#t/arlos

[softsnzstuff]

Yeah okay I was hesitant before but I will def write L/one S/tar for T/arlos because I love TK 🥹

Regular 9/1/1 Prefer to write B/uck but would lowkey write for almost any of them

Been watching these shows since they premiered years ago so I think I’m finally ready to try my hand at writing some

[softblesses]

Post Hypothermia Problems.

Part 1. 💜

‘Hh— Ngxt. . gxxtCh! He’nxcT.’

“Hey, TK? You know, I’m starting to find it really hard to tell the difference between you and Buttercup’s favourite squeaky toy.” Nancy pulled up beside him at the coffee station, taking notice that he was opting for tea rather than his usual. “You sure you’re okay?”

“That’s real funny, Nance.” Her fellow Paramedic muttered, stirring a little sugar into his teacup. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You’ve been sneezing more than usual. Is it your allergies? You sick, or something?” She took a small step backwards, but it was mostly just for show; they were around sick people all day everyday. It was literally their job.

TK shrugged, blowing on the tea and bringing it over to the table. The fire crew were out on a call, but EMS weren’t needed for cats in trees. Multiple cats, apparently, were indeed stuck in a singular tree. Tommy had promised to leave out some Benadryl for Mateo when they got back.

“Usually you’re pre-tty quick to jump on the fact that you don’t have allergies.” She pointed out, standing behind him at the table.

He scrunched up his nose, sniffling slightly. “Yeah, well, Texas hits different. You and Carlos always tell me that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but—“ the trill of the emergency bell cut her off, and TK was on his feet before she could even think about finishing her sentence.

They were being called out to a fairly standard emergency; an elderly man had taken a fall in the garden helping his wife, and they arrived within ten minutes of the alarm bells. The woman was standing waiting for them out front, quick to lead them to her partner. “Oh, thank you for coming! He insists he’s fine, but you know how stubborn men can be!” The elderly woman chuckled, giving a fond look over at her husband currently lying on the grass.

“Oh believe me, I do know.” Nancy muttered, earning a slightly questioning look from Tommy and a glare from TK.

“TK, check his ABCs and Nancy prep a splint. Wrist injury looks to be likely, and we’ll check to make sure nothing else is broken.” Tommy knelt down beside him, whilst TK knelt on the other side. He checked his pulse, blood pressure and breathing; all were a little out of range, but nothing that warranted huge concern.

They were loading the man onto the gurney within fifteen minutes, having diagnosed him with a mild concussion and broken wrist. He’d need to be further treated at the hospital, and so Nancy and Tommy were loading him up now whilst TK carried the equipment back. Until, once again he was caught being betrayed by his nose.

‘H’nxxtt, xXgGt, he’ng—Tt. Ow,’ A haphazard attempt to use his elbow to cover, whilst still holding the equipment… and tripping himself up the garden steps. At least nobody saw. Or, at least he’d thought so.

“Gesundheit, dear. You shouldn’t force them all quiet like that, I read an article, you know. The internet can be helpful! My grandkids showed me how to get a Facebook just last year. Come over here, take this and let me help you.” She held out a handkerchief, that TK assumed was clean, and it had little embroidered daisies on it.

He could feel himself blush with sheer embarrassment, really hoping that maybe she somehow just had really really good hearing for a sweet old lady, and didn’t just see him fall up her steps. “Oh, it’s okay, Ma’am. I’m — I’m okay.” TK answered politely, but he clearly wasn’t, with the incessant sniffling that had started up again.

“Now, you might think I’m a gullible old lady. . But, I’m not that gullible, young man. Come on over here.”

She seemed like a force not to be reckoned with, and TK didn’t want to be rude. Plus, the team were most likely waiting for him now. He walked over, taking the handkerchief and thanking her quietly. He swiped at his nose a few times on their way to the front of the house, before sniffling and pocketing it. He couldn’t just ruin his dignity and blow his nose in front of her, could he? Thankfully, there weren’t too many questions when they made it out front, and the ride to the hospital was uneventful. Everything seemed normal again… until TK stepped out of the ambulance back at the station, and both of his crew members stopped him.

“Do you guys�� need something?” He questioned, silently cringing at the congestion starting to stick to his voice.

“Yeah. For you to sit down, come on.” Tommy took him by the arm, and lead him over to the seating area in the kitchen. To make it worse, the fire crew were back too.

“Oooh, looks like TK’s in trouble!” Marjan grinned over her mug of coffee, attracting the newfound attention of both Mateo and Paul.

TK swallowed as he sat down, grimacing at the worsening pain in his throat. Now that the adrenaline of being on call was beginning to wear off, he really didn’t feel great. “I’m not in trouble. Cap, what’re you —“ he was cut off as she spoke to him, holding an in ear thermometer out before him.

“Sit still, and hush, TK. I’m checking your temperature.”

“But, I’m fine!”

“Has he been doin’ that little squeaky chew toy sneeze again? He was doing that this morning.” Paul cut in, waving around the salad fork he had in his hand in an accusatory manner.

“Yes! See, told you!” Nancy placed both hands on her hips, looking directly down at her partner.

The thermometer beeped after that, saving him from a little more humiliation. Tommy took a glance at the screen. “Well, you don’t have a fever, but you’re running a little warmer than usual.” She took a small flashlight from her pocket. “Open. Say ‘aaaaah.’”

TK sealed his lips tight, folded his arms and shook his head.

“Come on, TK, really?” Nancy sighed.

“We’ll have to go get your Daddy if you don’t do as Tom says.” Judd’s voice joined the crowd, and in that moment TK really just wanted to fall into a hole and hide in it.

A pause was made, before Marjan gave a side glance to some of her colleagues. Her look said ‘let’s give them some space,’ and sure enough Paul was conjuring up some excuse about needing more water bottles, Mateo had to go pee (he couldn’t think of anything else) and Judd was going to check on the fire trucks. TK appreciated it, and he slowly opened his mouth.

“I’mb not saying ‘ahh’ — oh, wait.” He frowned, and leaned back in his chair as his Captain gestured for him to open up again. He did as he was told this time, and he certainly didn’t like the way she ‘tsked’ at him in response.

“Your throat’s pretty red, TK. That accompanied by the slightly raised temp, sneezing and congestion. I think you ought to go home and rest.”

“But—“

“Ah, ah! No buts, no ‘I’m fine’s and no telling me that it’s just a cold. It probably is, but if you recall the middle of this last winter, you were in hospital with hypothermia. Your body needs rest, even now. And despite all that… if you push yourself, post hypothermia or not, you’ll get worse and you’ll also risk other patients.” The micro lecture felt like it had lasted forever, or maybe that was just because his ears felt stuffy and his head was starting to ache and it was becoming harder to focus.

“… okay.” Came the eventual, defeated reply.

It hurt both Nancy and Tommy’s heart a little bit, and Marjan’s, who had been quietly taking over the salad prep behind them. “I can take you home,” she offered, stepping closer. “We’re on break, and if I’m honest? I could do with some fast food. Paul would never know.” She smiled, offering TK a hand to help him stand.

He stood on his own, looking down at his hands and picking at a fingernail. “Marjan, you… you don’t have to take me. I can Uber home.” He sniffed, a small noise of discomfort slipping past his lips as he swallowed again.

A glass of water was suddenly placed in his hands, and he looked up to find her looking at him expectantly. “TK, I’m getting my fast food fix, so really you’re not even the main priority!” She grinned.

“Thank you?”

“C’mon! Before the call bell goes off and I starve. You don’t want to be responsible for that, do you?”

TK shook his head, turning back at the others who only gave sympathetic smiles, which made him even more uncomfortable. “I’ll just… go grab my stuff.” He muttered, turning and walking back to the lockers.

The ride back was as uneventful as earlier’s, but that was only because TK fell asleep before Marjan had gotten to the takeout place. He stayed asleep until she was parking outside his and Carlos’ place, and jolted awake with a start as she gently shook him.

“Hey, TK, it’s just me, we’re—“

“Home. Thank you, I — sorry.” He was already reaching for the handle, not looking like he wanted to stick around. “Thanks again, Marjan. Um, enjoy your food.”

“Get better!” She called out, just in time before the door closed. She watched as he waved, and eventually disappeared out of sight.

When TK got through the door, Carlos was situated on the couch reading. It was his day off, after a night shift the day before, but TK wasn’t surprised to see him awake already. He always seemed to rise early, no matter the occasion.

“Babe!” His boyfriend was immediately on his feet. “I would say I told you so, but—“

“Stop it, Carlos. I don’t want a fuss.” His voice was worsening; congestion settled in thick, and a hoarseness from his scratchy throat. He sounded awful, in other words. “Just want to lie down.”

“I left a change of clothes for you in our room,” Carlos said softly, staying a few steps away so as to keep the boundary. “And, there’s leftovers in the fridge if you want them. I’ll grab you some water.”

“‘M not very hungry,” TK replied, before making his way into their bedroom. He emerged a few minutes later in a pair of sweatpants, and Carlos’ APD hoodie. It was comfortable, and with the small amount of ability that he had left to smell, TK appreciated the familiar and comforting scent of the attire.

He took a few sips of the water left on the coffee table for him, and snuggled up underneath the blanket atop of the couch.

“Can you stomaxh a few crackers? Are you nauseous?” Carlos approached hesitantly, holding a packet of crackers in one hand and a plastic bowl in the other. Affectionately coined ‘puke bowl’ the last time TK had the stomach flu. Besides that, this was one of the first times Carlos was actually seeing him sick; not in a coma sick. He’d seen that in enough bouts for one lifetime.

“I’m not nauseous, but thank you for bringing back Percy the puke bowl.” A tiny smile ghosted his lips, before a scrunch of his nose and a slightly aggressive rub at it.

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head at the nickname he’d refused to agree with back then. “Crackers, then?”

TK whined. “When I wake up?” He negotiated, eyes already closed.

Carlos sighed, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. TK probably needed sleep more than he needed a snack, and at least he’d drank some water. In fact, he was snoring before Carlos could even consider asking him if there was anything he’d like to eat later on. So much for the ‘I’m fine, Carlos!’ He’d gotten this morning, after informing his boyfriend that he might be coming down with something. He’d been snoring. TK doesn’t snore, unless his nose is stuffy. But, alas, Carlos’ detective skills had gone unnoticed once again.

He left him to rest, keeping himself busy with tidying the place a little and preparing what he coiod for when TK woke. He knew he wouldn’t want any painkillers for obvious reasons, but they had other remedies for colds and flu that they could try. Vapour rub (of course), different kinds of herbal tea, honey from the farmer’s market and tissues. Lots of tissues. Now, Carlos just had to work out a happy medium that fell somewhere between wanting to take care of the man he loved, whilst not fussing over him. This one might take a while.

[midesastremanifiesto]

.

[shellaxdude]

my oc, newt, from my second gen (not) turtles au! i commissioned @chaos-potat to draw them for me and he absolutely knocked them out of the park! i love them so much, tysm for this. theyre perfect.

[kaiju-wolfdragon]

Voretober day 8: haven

[cheese-in-space]

Album a day poll

Winner of last poll: “Floral Strobe” by False Noise

Votes are appreciated even if you don’t know any of the albums :}

Review of last album: “Collapsed in Sunbeams” by Arlo Parks

I already knew and quite liked one song from this album. I didn’t really like the rest of it all that much. It might be nice to put on in the background for something but probably not something I’ll be listening to a lot in the future.

Last poll here

Next poll here

[crazydaymycrazyway]

After getting arrested

Blyke: Umm...who do we call?

Isen: Do we really have to?

Blyke: Yes. Either Remi or Arlo

Isen: ....I feel safer here

[recovened]

the boys, s01ep08.

[schnozzlebozzle]

Y'know what?

*Stickers ur Starlo*

hey so guess what i combusted

[deepfriedthrifting]

Ok, I lied again😂

[agerechococat]

feelin . yuck

[shellaxdude]

does someone wanna let me infodump about my rise au? i have to determine the order i should present events and i think it would go over better if i talked it out

[kaiju-wolfdragon]

Gt july day 21: lost

[outofthiisworld]

ᯓ🐰˖° Oh. So that’s what the big deal was.

Rabbot gawked at the icicle jutted out from the ground below, which nearly split the table in two. To him, it felt like a whole minute— but it was barely a second.

The sudden weight on his wrist snapped the cottontail crimefighter out of his stupor and his head swung up to greet the other hero.

“Sorry, bud.” Rabbot frowned underneath the helmet at how Countershock pleaded. He felt bad, he really did … but he couldn’t sit this one back. “No can do.”

It was quick. Rabbot twisted his own wrist and slipped out in a bout of breakneck speed— only to then skid over between both Coldsnap and the Squadron.

“WHOA, WHOA!!!” He whistled like a referee, with his arms spread out between both parties (as if that could actually keep them at bay). “Timeout boys and bots, break it up!”

His heart hammered against his chest as adrenaline kicked in. Something was obviously up with Coldsnap. He’s on edge. More than usual. Has he ever seen the guy this on edge before?

Rabbot looked over at the ice blader, “Hey. No one’s hurt. Not right now.”

Then, he looked over at the three bots behind the booth. Had he seen these three as threats?

“You guys cool with packing it up, right?” That wasn’t a question.

"Smackers -?" What on earth was a 'smacker' ?

"Nevermind that," Coldsnap continued with a firm shake of Rabbot's shoulder. "What do you think you're doing? They were going to electrocute you- that's -- they can't do that!"

He gestured at the two androids manning the tasing booth as well as Yellow who was on standby as a 'first-aid provider'. The bots glanced among themselves awkwardly (not that they even needed to).

Before Blue could come to the mechanical squadron's defense (as well as Rabbot's), it was Rabbot who spoke up for.....Coldsnap?

"Oh yeah, yeah! Of course," Countershock somewhat confused as to why he's being told of here. "Not here though, I mean - "

*KGRACKK*

An icicle erupts from the ground, breaking through the counter of the booth. Coldsnap had a hand raised towards the booth.

"You bots have done enough."

Meanwhile, Countershock grabbed Rabbot by the wrist to drag him away. "Yeah...uh....we best stay out of this...please."

[slinkythecoffeekid]

Chapter One || You Know What They Say About New Guys

Updates: Hi everyone, I'm back! I've been binge-watching Ted Lasso (because I was gifted some Apple+ for the holidays), and honestly, Jamie and Roy have been all over my reels and stuff, so I wanted to finally watch it. Let me tell you, I was inspired!

Chapter 1/? of the "Standing Again" pairings: unsure at the moment Rating: T for teens word count: 6.2k Warnings: mentions of injuries, anxious behavior, depressive episodes, swearing, self-esteem issues. Notes: pretty sure I made this GN, but if I missed something let me know

Synopsis:

You used to be a professional footballer. That was until you got injured with a torn ACL at the height of your career in the final match of a championship run. It's been three years since you've played competitively (let alone at all). You've been offered a job at AFC Richmond Football Club as their new nutritionist. Accepting the position to move on from your past, you find yourself dealing with one of the most chaotic teams in the Premier League in their day-to-day and your own healing from your past.

playlists are 10 songs per chapter!

“Well, Arlo, we have two minutes left of the ninety, and Man City is up one nil to Crystal Palace in this game.” 

“Yes, well, Chris, it comes down to how many shots on goal. Man City goalie number 13 (Y/N) (y/l/n) has battered down and blocked everything that has been thrown their way. They're on quite the defensive hot streak today.”

“The ball is with Sharpe, Sharpe passes to Blanchard, Blanchard to Weerden, and Weerden lines up for the shot! And- It's blocked by the goalkeeper! Another brilliant save by Man City's own (Y/N) (y/l/n)”

“Listen to the roar of that crowd! Crystal Palace won't have time to score another goal.”

“Not that it would help besides tying the game; excellent save on Man City's part.”

“Yes, well- Wait, somethings wrong on the pitch… it looks as if the goalkeeper is down.”

“Well, they are holding their leg in pain; perhaps they tore something.”

“Medical has come out to assist them off the pitch… They are taking them off the field on a stretcher.”

“ Hopefully, it's not too serious.”

The alarm next to your bed buzzes to life next to your bed, on the table it sits on, raising you to some form of alertness as you reach over and smack it before rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling, and letting out a heavy sigh before looking back at the clock, 5:25 am—a routine you had set in you for long before now. With one last sigh, you kick the warm covers from your body and force yourself to brace the cold that is your new and albeit bland Richmond flat. You look around the room and check your phone for any new notifications. The same ones you have yet to clear from old friends and family, sending you hundreds of messages you'll never open.  There's no point in removing them, but it is far too late to respond to them. Dropping the phone back onto your bed, you head out of your room to your tiny kitchen. 

The entire flat was small and bland, much like your bedroom was; it's not like you moved many things into this place, just the basics of what you would need. It was meant to fit one person, and you are one person. Walking to the stove, you grab the kettle and fill it with water. Then, you walk to the fridge and grab an apple from the bottom. Taking a bite out of it, you look out the adjacent window. The city was dark because it was still so early in the morning. The street lights were still lit, causing a gentle fuzzy yellowish-orange glow on the rest of the world; it had rained the night before, so the reflection of the light bounced in the puddles and water droplets that hung off the windows. It was peaceful and quiet. You used to enjoy the quiet time of early morning; it let you get your thoughts together. You liked it less now; being alone with your thoughts leads to thinking about things you found unpleasant. 

Finishing your apple and tea, you head back into your room and to your wardrobe to get dressed. 

Getting dressed in plain black joggers and matching black shirt, you grab crisp white trainers and some socks before putting them on, grabbing your phone before walking to the bathroom to brush your teeth and pull your hair up and out of your face, holding a white baseball cap to match your shoes. Checking the time, it was 6:07. Normally, you would leave for the Man City Club House at this point, but that was three years ago, and you couldn't kill the habit of wanting to be training early this morning. You may not be a pro footballer anymore, but you could still go for a jog, correct? You head out of your bathroom one last time, shutting off the lights as you go, grabbing your watch off the bedside table as you pass it to head towards your front door. At your front door, you hold the keys and work bag you'll need for this next chapter in your life. Slinging it over your back, you head outside, looking back at your new flat, and give it a rueful smile before locking the door and putting your headphones in to provide you with something to listen to on your morning run. 

I don't wanna let it pass through the pressure in my head

I don't want to marinate in it, in it again and again

And if I let it into me, I get a rod in there, and it's gonna ring through me again and again

Half of me is melting away. Half of me never goes away, away.

Your run takes you through all of Richmond; you've always felt the best way to visit a city was by planning a jogging course and taking that run every day. The only difference was Richmond was going to be your home now. You would have to change up your routes every so often. Still, that thought gave you something to be happy about as you smiled to yourself as you managed to jog into the car park of your new place of employment. AFC Richmond Football Club. Checking your watch, it was 8:05, which is still early for your first day. The car park was still pretty empty, with a few cars here and there, a grab bag of luxury and economy class type cars; knowing how male footballers are, you knew most of those sports cars belonged to team members. Heading inside, you head straight to your new boss's office. Jogging up the posh stairs, you stop to take your headphones out before the office door, smoothing your jumper and adjusting your hat. Taking a deep breath, shaking the jitters out. 

Were you nervous? Fuck yes, you were, are, and probably will be for a while. This wasn't just some new club owner; you could handle the old men who owned some clubs. This is Rebbeca Fucking Welton. One of four women in a position of high power in football, a gorgeous woman who could ruin your career and take your husband, and you'd apologize to her. Her divorce didn’t change your view of her, and you wanted to impress her; besides, she hand-picked you to be the new nutritionist for the team. Though you still were quite unclear as to why she had picked you. Sure, you knew football; you played all your life, your brothers played too, and your dad- well, you didn't like thinking about your dad and football. Even after your injury, you still tried to be present in football, became a registered dietitian, and worked for several footballers independently. Maybe word of mouth hit Rebecca's ears, and she felt the team needed someone to keep them on a decent diet? Who the hell knows? 

Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh before shaking the jitters out of your whole body. Then, knocking on the ajar door before you, you hear a clear voice, like the Bells of London, chime out, “Come in.”

Stepping into the office, you look around; it's a posh office, very sleek and minimalist, the windows overlooking the pitch, but what really caught your attention was none other than Rebecca Welton, with her platinum blonde hair and her perfect work suit she wore in charcoal grey and her strong jawline. There also is another person sitting in a chair across from her. The man who had been all over the news, Ted Lasso, looked like what you’d seen on the table, with a warm smile that reached his eyes and definitely reminded you of an uncle in the best way possible. Your focus was broken when Rebecca raised an eyebrow and called out to you once more.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Her concern was polite, but it didn't matter; you kept your boss waiting for your response.

“Sorry, I was just observing; you have a lovely taste in decor.” You chuckle awkwardly, rocking back on your heels ever so slightly, hands jammed into your pockets and balled up as you let out an awkward “so…”

Sensing the absolute thick fog of anxiety, Ted slapped both of his knees with a midwestern ‘welp’ and stood up and turned to you with the happy smile he seemed to always be wearing before speaking to you. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay, I do have to head downstairs and make sure everyone makes it in, but later, you should come to my office. Come in and know me better, man!” Ted tried to imitate a British accent towards the end of his sentence. Still, it failed as he couldn't beat his own Kansas accent, tipping an imaginary hat as he got up and headed towards the door. 

“Alright, ghost of Christmas present,” you retorted just before he got out of sight. All you could hear was “Yes! They got it!” before a loud ow and what sounded like possibly running downstairs to catch himself or the tumbling of a body. Honestly, you were unsure you wanted to tell the difference for this coach.

You sat across from Rebecca, who, unfortunately, or fortunately, was enjoying the biscuits that Ted had brought her since it was ‘Biscuits with the Boss’ time. Clearing her face and desk of any crumbs, she clears her throat and ensures she has finished her biscuits before speaking. She smiles at you ever so gently. “I'm so glad you accepted the invitation (Y/N). Our PR mastermind has been trying to get me to hire a ‘life coach’ for the team, but none of them know football the way you do, dear.” she stands, “did you want anything to drink?” she asks you as she walks to get tea for herself.

“Yes, please,” you realize you hadn't had too much to drink after your run, as the last time you stopped to get water was a while ago; yes, you had your water bottle, but you drained that of its contents a while ago. Looking at the bookshelf behind Rebecca's desk brought a small smile to your lips, seeing all her achievements on the shelves and the books. Looking over your shoulder as she offers you a glass of water, you provide a soft “thank you” and take a sip before speaking. “I've seen Keeley on Instagram and Twitter, and  I have seen the team's social media presence since she took over, and I’ll admit she's done wonderfully.” You give a kind smile before clearing your throat, “So you want me as the dietitian for the team? Do you have a list of things for me to keep in mind or-” 

“Oh nononono, as this is a newer addition to our clubhouse, I feel it most important for you to get to know the boys and learn about them yourself. Of course, I understand setting up diets for twenty people is quite a lot. Still, you'll have the coaching staff to help you, and hopefully, the team will be quite flexible to help you, and you’ll have Leslie to help you with anything you need as well.” She gestures to the door where one Lesslie Higgins, who wears a brown tweed suit and a tan and maroon striped tie with a beige button-up shirt, makes himself visible to you, enters the room, and offers a hand to shake. 

Shaking your hand, he politely smiles at you before looking at Rebecca. “I can show her to her office if you do not mind.” 

Rebecca shakes her head as she returns to looking at some information on her computer. " That would be lovely, Lesslie. The team should be out on the pitch now as it is.” She looks so incredibly focused on her work that she doesn't even notice when you and Higgins exit the office and head down the stairs together. 

Higgins gives you a detailed tour of the clubhouse and the team's history over the years, looking at the history of the clubhouse and nodding as Higgins imparts you with many tidbits of obscure soccer knowledge you'd pocket in a mental file somewhere for a rainy day. Higgins also showed you where everything was, from the locker rooms and medical rooms to the training room, the bathrooms, and even the copy room. He showed you everything you would need for your job in great detail. The only thing you two had missed on your tour was the pitch. However, you didn't mind too profoundly. Your tour ended with Higgins holding the door handle to one last room, and he cleared his throat before adjusting his tie with his free hand. This concerned you, and you raised an eyebrow, watching this jovial older man seem nervous about opening a door that you assumed was an office or corridor. 

“Right- before we go in, I must warn you that Keeley, ah yes, the sweet woman she is, might have gone a tad overboard when making sure you had everything you would need to feel comfortable. If she did, please don't hesitate to ask us to remove or exchange items."He had yet to look back at you as he fumbled with his key ring before unlocking the door to this space; when he did, he slipped in, shutting the door in your face. But not before reopening it for you with a nervous smile. Letting you step inside to the ample space. 

The space you had stepped into was a large state-of-the-art kitchen. It reminds you a lot of the ones from the American Hells Kitchen. The floor was nonstick sleet linoleum, and the light grey walls and the counters were all stainless steel. Still, they had built-in appliances; this kitchen had not one, not two, but three fridges, and you assumed equal freezer space. And you had suddenly become a woman who had five ovens in your kitchen. If it wasn't for the fact that this was your workspace, you'd just be living in your new office. Then you noticed all the kitchen gadgets linked up on your counter space, blenders, stand mixers, hand mixers, hell, even a bread maker, all in a neat row on your counters. Could you even call them yours? The semantics of the matter would have to wait as you finally cracked a small but visible smile. Walking through the kitchen and checking every cabinet for its contents. Whoever came before you was organized, but you knew this setup wouldn't work for you. You pull a notebook from a small compartment in your backpack that sits at the small of your back and a pen from the same pocket and start writing down notes about the kitchen. Engrossed in your work, you had failed to notice Lesslie leaving and leaving the key with you. 

After looking everything over in your kitchen space, you decide to head to your actual office; it was a small room right off the kitchen, with a window to see into the kitchen. It had a desk, bookshelves, and a desktop for you to use, not personalized to your taste but standard practice, and that was fine enough for you. You set your backpack down in the chair and open it, pulling out your things. You had cookbooks and recipe cards to put up on the shelves, cords to plug in so you didn't steal your home chargers, and the small but important things to get through the day. But the most important things you'd brought from home were two picture frames that you put on either side of your computer. 

The photo on the left was from your childhood, and you and your two siblings were in the photo. Both of them are in their secondary school kits and taller than you. You stood in the middle of them with a broad, slightly toothless grin. All three of you holding a football in your hands. Your kit was covered in dirt and grass stains, as were theirs; it was the first day that all three of you had a game, and your parents couldn't have been any prouder. Your sibling's numbers are their favorite numbers; yours is 13. The other photo to the right was from your debut season. You played as a goalkeeper sub for Man City in your debut year, number 13, and it's still your number. You had come to thrive with 13 as your number; people found it unlucky. Unlucky thirteen people used to say, but that was until they watched you play. It became fast learning that Man City's opponent was unlucky if you played keeper. 

Reminiscing, you failed to notice that anyone was in the kitchen as it was closed off to the rest of the world, but jumped violently at the knocking at the doorframe, “jesus-fucking-shit!” you turn to see who was at your door. Still, it was none other than the coach Ted Lasso, his eyes wide with panic, probably from scaring him by scaring you.

“I didn't mean to startle you there. (y/n) thought you heard me, though if you swear that much, I'm sure you and Roy will make fast friends.” He smiles at you. His recovery was smooth enough to make things less awkward. “Can I come in?” he asks, gesturing to your office. 

“What? Oh yeah, yeah, come in!” quickly trying to steal your racing heart, you drop your bag to the floor and sit down in the chair across from Ted, who looks like a labrador looking at his owner with a treat. Calming yourself, you sigh and put on a polite smile. " Hello, Coach Ted. What can I do for you?” you ask him to settle into your chair.

Ted gave a soft ‘oof’  as he let himself fall into the chair across from you and crossed his right knee over his left, holding it in his hands and looking off into the distance before looking back over at you with that Ted Lasso smile you've learned well from the internet, “well first off I wanted to come down and say hello and introduce myself again before you are fed to the wolves. so please just call me Ted” he chuckles at his own little joke before continuing, “secondly I wanted to apologize for scaring the bejesus out of you, you jumped so high I thought you might be a cat!” 

The concern made you laugh; you'd think he'd seen them jump from being startled, or maybe it was the goalkeeper phenomenon that all goalkeepers jumped in strange ways to protect their goals. Still, you shake your head in response, “I'm fine, Coach Lasso- I mean Ted, I'm sure this won't be the last time I get startled in my corner of the world. And I appreciate the concern about meeting the players, but I'm sure I will be just fine.” 

Ted makes the face that can best be described as the dad equivalent of ‘OK, bud, if you're sure’ before setting both his feet on the ground, smacking his knees aggressively, and hoisting himself up and out of the chair. " Welp, if you're sure about that, how bout we go for a walk so you can meet them?” He heads towards the door and holds it open for you. 

You sigh, forcing yourself out of your chair. It's not that it was comfortable, but it gave you the relief of being off your feet for the first time in a few hours. “Sure, why not?” you head out the door, following Ted towards the locker room. Ted stops you outside the locker room before stepping in and returns a few moments later to find you looking at your phone. He waves to catch your attention before waving you in with the excitement of a toddler. You roll your eyes and pocket your phone before walking into the locker room where every team member is sitting in their locker cubbies; most decent, a few people topless, but no one was in a towel. You walk to the center, where the other coaches stand in a line and wait. 

“Now, alright, everyone. This is (in) they’re joining us as the team's new dietitian, like Jenni Craig but better. So you guys need to let them know all your diet things so they can help you be the best you can be. Do you all understand?” Ted introduced you to the team, but they just seemed more confused by who Jenny Craig was, and honestly, you were a bit too. 

A coach to Ted's side, with a beard and wearing polarized sunglasses leaned into Ted's side. " They don't have Jenni Craigs, Atkins maybe.” With that comment, everyone on the team nodded and let out a collective ‘ah’ of agreement. 

However, you did hear a scoff to your right; in the number 9 cubby sat a man who was probably, if not your age, definitely younger than you. The name above 9 was Tartt. Oh yeah, you knew who this was, Jamie Tartt; he used to play for Man City, was on loan, got shipped back, and then shipped right back to Richmond. You had never met him personally. However, you'd heard from others that he was less than delightful to deal with on a good day. However, that scoff was short-lived when a man standing near him smacked him upside the back of his head. Eliciting a hiss and an “ow, what was that for?” 

The man was fit, physically muscular, had a black beard and bushy eyebrows, and wore a coach polo. You knew immediately this was Roy Fucking Kent; you’d have been stupid if you didn't know who this man was or if he was born in the last five to six years. And you were neither of those things. He was not having any of the young striker's behavior and glared down at Jamie, “shut it, Tartt,” he snapped at Jamie before turning his attention back to you. Still, his stoic, frowning face stayed the same. 

Ted looked at you and gestured to the team, “Do you have anything you want to add? Anything at all?”

You shrug and look around the room, taking in each of the team members' faces. You'd memorize them eventually, but that wasn't the point of today. Clear your throat and readjust your shoulders, squaring them back and holding your chin high. Confidence is key when dealing with people you don't know or need to convince. “Names (y/n), I'm your new diet coach; I need an updated diet form; I'll send that out in an email by tomorrow morning; I need it by Wednesday to do orders. It's simple, I need your allergies, preferences, and restrictions. If anything changes, please try to tell me as soon as possible. I don't make a habit of killing my clients.” You knew it wasn't the most admirable introduction, but you were not the nicest woman either. You think briefly before remembering something important, turning to the coaches. “Kitchen is off limits to the team now if it wasn't before; if you need something from the kitchen, message me.” with that, you head for the door. “Cheers,” you wave before walking out of the locker room. 

The locker room sits in stunned silence before everyone turns to Ted, and an amalgamation of voices hits Ted like a load of bricks before he raises his hand and raises his voice, “Hey! One voice at a time, I'm not the Complaint whisperer; that's Nate's job. Now, what's got all your ducks out of their rows?” 

“They seem like a very knowledgeable coach; where did Ms Welton find them?” Sam asked with a raised hand so that he would be noticed.

“Probably the internet; that is how most people get hired in this economy,” Jan states from beside Sam. The others around him nodded in agreement, but a few tried to shush him. 

“they seem fucking cheery, but as happy as granddad over there, fit though, ain’t they?” Jamie snickered, leaning back into his cubbyhole. He and a few others close by laughed at his comments as well.

Standing next to Coach Beard and Nate, Roy frowned before Ted smiled at the team, “Welp, you heard them. Ensure you promptly respond to their email, or you might end up on the menu.” His words fell on primarily deft ears, and with that, the coaches walked into the office. Roy shut the door behind them, and the locker room returned to its chaotic, chatty atmosphere behind them. 

Ted plopped himself right down into his chair and stretched his arms up in the air before looking at the three other coaches, who looked right back at him with a dumbfounded look; all Ted could ask was… “What?”

“That's all we get. What?” Beard asked, putting his sunglasses on top of his hat. The boss hires a new person, and all we get is a what?” he asked before crossing his arms in his chair, leaning back as far as it would let him before falling backward out of it.

“Well, I don't know what to tell you guys. I just met ‘em this morning in Becca's office before practice. They seem like nice kids to me, honestly. Oh, but don't sneak up on them. When I spooked them earlier, they looked like Shaggy and Scooby getting ready to run away from a scary monster.” Ted looked to Nate and Roy for their input. Roy scowled like usual, and Nate nodded in agreement and understanding.

“Of fucking course they are- are you fucking stupid?” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose before putting his free hand out to stop Ted from responding, “Don't answer that. I already know the answer to that. Thats, (y/n) fucking (y/l/n)” seeing the deer in headlights look both coach Beard and Ted are giving him he lets out an exasperated sigh looking to Nate for some sort of assistance on this explanation. 

“Oh-ah yes! Um, (y/f/n) they used to play for Man City about three years ago, but they retired due to a torn ACL at a finals match a few years ago and used to be an all-star goalkeeper. Also called unlucky 13 for a time,” Nate jumped onto the shelf behind him and crossed his arms, “a bit surprising that Ms. Welton would try hiring them even for a dietitian position.”

Ted's eyebrows rose at the mention of your former nickname, “because of their injury or before that?” curiosity in his eyes.

“Before that,” Everyone else in the room responded in unison. 

“But it's not all that surprising; we've been missing someone to ensure everyone can eat healthy; young boys like that will eat whatever they want. Especially if they aren't being monitored,” Beard said, looking back into the locker room where the team, now unattended by the adults, was mucking about. 

Ted nodded before getting up, “Welp, I will see you gents on the field, but I've been summoned for girl time in the office.” He pushed in his chair, waving his phone around as if to show them the text, “Now, if you'll excuse me.” With that, Ted left the coach's office, leaving the other three coaches confused and shaking their heads in disbelief. 

Ted headed down the halls and bounded up the stairs before knocking at Rebecca's office, peeking his head around to make sure that people were inside, with his goofy smile, “knock knock.” 

Rebecca looked up from the sofa she and Keeley were both sitting on, looking at something on Keeley's laptop, and she waved Ted in quite frantically, “Keeley, put that away. We will watch those later."

Keeley whines in annoyance, “Fineeee, but I want to watch more of them when we are done.” She closes her laptop, turning to Ted with a smile on her face. " Morning, Ted! What did you think of them? I think they are pretty stellar!” She is now leaning forward, her arms propped up on the arm of the sofa and her chin resting on the back of her palms.

Rebecca lets out a small chuckle, seeing Keeley's excitement about your employment, before clearing her throat: " Yes, that is why I brought you up here. I wanted to ask your opinion on (y/n). Based on my very little interaction, I don't fully understand them even if Higgins also gave me a report of his own.”  She adjusts to sit with one leg over the other, expecting Ted's praise or lack thereof. 

Ted nodded before leaning forward in the armchair, in that deep-thinking sitting position he was well known to do before looking between the two women in the room. “Welp, they seem straight to the point, I think they’re just not comfortable yet. If we give them a few weeks, they will be busier than a bee in spring and sweeter than the honey from it.” 

His analogy was lost on the two women sitting across from him before Rebecca cleared her throat, “Right, yes, well… with that in mind. I wanted to discuss something with you, Ted, and Keeley. I would also like your input on the matter.”  Rebecca had this glint in her eye, where she had something purely devilish up her sleeve.

Keeley looks over, adjusting herself to fully face Rebbeca, and nods thoughtfully, or as seriously as she can manage: " Absolutely, what are you thinking?”  before smiling, seeing how serious Rebecca looked.

Ted nods, gesturing towards the space in front of them. “Floors yours, boss,” he gave her an encouraging smile. 

Rebecca smiles a devious smile. “What I am proposing doesn't leave this office until we are ready to put it into motion.”

You had spent your entire afternoon doing tedious paperwork, sending out the survey email to the team, looking at cookbooks former staff had left behind,  and double-checking the incoming order that would be arriving on Wednesday. Your afternoon was peaceful, being able to be by yourself and acclimate to your new environment. During your time in the kitchen, you found it was basically soundproof, so you could listen to whatever you wanted, and no one would know or even care. You had your music turned up for most of the day and listened to anything that could and would keep you distracted from thinking. 

Finishing up your daily task list, you check the 5:30, a respectable time to leave work. Grabbing your bag, pack away anything you need to take home, like notebooks and order information. You look at the two pictures on your desk as you zip up your backpack and nod to them both. Standing up and putting on your backpack, you head out of your office and ensure the kitchen and office lights are off before locking the door behind you. You head towards the door and car park before you hear your name being called from overhead. 

“(y/n)!” Standing there was Keeley, waving frantically and smiling. " Where are you goin’?” she asks as she runs down the stairs that lead to Rebecca's office. You hadn't ever met Keeley in person, but you'd seen her on Instagram and knew that she and Jamie Tartt dated at one point, but anyone in football knew that. You were not expecting Keeley to hug you very aggressively, much like a koala holding onto a tree.

You tense at the contact but relax quickly and return the hug, albeit awkwardly. “Hello, Keeley. Is this how you greet everyone you meet for the first time?” You blow her hair slightly out of your face, your voice strained from the hug. 

She quickly lets go of the hug but still tightly gripping your shoulders and smiles, “No, but I've been so excited to meet you, but your office was locked, so…” she pouts slightly at the fact you had unknowingly locked her out. “No biggie, though! If you don't mind me saying love, your fucking fit! Your parents must be fucking gorgeous!” 

You let out an awkward chuckle, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks. I'll be sure to inform my dad you said so. Sure, he loves that.” Sarcastically, you roll your eyes. " But to answer you, I'm heading home for the night. I have a lot of research to do.” You manage to get yourself out of Keeley's grip somehow. 

“That's perfect! I'm heading home too! Did you drive? If not, I can give you a lift!”

You put your hands up, shaking them in a no gesture, “I didn't drive, but there's no need; my flat isn't too far from here.” it wasn't a lie; yes, your run was two hours, but that was nothing for you, and moreover, on purpose. Besides, the sun was still up, so there was no excuse for needing a ride. However, the pout on Keeley's face tugged at your moral compass, “Tell you what? If it ever rains, I'll let you drive me.”

Keeley's eyes lit up excitedly, and she let out a little squeal before hugging you again. “Oh, that sounds grand! You'll have to give me your number, or I'll message you on Instagram. You have one of those, right? " She started digging through her bag, looking for her phone. Once she found it, she began to type. 

You nod, “It's (y/n)unlucky13.” You look down at your shoes sheepishly. When was the last time you said that out loud? 

Keeley hums in response before tapping a button: " And done! I followed you, so now I can message you!” She looks at you and offers her arm to link with your own to walk outside. “Shall we then? Get our last glimpse of the boys on the pitch?” 

You instinctively link arms with her and walk outside the car park lined up to the pitch. The two of you walk to the fence and watch the team doing the last bit of practice for the day. Keeley watched with the same eagerness as a small kid. Looking over at her, you smile before returning to the field. Your arms crossed, resting on the fence, and your head resting atop them, you watch in personal silence. You study the field, watch the goal, and look at everyone's movement. It wasn't long before the team headed towards the dugout for the end of their days. You stretch and let out a groan of relief from your stretch. 

Keeley smiles, “Well (y/n), have a safe walk home.” She heads to her car, but before leaving, she rolls her window down, “See you tomorrow (y/n)! Send me your coffee order!” And with that, she is gone.

You stood there incredibly dumbfounded; how could someone make such fast friends with everyone? Was she now your friend? Actually, you liked the sound of that. You missed being surrounded by peppy people. You adjust your backpack and start your trek home for the night. Richmond in the evenings was not too much different from the morning. You passed children coming home from school, passing footballs as they went. Couples walking hand in hand, young and old. Parents running errands with their children. It reminded you of before. When you did this before in Manchester. You shake your head to force the thoughts out and return to your flat at around 6. You unlock your door, remove your shoes, and set your bag on the kitchen table.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, and you looked down to see a text from Coach Ted. You don't remember giving him your number, but you opened the message. 

Ted Lasso

Hey Doc! Well, actually, you're not a doctor, are you? Calling you chef seems odd, too. I'm going to stick with Doc. Anyway, we are glad to have you. I think you'll work wonders for the team. Have a good night!

You reread the message repeatedly, whipping your eyes as tears rose, and put your phone back in your pockets. You decided you had no energy to cook, so you ordered some takeout. You worked on building a new diet regimen while eating your own meals into the late night hours. You looked over your phone, unlocked it, and decided not to leave Ted on read. 

Thanks, Coach Ted; if you're gonna call me Doc, I'm calling you Coach. 

You press send, clean up your food, and put your work back into your backpack, only to hear another ding from your phone. 

Ted Lasso

Alright, Doc, have a good night!

You smiled, looking at the time. It was after 10, which was late, even by your standards. You shut the lights off in the kitchen and head to your room, changing into shorts and a t-shirt before brushing your teeth and brushing your hair from your hat hairstyle. Walk out and stare out the window before crawling into your bed, plugging in your phone, and watching. You check your phone one last time for the night and open Instagram to send Keeley a DM. 

Hey, here's my order. 

You attach a photo of your preferred drink and its modifications so it's easier to order in person. You put your phone down on the bedside table, missing the heart reaction Keeley gave your message. Hunkering down in your blankets, you let out a sigh of relief, and for the first time in a while, you felt your shoulders relax, your jaw unclench, and your muscles unclench. You drifted into a restful sleep for the first time in over three years. 

Moving to Richmond may be good for you.

[russellsppttemplates]

So... pure and so you (Charles Leclerc)

Going back home means Charles sees how you've been healing, and your parents haven't missed it either

Note: english is not my first language. I know it's past Christmas, but this still counts, right?

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: talks about having kids

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Is your mother making those biscuits I really like? Those fluffy ones, they're like little cakes actually", Charles asked, his hand over the console and resting on your thigh as he turned left for the final cut to your house.

"She said she was planning on making them these afternoon, I can't wait!", you squealed, clapping your hands together at the prospect, seeing your parents left the gate open so you could drive in.

Parking the car, Charles ensured it was safe before coming out of it as well, being greeted by your family dog while you hugged your parents, "hello buddy, how are you? You're very excited to see us, hm? Yes you are!", Charles cooed, rubbing his belly as he wagged his tail at the attention he was receiving.

You hugged your parents before looking for your boyfriend, "Arlo loves Charles more than he loves me", you chuckled, seeing the labrador run back to you as Charles followed him.

"Hi, how are you?", Charles offered as he kissed your mother's cheeks, opting to shake your father's hand as you walked inside, "did you have a good drive back here?", he questioned him, "yes, not too bad actually. It wasn't too busy", your boyfriend replied, seeing you store your coats and get comfortable in your parents' house.

After lunch, your mother asked for help with baking while your father and Charles helped with preparing the table to you could then roll the dough properly.

It was a sight to behold. You were helping your mother with Christmas cookies and the cakes your boyfriend mentioned, your clothes littered with flour stains as you touched your mother's cheek with some of the mixture, containing your laugh as she didn't seem to notice the powder on her skin.

You were happy, giggly and you had a glow that Charles was sure put all of the products you had back home to shame.

"It's good to see her like this", Charles commented when he felt your father's eyes on him, "work has been a lot lately, and she'll only listen to so much of what I say and take the advice even less than I'd like", he chuckled.

Your father shook his head, "She's always been like that. It was worrisome for a little bit, and we always make sure she's not pushing herself too much. And we know we have you in our team, too", the older man touched a Charles' shoulder, rubbing it slightly before he offered him a drink.

After wishing your parents a good night, you and Charles headed to your room upstairs, needing to catch up on some sleep after the busy day. Your old bedroom had slightly changed since you moved out to live with your boyfriend. Your parents swapped your single bed for a double one, for whenever you and Charles visited, and updated the colour of the walls, wanting to keep it on the neutral side in case they needed it for other guests, "are you showering now or after me?", Charles asked, grabbing a towell from himself, "I'll go after you, I need to hang my clothes first", you smiled, kissing his lips as he went to the bathroom.

Looking through your wardrobe, you noticed your mother still kept the family albums in there, remembering something about the downstairs drawers being humid and her worry about loosing the memories. You flickered through the pages, recalling some memories from when you were younger, some of them you probably constructed by other people telling you the moments.

Charles walked in a little while later, ruffling his hair with a towell only in a t-shirt and underwear, "you can go now, amour", he said as he noticed you closing the album, pressing a kiss to your forehead when you walked to take a shower.

You were already in bed when you noticed Charles looking at the books, "you want to look at what's inside them, don't you?", you chuckled as his eyes lit up, "I'm not too tired to look at them, and I bet there are some good memories in there", he confessed.

Opening the book while your boyfriend pulled you to rest against his chest, "this is so pretty", you appreciated all the details on the pages, either doodles or descriptions from the moment when the picture was taken.

"Look at these cheeks!", Charles groaned as he pointed at a picture of you. From the date on the page, you were around four, two pigtails on your curly hair and a toothy smile, "if our kids have your cheeks, which I hope they do, I won't be able to stop kissing them, I know I just won't", he breathed out.

"Do you think about that a lot?", you wondered, looking at his face as you adjusted your position slightly, genuinely curious about the subject. It had been something you had talked about before and it seemed to come to again.

"Yes, I do. I still think we should wait a little bit longer, get married first, enjoy married life just you and me and then we can think about little ones, but everytime I see a child or someone asks, it's you I see. With a baby bump, then a little baby in your arms, and we play with them and love in them like they deserve", he cooed, rubbing the tip of his nose on your cheek, kissing it softly.

"Me too", you smiled, "I mean, its always you I see whenever I think about the future. And it looks so good. Sometimes it looks scary, because I don't know how it will play out, but I'll have you with me, so all will be well", you admitted, kissing his lips properly.

You had been friends before you dated, and it has been a whole process to get you to be this open to him when you started dating, never wanting to put too much on his plate as he had his own things to deal with, not wanting to burden him and not wanting to lose him from your life.

"We're a team, amour, there's no need to fear", he said, closing the book and setting it down on the floor, cuddling you to him.

The next morning was slow. Charles' lips littered kisses on your neck and cheeks, seeing the smile as you slowly woke up, "it's Christmas, ma belle", you heard his whisper, his eyes looking for yours, "Merry Christmas, handsome, I love you", you muttered, pulling your hands out from under the covers and cupping your boyfriend's' cheeks, rubbing the stubbly skin before kissing him.

"I love how smiley you are", Charles complimented, big coats and scarf on as you walked on the trail after having breakfast, occasionally pestering your mother with a fallen tree branch or twigs as she thought some animal was crawling up her skin.

"Am I not smiley regularly?", you wondered, knowing what he meant. Coming home meant, after a lot of work on yourself over the years, you would enjoy yourself without any outside pressures. You were amongst family and in the safe place you grew up. No prying eyes, no one commenting or second guessing what you said, wore or looked like.

"You are, but you're carefree, I think. You're not so stressed, your inner child is showing so much more, and it's so... pure. So you", he smiled, kissing the side of your head as he pulled you to walk closer to him.

They had both become adults way faster than the rest of the people their age. Charles' career forced him to grow up earlier and grow thicker skin very early on, and because you were there with him, too, you were also taken with the wave. You started working as soon as you finished your degree, and while you wouldn't complain about it, it did come with a lot of work and investment of yourself that you lost some of your younger years.

"Whenever we are not doing well, when it gets too much, we will do this. Visit your parents, do all the childish things we want to do, no matter how silly they may be", Charles stated as he rubbed your palm with his thumb, "I never want you to give up this side of you, and I'm willing to do anything to see you smile like that again and again".

Smiling at his words at chuckling slightly at the fact that there was no way this man was ever getting away from you, you held out your pinky, "I promise", you smiled as you two laced fingers, sealing it with a kiss.