lunch cart

Me & Jack Kerouac

The first time I ever heard the name Jack Kerouac I was fifteen years old and my dad was cracking a joke about my friend James Thiede who wanted to take a bus to California: “you guys want to be Jack Kerouac now huh?” I had never heard the name but man somehow right after hearing that I did want to be Jack Kerouac. Or at least know who he was. The name alone–the rhyme, the funny French vowels in the surname, it just sounds endearing. So I checked out On the Road from the Redford library. It turns out it was the perfect time in my life to come across him, I was going into my junior year of high school that fall which meant that my friends had licenses for the first time (I didn’t get mine until I was seventeen), which then in turn meant everyone was able to really start partaking in the activities high schoolers tend to partake in at night. Just by nature of having cars suddenly the world seemed so open to adventure. In retrospect many of these “adventures” have certainly been romanticized by nostalgia, after all driving around from parking lot to parking lot smoking pot after football games and drinking your parents’ weird liqueurs while listening to Built to Spill in the back of a minivan isn’t exactly Treasure Island, but reading Jack Kerouac made it all feel the more fantastic (in the most literal “of fantasy” sense). Reading Jack Kerouac that fall was the first time in my life my eyes were really opened to how fiction can make the mundane magical, how with just the slightest bit of imaginative perspective the everyday world could be transformed into the sublime. I was sixteen reading this book about this guy riding around with friends getting high and drunk “in the American night” looking for something to give life meaning and purpose and here I was doing the same thing for the first time. And for the first time in my life I saw fiction not as just entertainment or a window into some other world but also as some weird sort of funhouse mirror that could reflect life and refract it back upon itself in ways that made it seem more beautiful, more full of purpose. Reading Jack Kerouac meant that suddenly eating cheeseburgers in the glow of a diner at night could be beatific, and that drinking beer in an apartment while listening to records with friends could have the potential for religious experience.

Of course a lot of this is me being sixteen and having the sort of dopey, romantic feelings sixteen-year-olds have, but those are exactly the sort of feelings Kerouac plays too, he finds what Springsteen referred to as the “waltz between what’s flesh and what’s fantasy.” His perspective was so childlike and wondrous that he saw his life not only as adventure and material for fiction but also as part of this big intertextual tapestry of American history and literature. He sees Steinbeck characters in the faces of lunch cart cooks, sees the rolling land of America as the result of Paul Bunyan’s axe and other folk mythologies. The American landscape is one giant Thomas Hart Benton mural through Kerouac’s eyes. And so when reading Kerouac, I began to do the same as him- projecting the history of American fiction onto my reality- seeing Dean Moriarty and Carlo Marx in the faces of friends I was having my own nocturnal American adventures with.

I know for a lot of people it’s the bebop rhythm of his writing (“glug a slug from the jug”) or the spontaneous prose approach he had borrowed from the modernists and placed in a jazz improvisation context– writing full sized novels in weeks at a time holed up in bathrooms on Benzedrine—but for me it’s less about the form and process and more about his mood and tone. It’s that aforementioned childlike wonder that really gets me with Kerouac, the romance he finds in simple scenes like eating beans and hot dogs over a fire while hopping trains in The Dharma Bums, or finding redemption from his downward spiral into alcoholism through something as kind of simple and naïve as looking at the stars in his backyard at the end of Big Sur (“on soft spring nights I’ll stand in the yard under the stars, something good will come from all things yet, and it will be golden and eternal just like that”). Perhaps the best example is the famous closing passage of On the Road. After following an over three-hundred-page journey that spans several years of traveling coast to coast across America all through his eyes he tracks the camera back to a bird’s eye view of America, and in one giant paragraph-sized sentence he paints the entire country going to bed:

“So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, and all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight… the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all the rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty.”

He’s also at his best when his writing appeals directly to the senses. Short of Hemingway I don’t think I’ve read anyone who’s better at writing about food, from the apple pie in On the Road (“it was getting better as I got deeper into Iowa, the pie bigger, the ice cream richer”) to the breakfast he cooks for himself in The Railroad Earth:

“and make raisin toast by sitting it on a little wire I’d specially bent to place over the hotplate, the toast crackled up, there, I spread margarine on the still red hot toast and it too would crackle and sink in the golden, among burnt raisins and this was my toast. Then two eggs gently slowly fried in soft margarine in my little skidrow frying pan about half as thick as a dime in fact less, a little piece of tiny tin you could bring on a camp trip—the eggs slowly fluffed in there and swelled from butter steams and I threw garlic salt on them and when they were ready the yellow of them had been slightly filmed with a cooked white at the top from the tin cover I’d put over the frying pan, so now they were ready, and out they came, I spread them out on top of my already prepared potatoes which had been boiled in small pieces and then mixed with the bacon I’d already fried in small pieces, kind of raggedly mashed bacon potatoes, with eggs on top steaming, and on the side lettuce, with peanut nearby on side.”

This is the stuff that I love. It’s so simple. The guy devotes an entire page long paragraph to the breakfast he cooks for himself. That appetite too. You read that and suddenly you’re hungry, he’s great at that type of thing. If Kerouac writes about bowling, suddenly you want to go bowling.

Now I also should say there’s also a lot to Kerouac’s oeuvre that hasn’t exactly held up for me in the last seven years since I first read him, and specifically a lot of what I don’t like is directly connected to what I love so much. There are times for me when his childlike wonder and optimism can drift into the proto-hippy abstract a little too much, times when I wish Jack would kind of see the world through more of a rational, adult point of view. There are also times when this rose-tinted POV and childlike appetite for adventure can cast a shadow on his ethics, such as the myriad number of scenes throughout On the Road when you just want to grab Jack by the collar and beat it into his head that Neal Cassady isn’t a good guy. He has three different wives with children all across the country and here he is still behaving like he’s a kid, manically running back and forth across the country answering to nobody and living solely in search of “kicks”. Not to mention the different times both he and Jack discuss wanting to have sex with high school girls. That stuff pretty obviously can’t be reconciled. And as much as I’d like to section off the Jack Kerouac that I love and admire from the Jack Kerouac that makes me want to gag and regret ever mentioning that he’s a literary hero of mine, that’s just not possible. Those parts are connected.

But while it can be disheartening to see your heroes pale when you revisit them later on, the more critical approach that comes with rereading someone you loved in your youth as an adult I think can actually deepen the meaning of the work and your connection to it. When I first read Kerouac there was an authority that came with it. This was serious literature. The context of mystery and coolness that surrounded the book in my mind when I first found it that summer in high school meant that no matter what was written inside I was going to think it the greatest writing ever. But as I keep rereading it over the years I come at it each time with a more critical eye and I begin to pay attention to the authority of context that comes with reading writers that have been canonized. I start to notice that the Neal Cassady that I thought was so cool as a kid is actually a shitty father who cheats on his wives as well as a child predator. Now I start questioning if the Beats are just some hedonistic, self-righteous hipsters. After all this Neal Cassady is their proclaimed “Hero” and Jack and Allen are both very enchanted by his ethos and show no real signs of critique towards him. But then I remember that they were both also very religious. And quite pious too. Jack claims in the Dharma Bums that he was celibate for a year as part of his Buddhism. The sex, drugs & rock and roll jazz lifestyle they lived wasn’t solely for pure bodily pleasure, it was supposed to be part of a search for experience. “Truth”. I don’t know these days I feel about all of that. It becomes this big chess game of sincerity and authenticity that I don’t like getting into. “Were they doing this because they sincerely believed it or were they doing this to be cool?”
I worry a lot about whether or not I identify with the Beats or not. When I imagine the Beat Generation that’s been portrayed to me over the years through pop culture I see a café filled goatees and berets and people snapping to spoken word poetry over congas. That feels really ridiculous to me. When I think about the real life antecedent for an image like this, like Ginsberg’s famous reading of “Howl” for the first time at the Six Gallery in San Francisco, and Kerouac’s recollection of this night that supposedly spearheaded the “San Francisco Renaissance”, how they passed around jugs of wine and started yelling things like “go!” and “yeah man you’ve got it!” like it’s a jazz club, I’ve got to be honest I kind of roll my eyes.” And I don’t like that I’ve become cynical like that. I hate that it turns into this game of “I really and truly and authentically like and “get” the Beats, you’re just posturing to be cool.” Because that’s how I got into them. I got into the Beats specifically because of this context of supposed cool that I saw around them when my dad first cracked that Kerouac joke and sent me down the rabbit hole that’s led me to right here, right now.

I know that I do love Jack Kerouac’s writing. It’s tender and exciting and it feels like talking to an old friend. It reads best in the late summer and the fall and it’s September now so.

From Con to Con (Part Sixteen)


Part Fifteen

A/N: I didn’t mean for this to take so long to write but it did. Oops…

Words: 6,074

Warnings: fluffiness, language, kissing, discussion of sex

You were sitting on the couch, your back against one of the arm rests and your legs spread out against the other couch cushions, relaxing in the green room. Since you didn’t have anything scheduled for Friday, you got to see some behind the scenes somewhat.  No one was in the room at the moment so you were scrolling through Twitter to see what people were saying about the convention so far. Everyone seemed to be having a pretty good time and there was plenty of chatter about you and Rob being an item. There were a few negative comments that you quickly scrolled past but overall the fans were excited about the two of you dating. You were in the middle of a reply to someone when Rob came in after his solo photo ops.

“How you doing beautiful?” He asked, standing by you.

“Good.” You said, looking up and smiling at him. You sat up so Rob could sit next to you. With was no one else in the green room at the moment and you wanted to enjoy the little alone time you had with him. He sat down next to you, casually putting his arm behind you and you snuggled into his side. His other hand landed on your knee as you set your phone down. “I was just looking at Twitter.”

Keep reading

BTS as shit I have heard/seen during lab
  • (a/n: this will be from both the teachers and the students)
  • Jin: I may be old, but I am definitely not 50!
  • Yoongi: Can we just have, like, these three kids only today? They're the nice ones.
  • Hoseok: *during nap time* Can you pat me?
  • Namjoon: *picks up cup of milk* *spills it everywhere*
  • Jimin: *runs to the lunch cart to get napkin dispenser after someone asks for a napkin* Here you go! *proceeds to give napkin to everyone*
  • Taehyung: *constantly lays head against my boobs* Hehe, cuddles
  • Jungkook: We know, we are in preschool, not the baby room. *deep, attitude filled sigh*

Adventures in Costco

Imagine the squad prompts (made by personal experiences in Costco)

1.) Finding a Karaoke Machine and singing (bonus if they have a rap battle and people cheer them on)

2.) one person spending 30 minutes looking at TV’s just for the asthetic videos

3.) calling sample day ‘lunch’

4.) having grocery cart races in the back where no one is (double bonus if a little kid cheers them on)

5.) filling a cart full of Christmas lights that are 60% off

6.) The two jokesters of the group (or power couple) dancing passionately to a mariachi song on the radio

7.) watching lobsters fight in the tank and betting on who wins

8.) playing hide and seek through the whole store

9.) helping a little kid find their parents while playing hide and seek with the squad (triple bonus if it’s the OTP helping the kid)

10.) when it’s close to closing hours Costco plays the crap 90’s music like The Spice Girls and Sugar Ray and Joey Lawrence so they can try to get everyone out quickly. Imagine the squad having a dance battle during this time. (Bonus if employee joins them)

11.) talking about how big the pocky boxes and the store manager thinks they’re talking about something else *wink wink*

12.) Building forts with water bottle boxes they bought in the trunk of their car

13.) Almost couple of OTP fake engagement at Costco’s for a $50 gift card

14.) listening to a biker talk about how their lover is a vegetarian and is sad so they went out to buy them pizza and they don’t know which veggie pizzas are the best so they help him (bonus if biker likes making puns and squad loves it)

15.) squad trying to see how many pyramids they can build with boxed goods and not get caught

16.) Going to Costco before going to comic-com (or something like that) and they’re cosplaying as anime characters or something

17.) Going holiday shopping before Halloween and getting prepared for the next four months

But guys, COSTCO IS MAGICAL!!!! The only one that never happened to me was number 13… because I’m a lonely little bean…


This little lunch-cart scene is basically the entire S1 Mulder Scully dynamic in 30 seconds. Captions above for the looking…

1. Already weirdly in-sync baby Agents react to unknown arrival. 
2. Eye contact convos with with telling glances ensue. 
2. Unknown puts foot in mouth. 
3. Mulder and Scully judge and bond. Rinse and repeat.

happysunshinerainbowbarf  asked:

Do you believe in happy headcannons? Like, at all? For anything?

Happy Jim/Ed headcanons just for you (because I liiiike you.)

  • Ed makes perfectly portioned in Tupperware lunches for work. All of the nutrients the human body needs. Balanced to a fault.
  • Jim is trash who continuously eats from hot dog carts for lunch because he’s too busy being JUSTICE to take care of himself.
  • Ed starts to every once in a while “accidentally” make too much food and gives the “extra” to Jim.
  • Ed also has a candy addiction when he’s working really hard to counter his healthy diet otherwise. He devours everything in the vending machines the precinct has even as he complains that there is no variety. 
  • Jim totally mooches skittles off of him once and it was really cute.
  • Jim also starts to get into the habit of buying Ed weird candies whenever he is taken to a place that sells them during work. Chinatown? Gotta get Ed some variety.
  • Ed learns Chinese because he needs to know what these damn candies are. 
  • Jim is shocked when he finds out Ed learned Chinese as fast as he did. Wow this guy is smart.
Lost and Found


The important thing was not to panic. He had a direction, that was key. What to do about that direction was the real issue. He could feel the wheels spinning in his head, trying trying, thoughts clinging to the edge but it was like he was stuck in mud, unable to make any traction, and even that analogy was beyond him.  The point was, he knew the right analogy existed, but it was ebbing away from him, stuck on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t even taste it.

Food. He aught to figure out food next. Basic necessities were crucial, but like hell he’d go back to that woman’s… thing. Place. Home, he guessed. There was a better way to put it, but alas. That wasn’t important. 


Ed stood in the alley, trying. But nothing came but the gurgling of his stomach. A food truck of some sort- smelled like burgers- was parked on the street just half a block away. He had no money, nothing to his person but the suit he’d nabbed from the manikin and oh dear lord that woman had- 

“If you’re not going to think of anything, don’t think about that,” he hissed under his breath, limping forward toward the smell of cooking meat. One thing at a time. 

His head hurt. His everything hurt, down to the bone. Still defrosting, no doubt. Five months. Rage twisted his twitching features as he lurched toward the cart. The lunch rush was just over, leaving only a handful of patrons waiting for their meals. He hovered behind a moment, before moving closer as though ready to put in his own order. Beside him, someone was using a metal fork to pop condiments onto their burger. Well, one didn’t need to think to run on instinct. 

The fork was snatched, and while the man was distracted by the surprise of this action, it was quickly slammed into his neck, the half-unwrapped burger swiped from his hands, and Ed was off, running as fast as his stiff, uneven gate could carry him, clutching the burger to his chest like a valuable prize. 

Alright, mission one, accomplished. Mission two: find a quiet place to consume it without screaming people and other distractions. Progress.

Deadpool (Supervillain!Luke)

This builds onto the Calum Supervillain post from yesterday, but it is not a “Sequel”. They can be read separately. 

So Luke is Deadpool in this AU, and Deadpool is a villain and occasionally a reluctant hero from Marvel’s Wolverine universe. He has super healing to the extreme, is an expert with any and all weapons, and has (in some versions of comics, never the movies) possessed a bag capable of holding an infinite amount of weapons including his teleportation device which is usually depicted as a belt. That’s really all you need to know! 

Hope you enjoy! The woman mentioned will be Y/n, but she is not a true character until the next “installment” of this AU “Series”.

My Masterlist

Luke looked up as he heard the wheels of the lunch cart outside. They’d be knocking for him to open the slat in his door in a second. He sighed and stood up to go get it.

This was a sad existence. Four walls, an unmoving door, and a little slat that was his only form of interaction with the outside world. He’d been in here five months, and he was starting to feel like he was going crazy. He couldn’t take it anymore! He needed to get out of here, and soon.

They hadn’t let him out, though. They hadn’t even given him a chance. He wasn’t allowed any personal items. His room was searched every other morning. He was allowed one visitor a month for an hour under total supervision. He couldn’t talk to the prison guards (or rather they couldn’t talk to him). His lawyer wasn’t allowed to see him alone. They didn’t even give him utensils with his food, fearing weapons.

Luke prayed for some decent food at least as the knock came, and he slid the panel open, sticking his hand out for his usual tray.

“Might wanna back away from the door, sug.”

“What the…” Luke bent down and glanced out the small slat. On the other side was not the tall, beef man who usually stuffed his food through, making a point to spill as much as possible. Instead there was a young woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and her hair tied into two loose ponytails, one over each shoulder.

She looked oddly familiar, especially her eyes, but for the life of him Luke could not put a name to her face. He’d certainly never seen her here, especially delivering his food. If it weren’t for the odd sense of dejavu he had he’d probably think she was a newbie who someone forgot to tell the rules to.

“You heard me, Deadpool,” She pouted at his face peeping through the slat. “Back away from the door.”

Luke, not entirely sure who she was or what she had planned, did as he was told. He closed the slat back and stepped back to his bed against the wall.

From the other side of the door, there were muffled clanking noises, then the door shuddered. Sparks shot out in little spirts around the seam of the door, and the door creaked and made an angry scraping sound before slowly, shockingly it began to slide open.

There stood the young woman in the doorway, tucking away some type of lockpick-looking device into her pocket. “Hello, Luke. We’ve not got much time, so let’s make the introductions quick. Shall we?”

“Well, you already know who I am,” He pointed out awkwardly.

“True, very true. I would tell you my name, though no one calls me that. I doubt I even consider it my real name anymore, but that’s neither here nor there. I need your help.” He wasn’t sure if he believed anything that was coming out of her mouth.

Luke raised his eyebrow and scoffed, “Why am I helping a total stranger?”

“Because,” The girl reached behind her back and pulled out a revolver gun, pointing it directly at Luke’s forehead and pulling back the hammer of. “I can be very persuasive.”

Luke laughed at that and sat back on his bed. “You know who I am, so you must know what I can do. You know that’ll do you no good on me…”

“Then I’ll get to play around a bit before we get caught. I’ve always been one for a good laugh.” The corner of the girl’s lip twitched up, and Luke got an uneasy feeling in his stomach about the expression. “However,” she let the gun slide in her hand to hang loosely off one finger, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“And why is that?”

“Because,” she smiled sweetly at him and took a step into his cell. “You’re going to do one thing for me. Then, I’m gonna let you go… as in leave this place.”

“Oh?” Luke snorted and looked away, “How generous? And what do you want? One of my lungs?”

“Well, you would regrow it,” she pointed out with a quiet laugh. “But no, I need something of a little more… value.”

Luke focused in his eyes on her and stared her down. “What do you want?”

“Your bag is in lock up. I just need to borrow one of your more… particular items from it.”

Luke knew the bag she was talking about. His weapons bag. They’d taken it from him when he arrived. It was enchanted. It could hold any weapon no matter the size, but the more important point was that only he could take something out.

“Ah,” Luke leaned back on his elbows, “And what would that be? A better gun, perhaps? A sword? Knives? A grenade?” Luke was a weapons expert, and that was putting it mildly.

“No, just… a belt,” she hedged.

He immediately understood. This situation was getting more and more curious. “What does a girl like you need to teleport for?”

She smiled and twirled the gun around her finger, staring at it absently. “While I’m more than happy to let you go if you help me, you are not the person I came here for. He is in a much more… secure location.”

Luke’s eyes widened. There were three levels to this prison. The non-violent, less threatening prisoners were kept above ground. Luke was two floors below the surface in the middle tier security. Currently, there was only one resident of the max-security floor of the prison. He knew who she meant, and he jumped to his feet. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh but I am,” She stopped twirling the gun and turned it on him again. “Do we have a deal or not?”

Luke hesitated a second more but stuck out his hand to shake. “Deal.”

“Excellent!” She smiled and shook his hand, instantly turning on her heels and marching from the cell.

Luke scurried off behind her. “Wait!” His voice dared to venture barely above a whisper, “Where are you going? We don’t have a plan! There are guards everywhere!”

“You don’t have a plan. I do.” The woman started skipping down the hall, and Luke had to run to keep up.

She was mental! What was she doing?! Running off down the hall like this was dangerous. Someone would see. “Do you mind telling me this plan?”

“Half the guards are at lunch right now. A few more are with the warden at a hearing about how they’ve been treating the prisoners. I was overflow stationed to this section. The only guard we’ll have to get passed is the one at the armory.” She explained as they walked through a barred door hanging open at the end of the hall.

She was leading the way through the halls, and Luke tagged along behind. If something went wrong, he’d be happy to let her take the first shot. He wasn’t about to sign up for a suicide mission with a woman he didn’t know.

The armory was on the fourth level below the surface, two floors away from Luke’s cell. It was a long journey, a slow journey, but it relatively uncomplicated.

The pair were silent. She skipped along ahead of him, and he followed quietly behind her, observing everything on the way. The halls were as empty as she said they’d be. There really was only the guard at each station to avoid, and those were easy enough. He would just duck in a doorway while she walked calmly by and waved.

They reached the doors of the armory without even talking to anyone, but that wasn’t Luke’s primary problem. “Did you have a plan for the door?”

“Of course,” The woman smirked back at him, pulling a key card from her back pocket. “After all, responsible employees keep their key cards on them at all times.” She held her card over the scanner and glanced back at him, “There’ll be someone at the front desk who’ll know when I’ve scanned in, and they’ll send someone to double check whenever their available. I’d say we’ve got five minutes, tops.”

“Five minutes is plenty of time.” Luke agreed.

She nodded and scanned her card in, pushing the door open and marching inside, Luke right behind. The pair searched up and down the shelves. Safes of varying sizes lined the shelves, one each for the personal effects of the various prison residents. Luke’s was on the third shelf they went past. It wasn’t a very deep safe, but it was relatively tall, because it housed his two swords.

“I’ve got this,” Luke waved away the woman as she pointed a gun at the safe. He had to give her his teleportation device. He didn’t want her ruining the rest of his things on top of that.

The lock was a metal pad, and Luke broke the top pad free from the keys. Pushing aside the buttons beneath, the wires were exposed, and he traced down the one he thought was the power source and ripped it. The key pad made a chirping noise and died, releasing the locks and letting the door fall open.

Luke pushed it out of the way and pulled out his swords with a wide smile, holding them delicately in his hands. “Finally,” He mumbled as he pulled the straps over his shoulder and attached them to his back.

“Well?” The woman drew his attention, nodding to the pouch sitting in the bottom of the safe, on top of his suit. “We had a deal.”

“And I’m a man of my word,” Luke nodded and picked up the pouch, stuffing his hand down in and pulling out the belt. “Use it well.”

The woman greedily snatched it from his hand and stared down at it with a smile. “Oh I will.” She looked up at him, “Thank you.”

“Wait!” He called as she turned to leave. “Can’t I at least get your name?”

The woman smiled at him with a devilish grin, “My name doesn’t matter, but you can call me Harley… Everyone does.”

The Top Shelf

Cat was fuming. She stood just inside the entrance to the grocery store, a place she certainly did not want to be, instead of at home with her barefeet propped on the coffee table, bourbon in hand, while she listened to Carter enthuse about his day.

That was where she should be, but instead, thanks to the unfortunate mishap that befell her personal shopper earlier that afternoon, she was standing on a grime-covered floor contemplating whether or not she had the mental fortitude, let alone an immune system hardy enough, to actually touch a grocery cart.

Just as she was about to turn around and leave, food for the week be damned—she and Carter could just order out each night— Cat spotted a sanitary wipe dispenser on the wall. Thank, God, she thought as she grabbed one (or three) and started wiping down the nearest cart handle, and then her hands. Vigorously.

Pushing her cart through the unfamiliar aisles, Cat ran through the shopping list she’d mentally, and hastily, composed on the ride over. Item by item she gathered her fruits, veggies, and the components for Carter’s school lunches. Her cart was nearly full, and she was feeling pretty damn proud of herself. She needed only a few more items before she could leave this godforsaken place.

In the breakfast aisle, Cat reached for a whole grain cereal located on the top shelf, where the ‘boring’ cereals always were, according to Carter. Cat was of average height, the only average thing about her, so she should be able to reach the box of cereal. If the box was at the front of the shelf. Her particular brand must have been more popular than she imagined because there were only a few boxes left, and each were at least six inches deep on the shelf— far past what she could reach, even in heels.

Cat stood back and considered her options. She could forego the cereal altogether and get something else or stand on the bottom shelf for a boost. She really wanted that cereal.

With one foot on the bottom shelf, shoving a few boxes of Frosted Flakes out of the way, Cat eased herself up onto the shelf, and she still couldn’t reach it.

“Need help?”

The cheerful question startled Cat, and she stumbled. Her heel caught on the lowest shelf and she felt herself falling backwards. Instead of hitting the floor, she fell against a chest and two strong arms wrapped around her.

“Woah, there,” the same cheery voice said. “Gotta be careful. Especially in those heels.”

Cat cleared her throat. “Right. Yes, well, you know…” Her hand fluttered, gesturing towards the box of cereal that remained annoyingly out of reach.

The woman chuckled, and made sure Cat was steady on her feet. “Here, I can help you with that.”

She watched as the taller woman easily grabbed the box, but not without a show. Her shirt rode up a bit, and from Cat’s vantage point, she could clearly see well-defined abs underneath the white t-shirt. That was well worth any embarrassment she suffered in the last five minutes. Hell, that sight alone was worth all the trouble of the entire evening.

Cat locked gazes with her rescuer and forgot to breathe. Vibrant blue eyes glittered behind thick lenses, and dark blonde hair fell in waves around her beautiful face. It wasn’t until the box was waved in front of her face that Cat snapped out of her daze.

“Here ya go. Whole wheat. Yum,” the woman said with a smile. God, even her smile dazzled.

“Hey,” Cat replied, snatching the box, “it’s healthy.” She glanced into her rescuer’s cart and saw several bakery items— including two types of pie, a cake, and a box of cookies— along with potato chips, pop-tarts, and goldfish crackers. “Which is more than I can say about all that” she said, pointing at the woman’s cart. “What are you, five years old?”

The woman merely shrugged and grinned. Reaching down, she picked a box of Lucky Charms from the shelf and threw it in her cart. With a wink, she started back down the aisle, and away from Cat.

Cat let out a breath. Confronted with a beautiful woman and what did she do? She insulted her. Instead of getting her number, or being friendly and saying ‘thanks’, she insulted the damn woman. Of course, insulting people was a daily occurrence for her, so that part wasn’t exactly surprising.

It was the woman’s eyes, she told herself. Or her abs… They put her off-kilter. Cat shook her head to clear her thoughts. It had been a long day. She just needed to finish her shopping, and head home.

Slowly, but surely, she walked each aisle collecting what she needed, including two bags of m&ms, until she had only one item left.

Cat stood staring in disbelief. Of course quinoa was on the top shelf, and of course several boxes were already missing. She sighed, resigned. It looked like she’d be climbing once more.

“Hello, again. Need help?”

She turned to find herself face to face with her mysterious rescuer. The woman leaned against her cart, smirking, and the sight gave her butterflies in the pit of stomach. Cat hadn’t experienced butterflies in decades, but damn if this woman didn’t send them fluttering.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Cat admitted. “Quinoa,” she said, pointing in the general direction of the box.

“Coming right up. By the way, my name’s Kara.” She grabbed the box easily, her shirt riding up the same way it had before, and Cat stared. Again.

This time, however, she was caught staring. Kara didn’t seem to mind, though. Her smile only widened, and Cat received another wink.

“Need help getting anything else…?”


“Right. Need anything else, Cat?”

She glanced around the shelves and tried to think of anything she could possibly ask this woman to retrieve for her— anything at all to extend their time together just a little bit more.

“Perhaps. There may have been a few things I’ve missed. You know, top shelf…things.” God, help her. It had been years since Cat attempted to flirt with anyone.

“Yeah?” Kara leaned into Cat and reached past her to put the quinoa in the cart. The brief contact sent shivers through her body. “And what do I get for helping you?”

Me, she thought. Wait, was that too direct?

Instead of blurting out what she really wanted to say, Cat turned and pushed her cart towards the next aisle. She knew that she already had everything on her list, but she would fabricate any reason to prolong this encounter and buy herself enough time to get Kara’s number and secure a date.

Looking behind her to make sure the woman followed, Cat said, “For helping, I’ll share my kale chips.”

“Oh, yeah? Never had ‘em before. It’s a date. I— uh, I mean, deal. It’s a deal.”

As the two walked side by side and chatted, Cat thought that maybe, just maybe, doing her own grocery shopping wasn’t that bad after all.



<< 1.6 Shadows ————————————— 1.8 Ice >>

What exists below this cut is just the latest in my rambling overzealous X-Files episode brain drools. This one has even more gifs and pictures than the last six because @storybycorey asked and I’m powerless to deny her. If you’re reading this on mobile - please send your data bill directly to her.


Keep reading

When you stand by your register with the light on, You have to damn near start riverdancing to get a customer’s attention and let them know you’re able to check them out because they’re looking around at every other register to see which is open WHILE they’re standing in front of yours.

Be at your register when your light is off, finishing up the last transaction before you clock out and go home or to lunch, 3 more carts would come strolling into your lane despite the fact that there are 3 other register open!

Retail is a funny thing.

my makorra elopement wedding headcanon goes something like this

it’s like YEARS after they got back together and he’s doing his detective thing in republic city while korra travels the world doing her avatar thing. he has his apartment but when she comes back to republic city, he usually stays on air temple island with her. on his vacations, they go to the southern water tribe to see her parents

one night she’s home in republic city and they’re snuggling on the rooftop with the city glittering beneath them, just talking about whatever, watching boats cross the harbor as foghorns blow in the distance, and they lapse into a silence. it’s been several months since she last came back and they just want to hold each other for a little while. he’s half asleep when Korra whispers “…hey, let’s get married” and Mako’s heart practically bursts out of his chest because he’s wanted that for such a long time!! but left it up to her because he knew she was happy the way they were

the next day she shows up at the police station and stops at lin’s desk to say hi. “yeah, i’m just meeting mako for lunch,” she says, as mako puts away the case he’s working on. they walk hand-in-hand down to city hall, get married, and have lunch from a food cart in the park. it’s a good lunch.

they return to the police station and mako goes right back to writing his report. korra asks to borrow lin’s phone and makes a discrete phone call to her parents. lin watches them for a while and then she’s like “you two just got married, didn’t you?” and they’re like “NO!!! WOW!!! WE’D NEVER…. JUST LIKE THAT??? NO okay how’d you guess”

“i AM a detective. you’re practically glowing. go take your damn honeymoon somewhere else, all this sugar in my office is gonna bring ants”