Time and POV in Stuck in the Middle With You 12x12...
“So… tell me a story…” says Mr. Ketch, sitting across from Mary, just after the burning MOL symbol of the season announces…
The narrative is thus framed as told in flashback by Mary to Mr. Ketch.
The first POV we get is therefore Mary’s…
Time card… accompanied by the ticking of a stop watch (which we hear at intervals throughout the episode).
Mary witnesses Dean performing “super-hetero Dean” for Wally, or attempting to, in a diner - doesn’t go so well, with the, “My shy but devastatingly handsome friend,” huh Dean? Although, of course we can all agree Cas IS devastatingly handsome…
Mary is not impressed… (not with her sons bickering either - oh Mary - you ain’t seen nothing yet…)
Can I be really with you, like your art is superb just A+ gives my eyes good feelings type of good. But also is Space Pirate Obi's theme song the space equivalent of Michael Jackson's Bad.
❤️❤️❤️ thank you for this Good Ask.
And I would go even further and say in my head, Space Pirate Obi’s soundtrack is all 80s cheese, all the time. I mean… look at how open his shirt is. I’m thinking MJ, Toto’s ‘Hold the line’, Hall & Oates 'You make my dreams come true’, all that good stuff.
TalesFromYourServer: Diary of a Petty Server: The Meatloaf that Got Away
With great service comes great responsibility.
It comes with the territory, pal. I mean, you’re dealing with one of the most hardcore life-driving forces in the fucking universe here: food. On top of that, you’re tasked with delivering this most sacred of nourishment to people in their most delicate state: hunger.
Hunger makes people do fucking weird shit. Like go to bed without eating and wake up as a different person shit. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hangrey type shit. I’ve seen outbursts of food-related madness that had me cowering in fear, fully expecting a demon made of cockroaches and hellspawn to erupt from a humansuit. I’ve witnessed a man go into apoplectic rage at the discontinuation of his favorite promotion, which led him to rip the offending menu to shreds with an assassin’s coldhearted efficiency. To shreds, you say? Aye, to absolute fucking confetti, which he then promptly stuffed into an innocent raspberry lemonade before bailing.
There’s a certain sort of primal anger that overtakes a person when they’re faced with a culinary crisis. But shit, all the world’s a stage, and all the humans merely players, and I’m about to play your mad hungry ass for a fool. Butter you up like a fucking biscuit and then set the record straight. This is me and you vs. the goddamn world, sir. You’re gonna have the epic experience you came here for if I have to douse hell and burn heaven to do it. That soup is cold? Of COURSE I’ll get you a freshie silly, and I’ll be fucking delighted to do so again in twenty minutes when you next extricate your head from your date’s ass. Your hot tea is too hot? I gotchu sir, I’m bout to beat this boiling water’s ass. There’s a stray piece of okra in your fries? We’re writing the goddamn Governor. And then you tuck them in and give them a binky, and they are none the wiser that you’ve successfully tugged the invisible strings connected to both the heart and wallet. Jedi Master of Bullshit strikes again.
I can deal with any fucker in a bad mood. At some point, you will leave, and you will either be touched by my efforts or utterly unmoved, in which case you were determined to be unhappy anyway. But you will be gone, and I will either chuckle or curse you, and that will be it.
If only Cowboy had gotten angry. That, I could nagivate. This…this was a new beast entirely.
Cowboy is a middle-aged gentleman at Table 122, dressed in a sort of bullrider’s chic. In the couple of minutes I spend with him at our introduction, I learn two things: he loves his horse Whisper, and he really loves our meatloaf. He and Whisper have been driving for six hours to get home from a competition, and for six hours he has impatiently looked forward to his prize. “You don’t understand, ma'am,” he says in a drawl. “I. Love. This. Meatloaf.”
Shit, everyone does, it’s fucking delicious. It’s one of the most popular menu items we have. There are days when I serve no other function than being a fucking choo-choo train for meatloaf plates. The more people love it, the more they order. The more they order, the faster we run out. The faster we run out…yeah, well, we’re still cooking the goddamn things at the same pace. The thing about food, it’s gotta cook.
I’ve already spent a fair portion of the day ruining people’s lives over the lack of meatloaf, and I’m not keen to do so again. I get Cowboy’s drink order, and tell him to think on his sides while I go touch base with the kitchen. I have a come-to-Jesus moment with the grill cook, making him bend down and look me in the fucking eye and tell me we have meatloaf. All’s well. Nine orders left for the night. Breathe a sigh of relief, hit up a sweet tea, scream for the 84th time for someone to bloody PLEASE get the To-Go phone, and make tracks for the table.
Cowboy’s tickled pink once I inform him that yes, sir, you can nom those meaty loaves until Kingdom Fucking Come. He fires off his sides and I get it on the books. Wait there, sir, we’re about to make some magic happen.
I return to the kitchen to enter the order, pleased as fucking punch that one of the lazy shitfritters has finally deemed to answer the phone. They finish up and I whip Table 122 into the system.
The ticket has barely chattered out of the machine when I hear the dreaded shout: “86 Meatloaf for the night!” I fly over to the window, mouth agape in horror…and I will be DAMNED!! Absolutely damned I say! Those lazy no-good ass-sucking To-Go creeps have ordered us out of meatloaf. Nine goddamned To-Go Meatloafs, already posing prettily in a line of black plastic containers. Surely eight of the fuckers could have cut off a tiny slice to assemble a decent hunk of meatloaf!
My panic is palpable. This man has been driving the highway for six fucking hours, with nothing to staunch the loneliness except the thought of our mouth watering meatloaf. I would rather be tied to Whisper, doused in lemon juice, and dragged through a field of cacti than go break the news.
Immediately I begin to think of a way out of this shithole. Do I bat my eyes and flirt up the cook? Jack one of the meatloafs and feign ignorance when questioned? Run shrieking out the back door into the night and never look back? All useless. As useless as the sad plate of okra, mac and cheese, and green beans that sits forlornly in the window, no meatloaf to be found.
Jesus hula-hooping Christ. This shit again.
I’m on the verge of a panic attack when the grill cook calls me over. He’s well aware of my everlasting battle with these pepper and onion stuffed fuckers, and in a fit of gallantry, he has found me a hunk of meatloaf. A smaller hunk than portion size calls for, true, but meatloaf nevertheless. I almost burst into tears at the news, and yes, fucking yes, I’ll comp the whole fucking thing and pay for it myself, as long as this man gets a couple of mouthfuls of his ketchup-coated desire. The cook slides the too-small loaf onto the plate of sides and sells the ticket.
I’m immediately aware of why this meatloaf was not counted in the original tally. I know meatloaf, and this meatloaf is all wrong. Not just small, but shriveled. Dry, crusted along the outside. I could have offered this meatolaf to the Donner Party and they still would have eaten each other. On my honor as a server, I cannot serve this to my guest.
It’s with a heavy heart I journey back to Table 122. Cowboy is smiling pleasantly at me, probably assuming I’m coming to check on his tea or assure him that yes, your meatloaf madness will soon be at an end.
There is no such happy ending.
I have the script memorized by heart. I’m insanely sorry, sir, but due to the fact that this meatloaf is, as you know, the best meatloaf fucking ever, we have unfortunately run out. Normally, there are two routes people take when I inform them that their culinary orgasm is not to be: nonchalant acceptance, or blood-vessel-popping rage.
But this…is new.
The denial sets in first. He stares at me blankly, head cocked quizzically to one side, as though unsure he has heard me correctly. “Are…you joking?”
“No sir,” I reply sadly. “If only Whisper had a few teammates, we could get the Delorean up to 88 miles an hour and go back to just before the To-Go phone rang. Can you believe it? Nine meatloafs spoken for in one To-Go order.”
I hope the half-hearted attempt at humor will break him from the haze, but his face remains impassive. “Nine? Nine whole pieces? In one order?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, admittedly wrong-footed by the distinct disbelief to his tone. Visions of Whisper galloping alongside a minivan race through my head, and of course in the fantasy Cowboy is victorious, lassoing the whole fucking order through the open window. Reality, it seems, is far more dire.
I gently prod Cowboy for a replacement order; in his catatonic state, he rattles off a robotic backup, and I swear to God and sonny Jesus if we don’t have chicken and dumplings I’m burning this fucker to the ground. Ashes, I tell you!
It’s the fastest ticket we’ve ever sold. I shout down the cooks the moment I step into the back, and you can fuck yourself with the ticket for all I care, B. I’ll ring the bitch in when Cowboy is eating and not a goddamned moment before. Less than a minute later, I present Cowboy with his steaming hot dinner, an extra portion of mac and cheese on the side for good measure. He rouses enough to thank me politely, but shit, if I’d just been fucked by the meatloaf gods in such a cruel fashion, I wouldn’t be up for thanking me. Ten minutes minutes later, he’s to the point of a small smile and nod when I ask if everything tastes good. I top off his tea, leave the check, and sincerely wish him a great night.
I sadly return to the kitchen and join the team packing this thrice-damned meatloaf into the To-Go bags. A beep soon alerts us that the party is here to receive their order, and a coworker grumpily humps the three bags up to the cash stand. I trail out behind him, listlessly sorting menus, when I hear a wordless sound of despair. I glance up and freeze.
Cowboy is standing at the cash register, watching with sad eyes as Coworker pulls out and presents each meatloaf plate to the guest for his approval. Despite the fact that he has already paid, Cowboy waits and watches through the whole debacle. As do I.
As the last meatloaf is approved and paid for, Cowboy nods to the burly man now cradling the three steaming sacks. “Enjoy your dinner,” he says in a pleasant voice.
A god among mortals, this man. My heart cannot take much more…but It must, and as I hesitantly check my credit tips a few moments later, I am overtaken. A $10 tip on an $8 ticket. Over 100%.
Godspeed, Cowboy. Whenever you and Whisper may travel next, I fervently hope that there is meatloaf, more meatloaf than you could have ever dreamed possible.
Like She’s Mine (part fourteen) - Stiles Stilinski
warnings: the usual. mentions of alcohol? word count: 2023
[July, three days before the wedding]
I was rushing around the apartment, tidying as well as I could seeing that the place was a mess. Allison was vacuuming my floors while I swept the kitchen floors and simultaneously wiped down the counter. My hair had a handkerchief holding it all back from my face.
“Has he stayed here at all?” Allison called over the noise.
“Nope. Not once!” I yelled back.
“Stiles?” Madi asked from where she was plopped on the couch. I saw Allison nod to her.
“So he’s been with his dad? For three months?”
“Yep. I’d assume so anyways” I said, angrily throwing the contents of the dustpan into the trash bin. Allison turned off the vacuum and put a hand on her hip.
“So are you broken up?” I threw my hands up in the air.
“I have no idea Al., if we are, he hasn’t bothered to tell me. If we aren’t…. Still hasn’t bothered. He’s barely even come by the place. Really only when ‘Scott tells him I needed him to babysit’. He barely cares at all” Allison frowned at me.
“Have you tried to talk to him?” I shook my head, looking down at the floor for a moment. “I mean… it’s three days until you’re basically spending twenty four hours together” She said, but I could see the hint of a smile on her face as she thought about her wedding.
“I know I know, I just need to get this all figured out. I’m just sorta nervous. What if he doesn’t like me anymore? He used to be so… so… so in love? Now I don’t think he really wants anything to do with me”
“That’s not true I’m sure. In fact I’m sure he still loves you. It’s you and Stiles-”
“You always say that. It’s me and Stiles. I don’t think that really makes sense to me anymore. Maybe it used to, but now he’s successfully avoided me for months. I think we’ve lost it Alli”
“You’ve said that before. And this is nothing compared to what you’ve gone through. I think you can make it through this” I sighed and went back to scrubbing the countertops. “You still love him right?”
“Yeah of course I do” I responded.
“Well then what’s stopping you?”
“Fear of rejection?”
When we’d finished cleaning and Allison went home, I’d taken Madi back to sit on my bed while I looked over my shoe choices. The dress that Allison had picked for me to wear was actually beautiful, it was a deep blue dress that fell a little past my knee, and had long lace sleeves. It was gorgeous. She had planned for my hair to be in effortless curls that would probably take an hour to perfect. Yeah, I think it’s ironic too.
“Madi, white heels or black?” I held out the choices to her.
“Those!” She said excitedly as she pointed to the white ones.
“Yeah I think so too” I smiled and slipped them on my feet, admiring them in the mirror. “Good choice” I told her with a wink and put the other pair away. Madi smiled at me and rolled back on the blankets, kicking around and laughing delightedly. After one more look in the mirror, I decided that these are indeed the shoe I was looking for. Then put them in a safe place in my closet. I turned to see Madi lying back on the bed and crawled in next to her, staring up at the ceiling as she was. “What’re we thinking about little girl?” I asked, and she blinked.
“At home with his dad, you saw him last week”
“Today?” I shook my head.
“Sorry baby… I think he’s busy” She frowned and looked over at me. “I’m sorry honey” I held my arms out and she crawled over, laying her head on my chest and the rest of her body pressed against my side. I rubbed a hand up and down her back, whispering softly until she seemed calm and no longer sad.
“Mommy can I have lunch?”
“Magic word?” I asked, already sitting up and lifting her to set her safely on the ground.
“Pwease?” I giggled and nodded.
“Alrighty, since you asked so politely” I said in a posh accent that made her giggle and run (as best as her little legs could take her anyway) into the kitchen. “How about mac and cheese?”
“My favorite!” She said excitedly, and rabbed the seat of a chair. I watched as she stepped onto a bar under it and pulled herself on top.
“Oh good job! You’re such a big girl aren’t you?” I said, clapping for her and grinning.
“I am mommy!” She exclaimed as I poured a box of noodles into the boiling pot of water. Madi was singing a song I’d never heard of at the table while I nonchalantly stirred the pot. I think she started to just sing gibberish words because I couldn’t even make out what was being said, but then I heard her repeat ‘humpty dumpty’ over and over. No, not the rhyme, just the name. But it made me laugh.
When I finished her lunch, I pulled out a small plastic elmo bowl and dumped some macaroni in there for her, and stuck a plastic fork in there too.
“If I let you do it on your own, promise to try to stay clean?” I asked, and she nodded, excitedly grabbing for her fork.
“I promise mommy!” She said.
“Wait a moment or two dear, it’s gonna be hot” She nodded.
“Okay mommy” I ruffled her hair and went into the kitchen to get myself a bowl. Right as I’d scooped up a large spoonful to plop into it, there was knocking at the door.
I swear the gods don’t want me to eat.
But, as I always do, I walked over to the door. But not before putting my helping of lunch into my bowl. I took a few bites on the way, trying to enjoy my meal before Allison yanks me away for last minute wedding planning, or Scott begs to know what Allison’s dress looked like. Part of me hoped it was Stiles, standing there out of breath from running up the stairs. Maybe he’d come in and just kiss me, like he did the first night, tell me he loved me and was sorry. We’d both apologize and kiss again before he pulled me in for a tight hug. I was smiling when I opened the door. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Theo?” My voice was muffled from the mac and cheese in my mouth, but manners were the last thing I cared about at the moment.
“Hey… y/n” I nod slowly, waiting for him to tell me just what the hell he was doing here. “I came by to see you, but mostly Madi” I raised my brows, peaking around the corner to where my daughter was gleefully eating her lunch while saying ‘humpty dumpty’. How ridiculous and young.
“And you’re here because…?”
“Because she’s my daughter and I have the right to come see her?” I grit my teeth but stepped away so he could come in.
“You get one chance Raeken. One” I hissed quietly. “And if you screw it up, then you lose that right. You lose the right of being her father, you lose the right of coming into this apartment, or ever speaking to either one of us again. Do. You. Understand?” I was trying to keep quiet, as not to alert Madi, but it was difficult not to yell at him, and to keep my voice even.
“I understand” He said with a curt nod. I walked into the dining room, and Madi turned to look at us, cheese all over her face. I giggled softly and walked over to her, setting my own bowl on the table as I took a napkin and cleaned her mouth.
“Who is that mommy?” She whispered, staring at Theo with big eyes.
“That… he’s… Madi this is your Dad” She stared at me now, surprised and something else I couldn’t really tell. Maybe sadness.
“He is?” She asked, and Theo walked over closer.
“I am, it’s nice to meet you Madison” He said, kneeling down to be at her eye level. She stayed silent, looking at me nervously.
“It’s okay Madi” I reassured, and helped her off of the chair. “I’m gonna go change out of my work clothes” I said to them, and began to walk back to my room. But I was stopped when I felt little arms wrap securely around my leg.
“Mommy don’t leave me” She whispered up to me, her voice bordering a whimper.
“Oh sweetie don’t be silly, I’m coming right back. Why don’t you show your father your toys?” She let out a few uneven breaths, and I bent over to pull her from where she’d wrapped herself around my leg.
“You’re fine love, I’ll be right back” I said, and walked to my room, closing the door before she could run in with me.
“You wanna show me your toys?” Theo asked Madi, an she shook her head. “Okay, you wanna show me your room?” Another head shake. He tried to think of what to do to make her earn trust in him, but nothing much came to mind. She was just standing there staring up at him, fingers playing with the poofy material of her green mermaid scale styled skirt. “You like living here with Mommy?” Theo asked, awkwardly putting his hands in his pockets. She nodded this time.
“And Alli and Scoot- Scott- and… and sometimes auntie Lydie and Stiles” She said, forming words as best she could. “Stiles is my daddy” Theo’s brows raised, blood instantly boiling. “He’s my daddy. You’re not my daddy”
He kneeled down quickly, unsure of what to do seeing as she was almost three years old, just that he knew he was angry and know one pisses of Theo Raeken without paying for it. But y/n came back into the room.
(back to your pov)
I smiled as I walked in to see Theo tickling Madi, making her giggle and squeal. But when She turned and saw me, she ran right back to me and hugged my jean clad legs. She sat on my feet and buried her face into my shins.
“Having fun?” I asked with a small smile. Theo nodded and I looked down to Madi, who didn’t give me an answer, just hid herself further against me. “Alright… maybe it’s time for your nap, is that alright?” SHe nodded, and lifted her arms so I could pick her up. “Uh, Theo there’s macaroni in the kitchen if you’re hungry, and drinks in the fridge” I said. He nodded, and promptly took Madi to her room.
“Mommy I want Stiles” She told me when I set her in her crib, sliding off her clothes to put on her comfy pajamas.
“I know sweetie but Theo’s your father” I told her.
“Mommy I don’t like him” She whispered out, and I smiled sadly.
“You’ll grow to I’m sure. It takes time to like people” I said, putting on her fluffy pink pajama set. “I love you baby “ I leaned over and kissed her forehead softly.
“Love you mommy” She said back in a hushed and sleepy tone. I left the room trying to compose myself as best I could. But all I could think of was how it didn’t take any time for her to like Stiles. She’d loved Stiles immediately. Maybe keeping them away from each other for the past three months hadn’t been a good decision. Maybe I was the one in the wrong and I should’ve fought harder to keep him around. I went into the dining room, seeing Theo looking in the fridge.
“I thought you had drinks, where’s the beer?” He asked. I winced, and collapsed on the sofa, pulling out my book and ignoring him.
I missed Stiles too.
ooh guys pt 15 is the wedding… i’m excited to share with you. it’s going to be super long, like super long, so idk when it’ll be posted yet. have a good rest of your week kiddos!
Ok but was Rick really not aware that chili mac and cheese is a thing??? He sounded so awestruck by it like “Hey baby look what I discovered; mac, cheese, and chili TOGETHER. All in one. They put the stuff with the thangs Chonne and it’s got that seasoning you were tryna show me.”