk of Brooke going into care. He appears to have hit a nerve as Carly instantly jumps to the defensive and snaps back at him. Smithy's further disappointed and leads her straight back to Custody for a caution. He also tells Leanne that it is Carly's last chance - no more leniency if she gets called in again.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Scrublands: Award-winning ‘ripping page-turner’ becomes the latest crime thriller shot in Victoria

The adaptation of the novel Scrublands into a crime series is the second Stan original after Bali 2002. Photo: Stan

Ever since award-winning Australian crime writer Chris Hammer published his 2018 thriller Scrublands, television networks and production studios worked furiously to get their hands on the rights to bring the story to life.

Canberra-based Hammer, a former political journalist with just two non-fiction books under his belt, couldn’t believe it when he landed a book deal with Allen & Unwin to publish his debut fiction novel.

Shortly after, he sold the international and TV rights.

“I was laughing and crying, it was just unbelievable,” he told The Guardian at the time.

Fast forward to 2023, and Scrublands – an Easy Tiger production co-commissioned by Australian streamer Stan and the Nine Network, in association with VicScreen – is now filming across Victoria.

Easy Tiger founder Ian Collie and its chief executive Rob Gibson issued a joint statement, saying: “From the moment we opened Chris Hammer’s ripping page-turner, we knew Scrublands was destined to be a must-watch crime series”.

“[It] will be an unmissable TV event for rusted-on Chris Hammer fans and everyone else alike.”

Hammer, too, can’t wait to see it, telling his 2000 Instagram followers he’s thrilled with the cast, the director and just about anyone involved in the series.

“Can’t wait,” he wrote on Tuesday.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Chris Hammer (@thehammernow)

What’s it about?

Scrublands was an instant bestseller in 2018, topping the Australian fiction charts and shortlisted for Best Debut Fiction at the Indie Book Awards.

It was also shortlisted for Best General Fiction at the Australian Book Industry Awards and won the UK Crime Writers’ Association John Creasey Debut Dagger Award.

The story is set against the backdrop of the New South Wales Riverina, in an isolated country town called Riversend, where a charismatic and dedicated young priest (Jay Ryan) calmly opens fire on his congregation, killing five parishioners.

One year later, Hammer’s main character, investigative journalist Martin Scarsden (Luke Arnold) arrives in town to write what should be a simple feature story on the anniversary of the tragedy.

“But when Martin’s instincts kick in and he digs beneath the surface, the previously accepted narrative begins to fall apart and he finds himself in a life-and-death race to uncover the truth,” according to the Stan synopsis.

Turns out there’s a love triangle, fraud, organised crime and cover-ups, all sub-plots worthy of a series.

Prepare to be ‘dazzled’

Although we’re yet to discover how the novel has been adapted to the television series by scriptwriters Felicity Packard (lead writer, and she’s penned Ep 1), Kelsey Munro and Jock Serong, one book reviewer said it was a first-rate crime mystery who was “dazzled” by Hammer throughout the book.

“There is a sense of imminence to Scrublands, particularly in its recognition of drought and the plight of small towns,” Amanda Barrett wrote.

“This one sure bowled me over right from the hooking premise and opening sequence.

“Scrublands will floor you.

Although it’s a work of fiction, she said “there is so much truth to Hammer’s writing and his depiction of the events that take place in Riversend”.

“This is a fastidious novel that works to build a complete picture of what is happening across many country towns, across all states and territories in Australia.

“Riversend is simply a euphemism for so many rural locales in Australia that are grappling with the impact of drought, a decline in services and a rise in crime.”

As a result, she said, the book came across as an authentic tale, tapping into issues that strike at the heart of rural townships.

Hard work starts for the cast at the table readings. Photo: Stan

Table readings of the adaptation with the lead cast of Arnold (Black Sails, Never Tear Us Apart: The Untold Story of INXS), Bella Heathcote (C*A*U*G*H*T, Relic, Pieces of Her) and Jay Ryan (It: Chapter Two, Top of the Lake) have been completed as cast hit the road to various locations across the state.

Nine’s director of television Michael Healy says “joining forces with the teams at Stan and Easy Tiger on Scrublands has realised an ambition we have had since Chris Hammer’s novel was published in 2018″.

He says they’re confident it will turn into must-watch television, suitable for a global audience.

VicScreen boss Caroline Pitcher reveals more than 500 Victorians will be employed throughout the series, “adding to the state’s pipeline of local productions”.

Scrublands is the second co-commissioned production between Nine and Stan following Bali 2002.

Source: The New Daily

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 1.6 | Jake Seresin x Reader AU

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst. Drinking, mentions of passing out

…

You shouldn’t be listening to this, you’re well aware of that. You had just wanted to find Jake before tonight’s gala and speak with him about what the hell happened in the bathroom earlier. You’re not complaining, but still, it seemed out of character for him.

You want to make sure he’s okay. And show him your dress.

Instead, you’re standing outside of an office, listening to the defence team talking about you. It had taken you a few seconds to realise that it was you that they were talking about.

At first, you had thought that it couldn’t have been you.

If there had been someone in your house at the beginning of summer who had left a threatening note on your pillow, you would have known about it. Allen would have told you about it. You’re sure.

You stand with your back pressed to the wall, listening to them discussing it.

There was someone in your room back in June. They were in there for approximately twelve minutes. There’s no knowledge as to how they got in without being spotted, but there is footage of them leaving.

The letter was graphic, but the team don’t go into detail about what it said. It’s clear that they already know the contents of the letter well enough to not need to be reminded. Including Jake and Manny.

Your stomach drops.

Your security was raised, and yet another invasion happened. Jake argues this point. He reminds them that they’re the one who lowered your threat level again.

The options are: to raise your security further, and have the house manned twenty-four seven with a crew of up to eleven people, or for you to move home.

It’s clear that they’ve got no intention of keeping you in the loop or asking your opinion about any of this.

Being in Texas with Jake had helped you feel safe again, but it was stupid for you to fall for that. You’re in more danger than you thought, and they’ve been lying to you the entire time.

You understand why, it’s just that now you feel stupid. You aren’t stupid. You graduated at the top of your class and you always excelled in your extracurriculars — you’ve made senior politicians look like idiots since you were in middle school. But you trusted that Allen would tell you the truth.

Now, looking back on how you behaved after Jake arrived, you look like an idiot. Thinking you knew better than he did when you didn’t even have half of the information he did.

Your rest your head back against the wall and exhale softly. You need a drink.

Jake’s the first to notice that you’re missing. Manny says he saw you an hour ago leaving your father’s office and looking for Allen. Allen says he hasn’t seen you since this morning.

Jake’s heart thuds in his chest.

Allen’s technically retired now, but the three of them spend the next hour looking for you. Jake’s about ten seconds away from declaring you as officially missing when he gets word from Manny.

“Guys, I found her but I’m going to need some help. Like right now.”

Jake’s heart sinks as he presses the earpiece deeper into his ear. His chest tightens.

“What? Where are you?” Allen speaks first.

“West Hallway bathroom, first floor.” Manny relays.

Jake has been taught never to sprint if it’s not an absolute life or death situation. It just creates panic. He doesn’t have the details yet, he needs to keep this under wraps.

But he walks quickly, stepping around people, bumping into others if they’re particularly unobservant and in his way. The lump in his throat feels like it hasn’t left room for anything else at all.

He frowns, eyes going wide as he rounds into the west hallway. Manny’s standing there, outside of the door, alone. Allen rounds the other end of the hallway, he and Jake head towards Manny together.

“Where is she?” Allen demands.

“In there.” Manny nods towards the door sheepishly. He loosens his tie slightly.

“Why do you need help to stand and watch the door while she uses the bathroom?” Allen rolls his eyes, immediately relieved for this situation fo have played out the way that it has. Jake isn’t so quick to relax.

Manny opens his mouth to answer, interrupted by the sound of retching from inside. He closes his mouth and looks silently between Jake and Allen, then bows his head, “She locked the door.”

“You’re in the fucking secret service and you can’t get through a bathroom door lock?” Jake sighs. He brushes Manny out of the way and shoves a hand into his pocket, retrieving a coin. He sets it into the slot in the door and twists, pushing the lock back.

“I could — but I didn’t want to —“

Jake tries the door handle. The door opens a fraction and then your foot hits it, you kick it shut behind you. “Leave me alone!”

“She’s drunk.” Allen shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y’know, I don’t know what they pay you two knuckleheads—“

“Us? — Where the fuck have you been all night?” Jake challenges, brows furrowing as he turns towards Allen. “She went off looking for you!”

“Get out of my face, kid.” Allen answers.

“Fuck — can both of you fucking stop it? — If her dad sees her like this, we’re dead. If a journalist sees her like this, we’re worse than dead.” Manny reminds the two of them.

Jake sighs, lifting his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks around them. The hallway currently is empty.

“I mean, the cameras are going to catch this anyway.” Allen points up. Jake and Manny lift their heads. There is a visible camera in the middle of the ceiling, but they’re both aware there are more that are harder to spot.

Allen comes up with the plan quickly. He isn’t as incompetent as Jake had grown to believe. Manny runs interference, making sure the hallways up ahead are clear and that no one is going to run into you.

Jake and Allen carry you to your room, then the plan is for Allen to go and speak to Paul — he’s the guy who deals with the footage, and explain what happened.

Allen notices the platonic way Jake touches you. It’s too regimented, like he knows that one finger out of place is going to get him in trouble. Like they weren’t already, Allen’s suspicions just keep getting confirmed.

Once you’re inside of your room and the door is safely shut behind you, Jake lets Allen lift you off of your feet and set you down on your bed.

You’ve been drunkenly complaining the entire time, and you don’t stop now. You writhe out of Allen’s grasp the moment you touch your mattress, groaning in frustration.

“I want Jake.” You complain, pushing against Allen’s hands. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you know that it’s not Jake touching you.

Allen’s head turns and Jake tenses. He stares at the older man with about as much calm as he can muster. Allen knows, he has spent all day knowing, but seeing the way that Jake straightens up and forces a calm and collected expression — that’s about as much of a confirmation as he’s going to get.

“Can Jake stay with me?” You interrupt them staring at each other. You words are slurred but both of them understand what you’re asking.

Allen stands up straight and turns towards Jake. Jake doesn’t react in the slightest, but that’s an admission of guilt in itself.

“Well, someone’s got to, sweetheart,” Allen answers softly, nodding his head slowly without taking his eyes off of Jake. Jake’s brows furrow slightly. “You want him to stay?”

You nod and make a tired sound of agreement, face pushed into your pillows as you curl up on your side.

“Alright,” Allen agrees tenderly, nodding again. Jake’s nose scrunches slightly, confused. “He’s not going anywhere. You just rest up, princess.”

You smile softly as he squeezes your hand and lets it go, visibly relaxing down onto the bed.

Allen crosses the room to stand in front of Jake. He searches Jake’s features for answers.

“I know about your wingman.” Allen tells him quietly, knowing that you’re too drunk to hear their hushed conversation.

“I know.” Jake answers.

He’s grateful, in a way, that Allen didn’t use her name. It’s an odd thing to be protective of, but Jake doesn’t like hearing people say her name.

“Wasn’t your fault.” Allen tells him.

Jake’s brows furrow slightly. He’s been told that a lot, by a lot of different people, but he wasn’t expecting to hear it from Allen. He doesn’t have an answer for once.

“You loved her?” Allen notices Jake tense up at the word love. It was the hardest thing about losing her, that he thought he had time.

They were best friends, they told each other they loved each other all the time. But never like that. Jake just assumed that one day they would. He never got a chance to tell her.

He swallows softly as he nods to Allen.

“Can’t imagine what that was like, son. I’m sorry,” Allen says softly. Jake doesn’t reply. “But you can’t bring that mess here. You can’t let it get in the way of your job.”

“I know, sir.”

This surprises both of them. Allen’s shocked to hear the first polite thing that Jake has said to him in a couple of weeks now.

“I’m not going to say anything about this, but you know that it’s got to stop,” Allen explains calmly. Jake knows that he’s right, but doesn’t like hearing it. “You can’t do your job properly if you’re blinded by your feelings for her.”

Jake’s first instinct is to get defensive. To argue. His initial thought is that he doesn’t need some old man telling him how to do his job. But, then he reminds himself of how much Allen cares for you. He has spent the past seven years putting your life before his.

Jake nods.

“You’re not a bad kid,” Allen decides, reaching out and parting Jake’s arm platonically. “I want you to have a good future. You’ve just gotta make the right choice here.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake answers quietly.

Allen gives one more look back to you, already asleep and curled up on your side. He nods, “Alright. I’ll tell Paul that she’s sick and you’re sitting with her. Don’t make me regret vouching for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake agrees again.

Allen gives one last, curt nod and turns from the room. Jake’s left alone with you. You’re passed out, brows knitted together in concern, maybe already caught up in a bad dream.

Jake loosens his tie and pops open the top button of his shirt. He kicks his shoes off and leaves them beside the bed, then leans down to take your heels off. He sets them down beside his.

Finally, he lays down beside you. On top of the covers, curling his body against yours, careful not to disrupt you. He leans down and kisses your forehead gently, already thinking of the argument that this will probably cause in the morning.

That’s a problem for the morning. Jake lays at your side, stroking his fingers tenderly over the exposed skin on your arms, occasionally your hair — though that makes you stir more than touching your skin. He listens to your soft breaths as you relax into his touch.

The pattern of your gentle breathing becomes so familiar that once there’s a disruption, it snaps Jake back to reality immediately. He cranes his neck forwards, careful not to move his body, examining your features.

You stir, pushing against him at first, then pushing into him when you realise he’s there. Your hands move in his direction, searching for him as you come to.

Jake glances over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 3am. He silently wills you to just go back to sleep so that he can observe how peaceful you look again. He’s sure that he doesn’t look that peaceful when he sleeps, he’s glad that you do.

“Jake?” You whine softly, voice soft. You don’t open your eyes, instead you turn slowly and press your face into his chest.

“I’m here, honey.” He brushes his fingers over the top of your hair, careful not to mess it up too much. A sad noise slips your lips as you pull yourself closer to him.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Jake chuckles breathily, then shakes his head. “We can talk about it in the morning, just go back to sleep.”

“Wanna take a shower.” You tell him tiredly.

“Right now?” Jake questions, half-concerned that you’ll drown given how drunk you were a couple of hours ago. You nod against his chest. “I don’t think that sounds like a good idea.”

You hum softly like you’re agreeing with him. Jake’s just in the middle of thinking how easy that was to get you to give in when you speak up again.

“What if you took a bath with me?”

He looks towards your en-suite, then back down at you. He shoots a quick glance towards the door. There’s a chance someone could come check on the two of you. Jake looks down and brushes your hair off of your face.

“Honey.”

All signs point to it being the wrong thing to do.

“Please.” You mumble into his shirt, running your fingers along his stomach. You lift your head and look up, blinking tiredly at him. One look at your face and the word no slips Jake’s mind.

Ten minutes later, he’s sitting with you between his legs, using cotton rounds to wipe any residual make up from your face.

You brushed your teeth and had some water while he had drawn the bath, you’re already feeling less hungover.

You settle down, your back to his chest, sighing contentedly at the warmth of the water. Jake winds a strand of your hair around his index finger and uncurls it again, kissing the back of your shoulder tenderly.

“Are we going to talk about what the hell that was earlier?” Jake asks softly as his fingers trail absentmindedly along your forearm. You shake your head in response.

“I thought you said we would talk about it in the morning.”

“We will,” Jake confirms, nodding his head as his fingers work delicate patterns over your skin. “Just wanted to see if you had anything to say for yourself now that might help your case tomorrow.”

“No, sir.” You answer quietly, looking down and watching your fingers move along the tanned skin of his thigh. Jake’s brows scrunch slightly. You’re lying.

He sits forwards and turns your chin so that you’re looking at him.

“Want to try that again? — With the truth this time?” He suggests calmly, those dazzling green eyes locked on yours. You want to pull back, but it’s like forces stronger than just his hold on your jaw keep you there.

“I just freaked myself out. It was stupid.” You insist, shaking your head softly.

“Freaked yourself out about what?” Jake presses.

It’s no use lying to him, he’s not going to drop this. You pull your face away from his touch, looking down sheepishly as you trail figure eights on his thigh under the water.

“I listened in on the defence meeting. I heard everything, about that guy… about him being in the house before.”

“Honey…” Jake sighs. He presses his lips to the back of your head and wraps his arms around you, holding you closer against him.

“It’s … it’s okay. I just—“

“You don’t have anything to worry about, we’re working on finding him. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” You nod slowly, you know that Jake will keep you safe for as long as he can. “But this is going to keep happening. It’s been happening. And it’ll happen for the rest of my life. I’m never going to live like my friends do.”

There’s a soft pause before you continue again. Jake nuzzles his face into the curve of your neck, securing his arms around you as he waits for you to go on.

“I’m sorry that I took it too far tonight.” You tell him softly, your voice quiet and ashamed. Jake kisses your neck softly. It happens. “I’m just scared.”

He nods.

Not in the same way, but Jake understands mourning a future that you thought you were going to have. You’ve both had to live with the loss of a future in different ways. The silence helps remind you of that.

You half-turn in his arms. He lifts his hand and cups your jaw, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

It might not have been the one that either of you were planning, but a future like this wouldn’t be so bad.

He sits forwards and kisses your lips tenderly, pulling you in against his chest, closing his eyes.

…

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