smoothie pops

Best friends - Pittsburgh Penguins (PT Diaries, Episode 8)

Requested by anon: Could you write a PT Diaries chapter that includes Kris Letang’s adorable little boy? Maybe he has his first crush on the PT or the team tries to use his cuteness to get something from her. I’m really open to any ideas you may have to incorporate that adorable kid. Really enjoying this story!!

A/N: I’m not really sure about this, but I hope you like it.

Word count: 1201

Warnings: none.

Episode 1  Episode 2  Episode 3  Episode 4  Episode 5  Episode 6  Episode 7

Master list

Originally posted by bennyandthestars

I lock the door of my office, heading to the rink to keep an eye on the injured players who are skating today. The Penguins are having no luck with injuries this year, having up to six players on the injury report. I’m looking down at my schedule, trying to figure out how I am going to treat everyone when someone runs into my legs. Someone really small.

“Alex, soyez prudent! (Alex, be careful!)” I look down to see a child gripping at my legs, followed by an out of breath Bang-Bang Letang. “S’excuser auprès de (y/n) (Apologize to (y/n)). In English.”

I haven’t understood a word of what he has said, but I can easily tell that the blue eyed kid that is stuck to my leg is Alexander Letang, Kris’ son. I hold the kid by his shoulders and push him away from me slightly so I can kneel in front of him.

“Hello, buddy.” I say, extending my hand to him to shake it. The kid looks at me for a little longer before grabbing my right hand with his left one and squeezing a little.

“Salut (Hello).” He answers me, not letting my hand go.

“Alex, English.” Kris warns him again and I smile, encouraging the little kid to speak in English.

“Hi.” He says shyly and my heart melts.

“ALEEEEEEEX.” I hear from the other side of the hallway and I look up to see small girl running to us.

I look at Kris and he just shakes his head, stopping the little girl before she crushes into me as well.

“Estelle, say hi to (y/n).” Kris instructs and the girl looks at me from head to toes, evaluating me.

“Hi.” She says with a big smile after she decided I am trustworthy.

“Hello, sweetheart.” I say, giving her a smile back.

Estelle is Marc Andre’s oldest daughter and his dad never stops talking about her and her little sister.

“Flower and I brought these two to practice so the wives could get things done today.” Kris explains me and I nod, looking at the children. “We are having a little skate after practice.”

“Do you want me to take care of them until you are done?” I ask.

I’ve always loved children. I had my first niece when I was fifteen, so I guess that I am more than okay with taking care of children.

“You have no idea of what you are getting into.” Kris warns me. “They are worse than Sid and Geno together.”

I laugh, extending my hands to the kids. They take my hand without even thinking about it.

“I think we will be fine.” I say and the two kids nod.

“Se comporter. (Behave)” Kris says in French and the kids nod again.

Kris turns around and walks on his skates back to the rink, leaving me with Alex and Estelle.

“Do you want to go watch daddy play hockey?” I ask them, kneeling so I am on the same height as them.

“Oui!” Alex says, but he realizes his mistake soon. “Yes!”

“Should we get snacks before we go?” I wonder and they both nod frenetically.

The kitchen is the best place of the whole ice rink if you ask me. When you spend hours and hours here working it is nice to have a place packed with snacks and drinks. Because of the Penguins policy, everything on the kitchen is healthy-ish, so I know that Kris and Marc Andre won’t kill me for giving their kids junk food.

“What should we grab, guys?” I ask, opening the fridge for them to see what there is.

The three of us decide that smoothies, grapes and air popped popcorn is good enough to watch the team skate and we venture out to the rink, sitting on the stands. Having kids there is the worst thing ever for Mike Sullivan, who has to scream at least half a dozen times to get the attention of his players, who are too busy waving and pumping against the glass in front of the kids.

“If you don’t do this drill right Estelle and Alex have more chances to be at tomorrow’s game than you two.” He warns Sidney and Conor, who have spent five minutes begging the kids for a handful of popcorn.

I am taking notes on everyone’s performance when Alex and Estelle start screaming next to me, so I pick my head up to see Evgeni walking towards us, supporting himself on crutches. I have to stop grab the kids by their waist so they don’t run him over.

“Hi kids.” He says, sitting on the seat next to mine and putting the metal crutches on the floor. “Zdravstvujte ljubov’ (Hello love).” He says to me, even though I only understand the first word he says.

“Zdravstvujte Geno (Hello Geno).” I answer him.

“I want grape.” He says to Alex, who is holding the zipblock bag with grapes in it.

Both kids get on their feet and walk to Geno, who sits both Alex and Estelle on his healthy lap, giving me a look telling me that he was fine.

“Geno, is she your girlfriend?” I hear Estelle whisper to the big teddy bear Geno is.

“Net (No).” Geno says in Russian, making the kids giggle. “She help recover.”

“She is a doctor?” Alex is the one asking this time, making me smile while I watch Murray’s movements, writing a few notes on my pad.

“Net (No).” Geno says again. “She is therapist.” He looks at me for help and I giggle a little.

“Well, I know a lot of games.” I explain, putting my notepad down. “Games that help them,” I point at Geno and the guys on the ice, “get better when they are injured.”

The kids seem really amazed by my job, but Geno looks at me with a look that screams ‘liar, liar, pants on fire’.

“Right now I am thinking of games to play with each one of them.” I keep talking and Estelle and Alex nod for a second before turning their attention to their snack, giving Geno food when he asks for it.

I concentrate on the practice going on, keeping my eyes on the injured guys but also taking a few notes about how we could improve the performance on the ice of some of the other guys.

“(y/n), (y/n), help.” Alex yells, tugging my shirt.

I look away from the ice and back to the kids and Geno. They are all standing and looking at me.

“Skates. Tie.” Alex says again, not letting my sleeve go.

I stand up, putting my notepad on the seat and following them to the bench, where their skate bags are. Geno sits on the bench and Estelle sits besides him, putting her feet on his lap. I do the same, taking Alex’ shoes off and changing them for a pair of skates.

“Good?” I say, tying up his skates.

“Oui.” He answers and I put him on the floor and holding his hands, helping him to the ice and then doing the exact same thing with Estelle, watching them both skate to their fathers.

“Kris said that they are worse than Sid and you.” I tell Geno, sitting next to him on the bench and looking at the children skate around the players.

“They are best friends too.” He replies.

Walked into this store trying to find a simple smoothie, came out with cool customized frozen yogurt pops 🍦

How to Grade a Poem

A poem is just that

A poem

You cannot be judged for it

No grade can be given to true art

It is as love,

You cannot measure it,

You can only admire it,

And enjoy it as best you can

For the time being.

To try and rate a poem

Is to rate a person

On how creative they are

Some people aren’t artistic,

That’s just who they are.

To hurt them for that is just wrong.

You wouldn’t hurt someone

Just because they can’t play a sport.

Or if they can’t draw.

If someone’s poem isn’t like yours,

That’s a good thing.

No one should be the same.

Every person,

Like a snowflake,

Unique and different.

Poems are your own,

To interpret and write as you want.

They are for enjoyment,



Artistic outlet.

Poems aren’t meant to be revised,

They need no grammar,

They have no rules,

To go by them, must be such a snooze.

If I were a poem,

I wouldn’t want to be judged,

Or given a grade,

Based on how much I’ve changed.

I’d be content to exist,

To bring pleasure to those who read me.

So thank you Mrs. Warwick,

You have inspired me greatly,

To write more poetry,

And to prove that D wrong.

You graded me harshly,

For not revising a thing that didn’t need to be changed.

You made me cry,

And for that,

I thank you.

You have inspired me,

Although inadvertently,

To remember you as someone differently

Than I’m sure you now are.

You have been the inspiration

For this poem.

If you believe this poem deserves a D

Just like that last ones,

Then give it a D,

I don’t care

Because in my heart

It is always an A.

And that is all that matters.

Crowley Was Right

Originally posted by acklesjensen

Pairing : DeanxReader, Sam
Words: 883
Author: Mel

SHOT GUN!” You both yelled it at the same time. You glared up at Sam. “Race you!” was all he said before he ran for it.

“NO FAIR! YOUR LEGS ARE AS LONG AS MY WHOLE BODY!” Dean sat in the car laughing at you running after Sam. Sam obviously got to the seat first, and he looked pretty proud of himself.

Sasquatch.” you mumbled at him.

“Get in.” Dean chuckled as he started up the Impala

“Fine.” You gave Sam a smug look as you climbed over his lap to sit between him and Dean, tossing your bag into the seat behind you.

“What..!?” Sam started, but Dean growled at him to shut the damn door already. He didn’t want to waste time on you two arguing. He also didn’t want to get involved. No matter what side he chose, he’d never hear the end of it.

You went to turn on the radio, and Sam grabbed your wrist. “Shot gun doesn’t get to touch the radio, remember?”

"I’m technically not shotgun, remember?” You said sarcastically. “Besides, I think that rule just applies to your horrible taste in music.” You stuck out your tongue as you turned on the radio, loud, knowing Dean liked this song. It earned you an eye roll from both of them. Dean was already regretting taking this case, and you guys had just pulled away from the bunker.

An hour later, you and Sam weren’t exactly squabbling anymore. Still taking jabs at each other, but laughing up a storm. Dean sighed contently, happy he didn’t have to threaten to turn the car around, AGAIN.

Three hours into the drive, you had fallen asleep on Sam’s shoulder. Sam was reading a book trying not to move. He knew you had trouble sleeping most nights and must be tired. Every little bump caused your leg to brush against Deans. He glanced down at your exposed leg and licked his lips, silently thanking the warm weather and loving shorts season. Your nap only lasted about 45 minutes, but it was refreshing.

The first town you hit after waking up, Dean decided it was a good time to grab some lunch. You hit up a drive through, and parked in the parking lot, eating in the car. The boys had been in this town on a hunt before, and didn’t want to risk being seen by more people then needed.

You shared a massive chocolate milk shake with Dean while you both scoffed down Burgers. Sam got a wrap, and a smoothie. Crowley popped in to discuss ‘business’ or so he said, but he spent most of the time flirting with you, which pissed Dean off. He brushed your hair aside and whispered something  in your ear before vanishing. You blushed. “What the hell did he say?” Dean growled.

“Nothing important.” you smiled, leaning your head on Dean’s shoulder. “Lets go.” You heard him grumbled about Crowley flirting with you, as he pulled out of the parking lot.

The rest of the ride towards the job was spent laughing and singing along to Deans music. Your thigh kept brushing against Deans. A few times while laughing, your hand fell to his thigh, which resulted in him shifting in his seat slightly as he looked away. You smiled at that. When you went to grab something from the back seat, your boob brushed against his arm, and he bit his lip trying to keep his eyes on the road while you ass was almost right next to his face.

Astronomy started playing. That song always made you sleepy. You smiled and leaned your head on Dean, snuggling close to him, your hand on his thigh. He cleared his throat and glanced at Sam who wasn’t paying attention. He smiled down at you for a second before turning back to the road. You looked so at peace with your eyes closed as your fingers on his thigh tapped along to the music. He shifted himself a bit lower in the seat, trying to adjust himself as discreetly as possible. You opened your eyes at his movement, and when you saw his hand go down to adjust himself, you smiled. You shifted once he settled, moving your hand farther up his thigh, biting your lower lip when he started cursing under his breath. You used your thumb to rub his thigh, and heard a small moan escape him.

“You alright Dean?” Sam asked.

“Yeah..” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine Sammy.”

When your thumb found his growing erection, he cursed, pulling the car over to the side of the road.

“What the hell Dean?” Sam asked, looking around.

“Get out.”

You sat up, Deans hazel eyes staring deep in yours. “Sammy, I said get the hell out.”

“What!? we are in the middle of nowhere Dean, where the hell am I suppose to go?” He opened the door and stepped out.

“We’re a few miles outside of town. Start walking.” he  reached over, shut the door and pushed you down so you were laying back in the seat, his body over yours.



You could hear Sam kick up rocks as he started walking towards town. Deans lips crashed into yours hard. You were right Crowley, you thought. He is interested.


Alright. So maybe not a *million*. I split half a bushel with my mom and sibling the younger, but that’s waaaaaayy more than I know what to do with/can reasonably eat without causing dietary distress.

So what should I do with them? Soup? Pie? Tart? Gelato? Frozen smoothie pops? Jam?

(I also may have challenged sibling the younger to a peach recipe war… Take pity on me.)

maddylonglegs-archive  asked:

Just thought of silliest prompt: coffeshop!au (kind of) jon works at some hipster independent coffee shop called the Night's Watch, when Sansa's smoothie shop & bakery opens next door. At first they hate each other bc Sansa's like gross flannel coffee hipster and Jon's all ugh yuppy smoothie girl; but then they fall in love

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mrcoolz3000  asked:

Uh Dennys, aren't haiku's supposed to be about nature? I don't think your poem counts as a haiku.

the fonz elbowing a machine, whose sole purpose is playing music and has none of the ingredients nor glassware required to serve a smoothie, so smoothly, so cooly, so effortlessly, that somehow a delicious smoothie in a glass pops out to refresh him, is infinity times more beautiful than anything Mother Nature can conjure at this point in time, so yes, I’d say this haiku, which is also a format that has transcended its original thematic anchoring, is not only about nature but supersedes the entire idea of nature itself, surely counts as a haiku. 




Lunchtime at Teddy Bear Avengers Tower

Tony grinds soy and kale for a smoothie
Bruce has a cup of calming herbal tea
Thor pairs his Pop Tarts with a Midgardian ale
Clint prefers pizza, even cold or stale
Bucky eats vodka, with potatoes and…herring??
Steve will have one of everything!

A Thousand More

Prompt: The three first dates you have with Sebastian & (somewhat) Reader can’t sleep, Seb wakes up to her tossing and turning, takes her out for a late night snack at a small town diner

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Genre: Fallin’ in love in weird places

Word Count: 4,164

Author’s Note: Idk man, I’ve been drinking a lot of smoothies lately and the cute boy behind the counter remembered my name and I just got this idea? idk I hope everyone enjoys~

It’s on a breezy Sunday afternoon that you find yourself at the smoothie pop-up shop in Central Park. The scene is almost like one out of a movie- with the wind rustling the trees and the birds singing, with kids running circles around their distressed but smiling parents, and people falling in love by the lake. The air is warm, but only just enough to outweigh the cool breeze that whips around your body as you order. The woman in the truck recognizes you immediately, confirms with a nod and a smile that yes, you’d like your regular, before she sets to work on making your drink. There’s a small line forming behind you and you’re easily able to tell that the afternoon rush is just minutes away from starting. You know that people don’t tip when this happens, so you’re sure to lay down an extra ten when the woman gives you your drink.

“Thank you, Lane. Tastes as wonderful as always,” the woman bats you away with a smile and a blush before moving on to the customer behind you. You’re quick to move to the single, two-seater table that’s available. The iron burns the skin under your shorts, but only enough to make you shift uncomfortably for a few minutes as you get used to it. You pull a few magazines from your bag- a pop culture one about the newest movies, a tech one about the latest and greatest inventions, and a Sudoku for when you finish both.

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