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a-night-at-the-0pera · 6 years ago

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Stress Relief, Part 2

PART 1, PART 3

Pairing: College!Joe Mazzello x Reader

Summary: After a few months apart, you decide to go visit your best friend in New York. The stress of his big internship is really getting to him, so you decide to repay him in kind for helping you out in May.

Warnings: Smut (oral, m receiving), friends to lovers, fluff, light angst

Word Count: 6.6k (thicc)

Author’s Note: Okay so I wasn’t specific with a time period in the first chapter of this little series because it didn’t feel necessary for that section…but for the sake of the story in this fic, we’re in modern times, baby!!!! This piece is so long, but I just got so invested in the characters that I couldn’t stop…Joe banter is intoxicatingly fun to write. As always, major love to my friends @denimmay @o-holynight @rogerina-deacon and @sweet-ladyy who helped me think through the ideas in this piece and hyped me up! I can’t wait to hear what you all think…bon voyage! 😉

Warm summer rain splatters the windows of your office building, small rivers of water coursing down the glass as the grey sky empties overhead. You swivel absentmindedly in your desk chair, watching the fierce motions of the windshield wipers on the cars outside. The intern desk is shoved between the copier and the kitchen, which means that your little corner of the office is full of the incessant screeching of the giant, overheated machine or the smell of Karen’s daily tuna fish sandwich being warmed on the crusty old panini press.

Today, however, there are no errant sounds or smells to bother you. In fact, there is hardly anyone in the office. Your bosses had taken most of the full-time employees to a conference in Las Vegas, where they were undoubtedly having a blast while learning about new editing software and the like. Only you and the office administrator Stanley stayed behind, since you were just the summer intern and Stan had his son’s ballet recital on Friday and didn’t want to miss it. It had been a quiet day, and since no one was around to distract you or hurriedly ask for new tasks to be quickly completed, you had already finished proofreading the two articles your bosses had left on your desk that morning.

Stan notices your listless swiveling from his desk across the room, where he’s sorting the office mail for the day.

“You doing alright over there, (Y/N)?”

His voice pulls your thoughts back from the rain, and you shake your head as your eyes refocus.

“Yep, I’m good, Stan. Just a little bored,” you say, before remembering that you’re supposed to be a helpful intern and sitting doing nothing isn’t going to get you a good recommendation letter at the end of the summer. “Uh…can I help you with anything?”

“Me? No, I’m just doing some busy work over here. Did you finish those articles already?” he asks, a tinge of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, I should go put them on Jaime’s desk,” you respond, pushing yourself out of your chair and heading towards your boss’s office.

Stan nods, checking the watch on his wrist.

“You can head home early if you want, (Y/N). Actually, if you want to take Thursday and Friday off too, that’s fine with me.”

You pause, hand held over the doorknob to the darkened corner office, turning to face Stan.

“Are you sure? Would Jaime and Maria be okay with that? I don’t want to just…take time off work. You know, being a good intern and all,” you finish, waving the papers in your hand around.

Stan laughs, shuffling some envelopes on his desk, “In case you haven’t noticed, they’re pretty chill bosses. Plus, that’s all the work they left for you, and I don’t have anything I need help with. The weather’s supposed to be gorgeous, and it would be a shame to be cooped up in this office.”

You slowly nod, darting into Jaime’s office and placing the edited articles on his closed laptop. A long weekend would be really nice. While your internship has been relatively interesting so far, it’s still work, and you’re definitely feeling a bit burnt out.

“Okay,” you smile, “thanks, Stan. I appreciate it. And tell your son to break a leg on Friday!”

Quickly packing up your bag, you shut down the computer and grab your umbrella, waving to Stan on your way out of the office. You instinctively pull out your phone as you wait for the elevator, smiling to yourself when you see the string of notifications on the screen.

Two Snapchats from Joseph Francis.

You swipe open the app as you step onto the elevator, mercifully alone as you press the little red square on your screen. Immediately, the small elevator is filled with the screeching sounds of taxi horns, shouting hot dog vendors and flapping pigeon wings as you watch the video of Joe walking around Midtown in New York City.

Love the smell of garbage and piss in the morning…rise and grind, NYC!

You giggle at the caption. His other picture is him sitting in a fancy-looking office, slumped in his desk chair and puffing his cheeks out.

I’ve worked here for two months and I still have no idea what this company does.

Joe has an internship at a big company in Manhattan, and you’ve been cackling all summer at his videos of him navigating the ins and outs of New York commuter life. The number of rats he’s seen in the subway is truly staggering, but he has found his favorite place to get the coveted $1 “intern price” slice of pizza, and you have a lot of adorably silly photos from his so-called “Pizza Quest” saved on your phone.

The elevator lighting is heinous, but you stick your tongue out and take a quick selfie, typing a quick caption and sending it back to Joe.

Your city is nasty.

Just seconds after you send your snap, he types back:

You’re nasty.

You giggle, taking a snap of the floor.

Well, this nasty girl just got the rest of the week off, so suck it Mazzello.

That’s so fucking unfair, my boss keeps me late like every day.

The elevator dings and you get off, leaning against the door near the building’s exit, not eager to head out into the rain as you close Snapchat and open your text messages to continue the conversation.

Pretty sure it’s illegal for them to do that, Joe. You’re an intern, not an employee, and they aren’t paying you overtime, so…

Oh, but haven’t you heard? I AM being paid! In experience!

Jeez, you sound like my mom.

Go clean your room!

You roll your eyes, slipping your phone back into your pocket as you shake open your umbrella, pushing it open as you leave the building and head out into the rain. The bus stop is right across the street and you quickly cross, only waiting a minute or so for the bus to pull up. You flop down into a seat near the back, leaning your head against the cold window as the rain pounds the glass, feeling the deep roar of the bus’s engine as it pulls away from the curb. After a few minutes, you feel a vibration in your pocket.

Incoming Call from Joey Mozzarella.

You press the green button, pressing the phone to your ear eagerly.

“Hi!” you exclaim, excited to hear his voice.

“Hey there, nasty! Long time, no talk.”

“We literally texted each other five minutes ago, dumbass,” you joke, turning to look out the bus window.

“You know what I mean, (Y/N). I miss you! It’s really boring here.”

“You’re working in one of the busiest cities on the planet and you’re bored? You better lower your expectations for adult life, Joe.”

“Why should I? I deserve the only the best,” he quips.

“Whatever. Die disappointed, then,” you tease, fiddling with the charm hanging off your bag, “So, what’s up with you?”

A deafening, metallic screech screams from your phone as you hear Joe yell something unintelligible. The subway must have just arrived. You hear the sound of chatter and shuffling feet, of bumping shoulders and hastily grunted apologies, before Joe mutters into the phone again.

“Sorry, train just got here. Uh, not much is up here. Dad’s busy with the dance studio, Mom is nagging me about next semester already, and Mary and John are….God knows where. And I’m just here. Interning. Commuting to and from Midtown every day like I’m a 40-year-old mid-tier manager at a giant corporation on Madison Ave. Got the mediocre handshake to match, too.”

You giggle, exhaling on a sigh.

“I miss you, Joe.”

“I miss you, too, kiddo. So, what are you gonna do with your long weekend?”

You shrug, even though he can’t see you.

“I don’t know…sleep? Watch TV? Maybe ride my bike to the park if the weather is nice? Not much.”

The line goes dead, except for the shunting noise of Joe’s subway car barreling quickly uptown.

“No big plans, then,” he tentatively ventures after a few moments.

“Nope, just chilling. Pretty boring.”

“You could come visit me.”

You laugh loudly, getting a harsh look from the older woman sitting across the aisle from you on the bus. Mouthing an apology at her, you glimpse at the board and realize your stop is next, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you move to stand near the bus door.

“Okay then,” Joe drawls from the other end, taking your laughter as dissent, “never mind.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you reply breathlessly, bracing yourself as the bus jerks to a halt, the doors parting with a hiss before you, “just getting off the bus. Uh, I mean I’d love to, but how would I get there?”

You can practically hear Joe’s smile through the phone.

“All roads lead to Rome, (Y/N). Or, I guess in America’s case, all roads lead to New York.”

“Wow,” you say sarcastically, opening your umbrella again, “that really answered my question.”

“Take your pick, idiot. Bus, train, plane, bike, horse…”

“Oh, horse please. I presume you’ll have adequate facilities at your house to feed and water my steed after we arrive.”

“Why of course, madame, the finest hay and water Hyde Park can provide,” Joe grins.

You smile too, the familiar banter putting a spring in your step as you walk along the wet sidewalk.

“In all seriousness though, ya girl is broke. The bus will probably be my best option…I’ll check it out when I get home.”

“So you’ll come? For real?”

You giggle, “yes, if your mom and dad are cool with it! It’ll be nice to see them again.”

“Oh, so you’re just using me to get to hang out with my mom and dad? You’re breaking my heart, (Y/N),” Joe mockingly whines.

“Yep, I met them once on move-in day and I knew I just had to have them. I’ve been playing the long con ever since, Joseph…pity you’ve caught on,” you tease airily, before bursting out laughing.

“That makes it sound like you wanna fuck my parents that’s gross,” he moans, stifling his giggles.

You reach your house, sandwiching the phone to your face with your shoulder as you fish in your bag for the keys.

“I’ll text you the bus details after I clear everything with my parents, okay?”

“I can’t believe you’re coming! This is awesome. So I’ll see you on Friday, then?”

“See you on Friday, Joe.”

* * *

It took a little bit of persuasion, but your parents agreed to let you go visit Joe for the long weekend. Of course, you’re a college student and legally can do what you want, but it still felt like a nice courtesy and, to be quite honest, you don’t feel like a “real adult” just yet. As your city slipped away into the distance, you settled in for the long journey, letting the pinky-beige morning light wash over you as you selected a good playlist on your phone.

That morning relaxation is now a distant memory. The bus driver points out the silhouette of the Empire State Building, still many miles off, rising out of the skyline across the suburban sprawl of New Jersey.

“We’ll be at New York Port Authority in about forty-five minutes,” the driver chuckles out, “as long as we don’t hit the traffic heading to the Lincoln Tunnel.”

You nod politely, grateful for the time update but in no mood to make small talk. All you can think about is Joe, your best friend and closest confidante. The one person who makes you laugh harder than anyone else on Earth. The one person who you can feel totally yourself around.

The one person who’s made you cum.

Everything had been fine after the encounter during finals week, but you two hadn’t been face to face since leaving campus, the emotional and physical distance enabled by social media doing wonders for keeping your feelings at bay. You would never want to jeopardize the friendship the two of you shared, but god damn, the man was good with his tongue. And besides that, the act felt intimate and (dare you say) romantic, like all was right in the world when you kissed for that first time.

But he probably doesn’t feel the same way. It was purely transactional pussy-eating, and you just had to be grateful, get over it, and get laid by someone else, and quickly. Otherwise, you might be heading into senior year without a best friend.

“Fuck,” you whisper, sliding down in the bus seat, the scratchy blue material rubbing against your lower back, “this is why we think through people’s invitations before we say yes, idiot.”

“Did you say something, sweetheart?” the bus driver asks, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, um…how much longer?”

The man lets out a small chuckle, returning his eyes to the road ahead.

“Forty-three minutes.”

* * *

The Port Authority bus station in Manhattan is probably the most chaotic place you’ve been, but the hustle, bustle, and piles of vomit are incredibly helpful in distracting you from your anxiety about seeing Joe. A few minutes before you got off the bus, he had texted you a list of instructions for how to reach Penn Station, plus a few helpful pointers for navigating Midtown.

It’s a straight shot down 8th Ave, about eleven blocks.

Avoid Times Square at ALL COSTS unless you want a man in an Elmo suit verbally harassing you.

If you’re hungry, grab a slice of pizza at 2 Bros, it’s dece.

Meet me outside Penn, across from the Chase Bank.

You stash your headphones in your backpack, swinging it onto your shoulders as you head out into the still-broiling late afternoon heat of Manhattan. You push your way through the throngs of tourists crowding the sun-baked sidewalks, counting down the blocks as you walk. Finally, on your left, you see a sign for Pennsylvania Station, so you cross 8th Ave and start searching for the Chase Bank Joe mentioned. A quick search on your phone shows three different ones all scattered around the perimeter of the train station. Shit.

Uh, which Chase, Joe? I see three on the map…

What do you mean, ‘which Chase’? THE Chase.

Joseph Francis Mazzello you are no help and I WILL die of heatstroke out here

Uh…the Chase…across from Penn Station…

YES, UNDERSTOOD, WHICH ONE ARE YOU AT

I think I see you!!! Wave your arms around

I’ll look insane if I do that

(Y/N) this is New York, I guarantee no one will bat an eye

You roll your eyes, but wave your arms around, craning your neck to see if you can spot Joe anywhere. You’re about to send him a rather snippy text when you hear a shout.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!”

A slightly shaggy head of auburn hair streaks into your vision, barreling towards you at a quite alarming speed. In seconds, Joe is upon you, wrapping you in a tight hug that nearly bowls you over.

“You’re here! Welcome to the Big Apple!”

You can’t help but giggle, squeezing him back with equal enthusiasm.

“Here I am! And I was right…your city is nasty.”

“Rude,” Joe huffs, “you just don’t appreciate the subtle charm of overflowing garbage cans and street meat.”

“Oh, street meat I can get behind,” you laugh, “all I’ve had to eat today was a sandwich and a granola bar.”

The two of you head into the train station, Joe guiding you gently by your arm to avoid getting separated in the commuter rush.

“Didn’t you stop for a slice? I sent you a recommendation.”

“I got a little overwhelmed,” you admit, “and I wanted to see you as soon as possible!”

He checks his watch and winces, turning apologetically to you.

“Our train leaves in five, otherwise I’d offer to stop. But Mom’s making lasagna, so when we get home, we’ll feast,” he says with a wink, pulling you towards the right track. He fishes in the pocket of his blazer and pulls out two tickets, handing one to you as you come to a stop on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, moving to slide your backpack off your shoulders to grab your wallet, but Joe stops you, smiling sweetly.

“No worries, (Y/N), really. You paid for the bus to get here, I can cover the train tickets.”

“That’s not fair,” you pout, “I can pay my own way.”

“I know you can! It was just easier for me to get tickets before, so if you really feel that strongly, you can buy your own from here on out. Or you can continue to let me be a great friend. Your choice.”

You laugh, repositioning your backpack. For the first time, you notice Joe’s outfit. He’s wearing a navy-blue suit, the jacket slightly too baggy and large in the shoulders for his frame but the pants fit well, trendily cropped just above his anklebone. He’s carrying a worn leather messenger bag, the strap digging into the padded shoulder of the blazer, further emphasizing the poor fit. The collar of the white button-up he’s wearing underneath is slightly awry, one edge pointing out over the jacket’s lapel. Instinctively, you reach up and tuck it back under, Joe’s eyes following your hand as you fiddle with the materials.

“Looking very corporate, Joe. I’d say the jacket is a little big, though,” you muse.

He turns a slight shade of pink, hoisting the bag strap up onto his shoulder with a little hop.

“Yeah, it’s John’s suit…borrowed it because mine is being dry cleaned and I had a meeting today.”

“Oh, a meeting, Mr. Hot Shot! What did you present on? The next fiscal quarter? Contracts? Synergy?” you tease, poking him in the ribs.

“Uh…nope. I thought I was going to assist Mr. Johansson with the presentation but I ended up just being the Board’s coffee bitch.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the train comes screeching down the tracks, drowning out any words that would have come. Joe quickly gets on board, plopping down in a seat near the window with a huff, and you do the same in the seat facing him, patting him on the knee.

“I’m sorry, Joe, that really sucks.”

“Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t have expected to actually be able to do anything important at an internship at a giant ad firm. Dad knows Mr. Johansson, and I didn’t have any other summer plans, so I figured that this would be a good, y’know, career move or whatever.”

You lean back in your seat as the train pulls out of the station, blinking confusedly at Joe.

“I didn’t know you were interested in advertising,” you say slowly.

“I’m not, really…I just thought that I should probably get some sort of ‘real-world adult job’, right?” he says, mockingly.

“I thought you were going to do some auditions this summer.”

He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, before muttering, “None of them panned out.”

“Shit, Joe, I really am sorry.”

“Hey, no sweat,” he says unconvincingly, “it happens. I just…wish that I could actually have a career doing what I love, you know?”

“And you will,” you say, perhaps a little too loudly for the commuter train as a few middle-aged men glance grumpily your way, “you will, Joe, I know it.”

He smiles at you, genuinely, before standing to shrug off his blazer. You feel a shiver run up your spine as you realize how much of a disservice to the world that jacket was doing. Joe’s white button down fits him flawlessly, and you can see the muscles in his back ripple as he reaches for the plastic coat hook above his seat. You swallow thickly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Fuck, keep it together.

“So, um, are there other college kids at the ad firm?” you ask, trying to distract yourself as Joe sits back down, unbuttoning the top two buttons of the shirt as he leans back.

“Ugh, you can’t even imagine how terrible the other interns are, (Y/N)…they’re all douchey Econ-major bros. Serious wannabe “Mad Men” vibes. The only thing that I can talk to them about is baseball, and one of them is from Boston, so…”

“I think you’re forgetting that you were kind of douchey when I first met you, Joe,” you tease, kicking his foot with your own, “maybe you should try tapping back into that energy.”

Joe looks sharply at you, mouth agape in indignation.

“Are you joking? I’ve always been sweet, lovable Joe!”

“Hmm, seems like someone has selective memory. Remember in freshman year when you nearly choked trying to do a keg stand at Spring Weekend? And then stumbled into my room thinking it was yours? And then vomited all over my carpet? And THEN left without even apologizing?”

Joe goes beet red, distinctly remembering your face, twisted in shock and horror, as he knelt crumbled near your door, spewing what felt like gallons of cheap beer and dining hall hamburgers.

“I almost reported you to our RA. Thank god we had that English lecture in sophomore year…otherwise I would have spent my entire college career tweeting about every time I saw Asshole Joe from Room 302 doing stupid shit on the green.”

“Well, you still do that, just without the charming nickname,” Joe quips back.

The rest of your train ride to Joe’s town is light-hearted, the two of you sharing stories and catching each other up on the past two months of your lives as the golden rays of the setting sun illuminate the train car.

* * *

“Can I help with the dishes, Mrs. Mazzello? Dinner was lovely, and I’d love to…”

Joe’s mother shakes her head, motioning for you to sit down again, “Absolutely not, sweetheart, Joseph can do the dishes!”

“Which Joseph do you mean, Ma?” your friend jokes, looking at his dad with laughter in his eyes.

“Both of you,” she responds, stacking her plate on top of her husband’s.

“Really, I don’t mind!” you say, reaching to grab the dishes again.

“Stop it, love, you’re our guest!”

Joe’s father stands, stretching slightly before grabbing a stack of plates from the table and heading towards the kitchen.

“(Y/N), she’s not going to let you, so you might as well stop trying. Joey, give your old man a hand.”

As Joe heads to the kitchen, dishes precariously stacked in his hands, you turn to his mother again.

“I just wanted to say thank you again, Mrs. Mazzello, for hosting me. You have a beautiful home and it’s wonderful to see you again!”

“Please, dear, call me Virginia,” she chuckles, and you can see where Joe gets his laugh from as she tosses her head back, “you’re a lovely guest, and I know Joey is beyond happy to have you here. Is there anything you particularly want to do while you’re here? There’s some lovely hiking trails in the Catskills, and of course a million things to do in Manhattan.”

You shake your head, “nope, nothing in particular. I just really missed Joe.”

“I can tell he missed you a lot too,” she smiles fondly.

“Virginia, hon, we’re going to miss the movie if we don’t leave soon,” Joseph calls from the kitchen, over the sound of clinking dishes and running water.

“Alrighty,” she replies, neatly folding her napkin and pushing her chair back.

“What are you kids going to get up to this evening?” she asks, “are you sure you don’t want to come with us? The movie’s supposed to be excellent.”

Again, you shake your head, “I’m pretty tired from all the travel today, so we’ll probably watch some TV and I’ll head to bed early.”

“Well then, I’ll say goodnight now!” she replies, pulling you in for a tight hug.

“And please,” she whispers in your ear, “have fun and be safe.”

Her comment may have been completely innocent, but it makes you cough slightly, patting her on the shoulders as you pull away.

“Uh, will do, Mrs. Maz…Virginia.”

She gives you one final smile before heading towards the front door. You walk into the kitchen just as Joe’s father is drying his hands off, and he gives your shoulder an affectionate pat before heading out of the room.

“Have fun, kids! But not too much fun.”

“Ugh, Dad!” Joe whines, wrinkling his nose at his father’s retreating figure.

You giggle, grabbing the dishtowel and motioning for Joe to hand you the next plate to dry.

“Mom said no,” he says, elbowing you gently away from the sink.

“Okay, fine, Mama’s boy, do it all yourself!” you huff, jumping up to sit on the counter.

“No need to be dramatic, (Y/N), it’s almost done,” he says, motioning to the nearly empty sink, “what do you want to do tonight? We could go on a bike ride around town, or maybe I could see if John wants to hang out and we could…”

A yawn from you cuts him off, and Joe chuckles as you cover your mouth with wide eyes.

“Sorry!” you squeak out, “guess I’m a little more tired than I thought…but either of those sounds good to me.”

“We could also stay in and watch TV, so you can go to bed earlier,” he suggests.

“I don’t want to be a spoilsport! I can rally, if you want to go out.”

“No, TV on the couch sounds perfect, actually…it’ll be good to just zone out after this week.”

You nod, hopping off the counter.

“I’m going to change into some pajamas, if that’s cool,” you say over your shoulder as you head towards the stairs.

“Yeah, that’s, uh…that’s fine,” Joe calls after you, “I’ll meet you on the couch!”

You head to the guest room, grabbing your pajamas from your backpack and quickly changing into the soft cotton shorts and college t-shirt. You catch a whiff of yourself, a little smelly from a day of travel, so you swipe on a little deodorant for good measure and head back down to the living room, where Joe is sitting, remote in hand.

“Netflix, Hulu, HBO, cable?”

“You really know how to spoil a girl, huh?” you joke, flopping down on the couch next to him. He is still in his button-down and slacks from work, his elbows resting on his knees as he scrolls through channels.

He hums absentmindedly, “only girls as great as you.”

There it is. The recently-familiar but frequent little tug in your chest. You try to focus on the TV screen too, rubbing your hands up and down your thighs in an attempt to work out your sudden burst of nervous energy.

“Oh, fuck yes, there’s a marathon of Scrubs re-runs on!” Joe howls, slumping aggressively on the couch and throwing the remote on the coffee table, before turning to you, “that’s cool, right?”

“Duh, that’s our show!” you grin, curling onto your side and leaning back into the soft cushions.

“Want anything to eat or drink?” Joe asks, “just so I can grab it before we settle in.”

“I gorged myself on lasagna less than half an hour ago, Joe.”

“What? I’m always hungry, I figured I’d ask,” he shrugs playfully.

The show’s theme song pulls your attention back to the screen as you and Joe sing along, feeling exactly like you’re back in your dorm room, slumped against the tapestry-covered wall behind your creaky twin bed.

“I like the school shirt,” Joe prods your side, “they’d be happy to see you repping.”

“That place can eat my ass, honestly,” you snort, “they can talk to me when they stop raising tuition and forgive my student loan debt.”

He cackles, throwing his arm around you and pulling you closer into his side. You gently nuzzle in, shifting around to find a cozy spot as you both settle into a comfortable silence, letting the on-screen antics pull you back in. As the characters make dumb decisions and miss opportunities that slip them by, you laugh and yell at them, waiting for Joe to join in as he always does, but his voice never comes. He’s just watching quietly, his hand gripping your shoulder tightly. Almost a little too tightly. You turn to look up his face, which is blank and distant, his soft brown eyes slightly glazed over as he stares straight ahead. Something is definitely wrong.

“Hey,” you venture, rubbing a little circle on his stomach, “Joe.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay? You seem a little off.”

He shakes his head, smiling weakly down at you, “oh yeah, I’m good.”

“Really, Joe, I know something’s wrong. What’s up?”

He exhales harshly, pulling his hand from your shoulder as he runs his hands through his hair in frustration before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“It’s just…this internship sucks. And it’s so much pressure. They want me to do so much but I never get rewarded in any way. I’m just burnt out,” he chuckles sadly, “imagine being burnt out at twenty…that’s fucking sad, (Y/N).”

“We all get tired, Joe, it’s okay! Plus, this isn’t what you are going to be doing for the rest of your life.”

“But what if it is?” he yells, exasperation painting every word.

You jump a little, his tone of voice surprising you. You had never heard him this worked up about something like this. He winces, realizing how loud his last outburst was.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), it’s just…what if this is what I end up doing? What if acting doesn’t work out for me and I have to settle for some shitty job behind a desk, getting people coffee and making presentations that I don’t even get credit for?”

“Joe…”

“And what if I end up having to work for people like the other asshole interns I share an office with? I swear, if I have to work for Charlie or Brad, I’ll actually drive my car into the ocean.”

He’s getting himself completely worked up, pulling his hair as he breathes shallowly. It’s honestly a little scary, but you place your hands on his heaving chest and look into his eyes, trying to calm him down.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I promise that won’t happen.”

“How can you be sure? How do you know I won’t…”

You press a finger to his lips to silence him, raising your other hand to cup his cheek.

“You’re right, there’s no way I can predict the future. But I know you, Joe. You’re going to do great things, wonderful things…things that will shake the Earth and make it a better, happier place. Because you’re you.”

His eyes are shining back at you, his lips still pressed gently against your finger. He looks vulnerable, as if one more kind word from you will put him over the edge, and you’re tempted. Tempted to pull him to your chest and let his hot tears stain your old cotton t-shirt, stroking his hair and whispering reassurance into his ears.

Or, you could test the waters. You could act on the feelings that have been somersaulting through your mind all summer, infatuation and friendship and lust ebbing and flowing like waves. You could finally see if Joe feels the same way you do, confused and a little scared but oh so desperate. And you have good reason…returning a favor from months ago.

You decide to plunge in, rubbing your thumb against his cheek.

“I think you need to relax.”

Recognition flashes in Joe’s eyes, the implication of your statement dawning on him. He shifts his hips almost indiscernibly, but you notice, smiling softly at him.

“You actually taught me a really good method for stress relief back in May…what was that again?” you tap your finger on your chin, smirking at Joe as you move to straddle him. He whimpers against your other finger, which is still against his lips, so you retract your hand, placing it on his shoulder as his eyelids flutter.

“Of course, that’s only if you want, Joe,” you say softly, letting the provocative purr fall from your voice as you check in with him.

“I mean…that would be…nice, but I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, (Y/N).”

“I’m literally sitting in your lap right now, Joe. I think I’m good with this,” you snort, your eyes fluttering shut as you close the distance between the two of you, placing a firm kiss on his lips.

After a few moments, Joe pulls away and sighs as you kiss down his jawline and neck, careful not to leave marks. A small groan escapes his throat as you find a particularly sensitive spot and a shiver runs down his spine before concern crosses his face again. He takes you gently by the shoulders and pulls you away from him, looking you carefully in the eyes.

“And…still friends?”

“Of course,” you mutter, desperate to get back to kissing him, attaching yourself to his collarbone, “it’s like you said back on campus, just one friend giving their friend a mind-blowing orgasm. Just relax, Joe.”

He nods, his breath catching in his throat as you start to take off his white shirt, kissing a trail down his chest as you pop each shiny button. You grind your hips into his a few tantalizing times before slipping down onto your knees between his legs, untucking his now-unbuttoned shirt from the navy-blue pants. Joe leans forward and shrugs the shirt off, throwing it haphazardly onto the armrest of the couch, quickly moving back to his original position as you begin to palm his cock through his dress pants.

“Fuck, that feels good, (Y/N).”

“Do you like that I’m getting you off in your work clothes, Joey?” you purr, surprising yourself at your tone, but enjoying the reaction it is getting from Joe, who nods feverishly.

“Naughty boy.”

Joe whines at your words, his hips bucking into your touch as you ghost your fingers along his clothed length.

“Please, (Y/N), please…”

“Please what, Joey? How can I help you? What do you need?” you hum, pressing kisses up his fabric-covered legs, enjoying the silky texture on your lips.

“I want…I want your mouth on my cock.”

His words send a surge to your core, but you try to push your own need away, determined to make this all about Joe, just like he made your stress relief session in your dorm room purely about your pleasure. Plus, riding your best friend was definitely a more serious event, one that could be disregarded less easily…best to stick to the blowjob.

“Anything you want, baby,” you say, delicately unzipping his pants.

Your hand stills for a heartbeat, hovering on the waistband of his underwear. This is going to be the first time you see your best friend’s cock. Somehow, him eating you out in May didn’t feel as high-stakes, but maybe that’s just because you were the one with your eyes closed. This feels more permanent, like you’re really changing the dynamic. But it doesn’t have to, right? You’re just returning a favor, nothing more. You have to get your swirling emotions in line and on board with the plan. Just friends.

Movement from Joe snaps you back to the situation at hand as he lifts his hips to shimmy his pants and boxers down his thighs, gasping a little as the cool evening hair hits his sensitive member. You can’t help but stare, a little taken aback by the size of him.

“Wow,” you mutter breathlessly, quickly realizing how awkward that was and bringing your hand to your mouth to cover up your embarrassment with wide eyes.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Joe chuckles, his head lazily lolling forward.

“No need to be cocky,” you grumble, rolling your eyes.

“I happen to be very, uh, cocky, at the moment,” he teases.

Good to know he’s still the same Joe when he’s naked in front of you. You finally take him in your hand, beginning to stroke him while softly swiping your thumb across his tip, gathering the first beads of precum before gently sucking on the finger.

“You taste good, Joey.”

With a groan, Joe’s head hits the back of the couch, moaning out, “Fuck, (Y/N), that’s so hot.”

You smile up at him, placing one hand on his hip and one back on his cock as you start to stroke him again, his little gasps of pleasure encouraging you. Sitting up on your heels, you lean in and lick a long, slow stripe up his length with the flat of your tongue, sucking the tip into your mouth when you reach the end.

“Fu-uck!” Joe’s hips buck at the sensation, “sorry, just…wow.”

You hum in acknowledgement, your hand reaching down to lightly squeeze his balls as you begin to bob on his cock, swirling your tongue around the swollen tip as you move, savoring his taste. Joe reaches a hand down and runs is through your hair, grunting softly as you take all of him into your mouth.

“Jesus, girl, you’re….you’re good. I’m close.”

You continue to lick, suck, and squeeze, relaxing your throat as much as possible as Joe begins to thrust gently into your mouth, chasing his release. After a few more moments, his hips begin to stutter, his eyes rolling closed and his mouth falling open as he reaches his high.

“I’m g-gonna…!”

Joe’s eyes screw shut as he releases into your mouth, the thick, salty cum coating the back of your throat as you swallow everything he gives you, rubbing his thighs gently as he cries out. You can see all the tension leaving his body as his chest heaves, a blissful smile creeping across his face. You pull yourself back up onto the couch, grabbing his crumpled underwear from the ground beside you and tossing them at him.

“Feel better, Joe?”

He breathlessly chuckles, flopping his head to the side to look at you.

“That was, uh…that was pretty fucking great, (Y/N). Thanks, I owe…”

“Nope, at that rate, we’d always be in orgasm-debt to each other. Let’s just call it even, yeah?” you say with a wave of your hand, wiping a few remaining beads of sweat from your forehead before reaching for the TV remote.

“Okay then,” Joe agrees, wiggling back into his boxer shorts and carding his hands through his sweaty hair, grinning as he turns back to you.

“So, what are we going to do for the rest of the weekend?”

~~~~~~~~~

Taglist (message me if you want to be added!):

@queenbbarnes, @denimmay, @bensrhapsody, @queen-frodo, @blisshemmings

#let me know what you think!#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello fanfiction #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello imagine #bohemian rhapsody fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody fanfic #bohemian rhapsody fic #bohemian rhapsody imagine #bohemian rhapsody #borhap boys x reader #borhap boys

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killingkueen · 7 years ago

Text

Mr. Cluck’s Chicken Kitchen

Just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? This is a make-up RSS gift for @itschippedcup. It was fun being your adoptive Santa!

The prompt was: Undercover boss, Mr. Clucks, Love, and I, uh, managed to fill the first two pretty well. This went in a weird direction.

Sorry you got stuck with me. Enjoy!

Rated T for some cursing and a scuffle.

Summary: It’s the last night of filming with the mysterious Weaver, so of course things don’t go as planned for Belle.

“And what do you think about the CEO?”

“The CEO?” Ruby frowned at the plastic wrap she was pulling off the containers of lettuce and tomato. “Of Mr. Cluck’s?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Cluck’s.” Jefferson smiled, showing all his teeth. Ruby pretended to think about it (as if she had a opinion in the first place). Jefferson was surprisingly easy to rile up, though, for all he tried to act like the suave Hollywood producer he absolutely wasn’t.

“I don’t,” Ruby said finally, with a shrug.

“You don’t,” he repeated, tonelessly.

“Well he’s not exactly Steve Jobs.”

“And what does that mean?”

“I don’t know anything about the CEO. Why would I?” Ruby popped her hip, making a show of balling up the plastic and throwing it in the bin. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s some crusty old white guy who just sits around wondering how to best exploit his plebeian workers. It’s not even his signature on my check.”

“You have direct deposit.”

“Exactly.” She shrugged. “I don’t care who runs the company. Seriously, who does?” She reached inside the sandwich station, transferring the empty condiment containers for the new. “Like, that’s such a random question, Jeff. Why would you even ask it?”

“What can I say? I have my script.”

“I thought the point of reality TV was that it was unscripted,” said a voice behind them.

“Belle! Just the woman I wanted to see.”

“Ruby, after you’re done here could you run to the back and grab more medium cups?” Belle said, ignoring Jefferson. “Then go ahead and take your break, so we’ll have all our bases covered for the dinner rush.”

“Please tell me I’m not on window.”

“You’re on window.”

“Belle! Come on!” She groaned.

“What’s bad about working at the window?” Jeff jumped in.

“The drive-thru window,” Ruby grumbled. “Complete with the freaking cold, impatient people, and Keith.”

“We have to…accomodate.” To her credit, Belle did look sorry.

“Ugh, I don’t want to work with Keith. You know what he did last time? He ranked every single woman that came through on fuckability. First how they sounded through the headset, and then how they looked when they pulled forward. He’s so gross.”

“Watch your language,” Belle chided.

“Oh, we can edit that.” Jeff waved his hand.

Belle sighed as she rubbed at her temples. Only one more night, only one more night, she thought to herself. “I’m sorry Ruby, but we’re bare-boned because of the film crew, and you have the fastest times, plus with Weaver—”

“Yeah, yeah, the big star of the show.” Her eyes rolled so hard Belle was sure they’d pop out of her head. “And you’ll be ‘training’ him tonight, too, hmmm? Aren’t we past the hand holding yet?”

“Actually,” Jefferson said, “we want him put on front register tonight. We’ve gotten enough footage of him stumbling around like a blind lamb, burning the fries and messing up the sandwich orders. Now we’d like to see him crash and burn when actually interacting with the customers.”

Ruby turned large, pleading eyes to the producer. “Jefferson, if you want drama and chaos, put him on window.”

“Drama and chaos, hmmm?”

“Jefferson, I won’t tell you how hilarious it will be to watch him try to balance drinks and food at once, or how slow he’s going to be on the computer, or even how he’s going to butt heads with Keith because both are controlling assholes—”

“Ruby,” Belle warned.

“—I don’t need to tell you, because you are going to see it all and more, because Weaver is working window.”

Jefferson raised his eyebrows, his expression going slightly manic. He looked around at where Weaver, said Big Star of the Show, was currently elbow deep in soapy water at the dishwashing station.

“He’ll be disappointed not to be working with blue eyes here, though.”

“I knew it!” Ruby said. “This is for a dating show!”

Jefferson laughed. “It really isn’t.”

“Come on, Jeff,” she said, batting her eyes. “You can tell me. We’ve made it a whole week without guessing what the show is.”

“Hey, I’ve lasted this long, I’m not about to spill the beans now. You’ll find out with the rest of the world, when we debut in the fall.”

“Lame.” Her eyes drifted over to Weaver, to his short, greying hair and blue jeans. She had overheard him telling Belle that his hair was much longer before he had agreed to do the reality show—apparently it was a deal-breaker if he had to wear a hairnet or even pull it back so he cut it all off instead. It was a conviction that she could admire, even if he was sort of a jerk who seemed to only be nice to Belle. His ass looked good in the standard uniform blue jeans, though, and he was meticulous about his shirt staying clean. He wore glasses with thin, gold frames, and sometimes Ruby would see him flinch, or shake his head, like he forgot he was wearing them.

Or, well, whatever. There was something so weird about him, which Ruby would have noticed anyway, even if cameras and microphones hadn’t been set up around the back of her lame after-school job. And Jefferson wouldn’t even tell her why.

“I bet he’s a millionaire looking for love,” she said as Weaver started taking the dishes from the top of the drying rack (dishes were the only thing he didn’t curse at).

“Ruby, please.” Belle sighed.

“I see the way he looks at you, you know. It’s some Romeo and Juliet shit. And you’re always the one being filmed with him.”

“Ruby, take your break.”

“Who is flyer than my love? The sun be a jealous ho who is no match.”

“‘The all-seeing sun ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.’” Belle corrected. “And that’s a quote about Rosaline, not Juliet. Also, how cliche can you get?”

“God, you would know it, you nerd.” She handed Belle the old containers, rolling her eyes as she did so.

“And you said my questions were weird and specific, and here you are, quoting Shakespeare.”

Ruby stuck her tongue out at Jefferson. “I’m studying it in school right now. Sue me.”

“Ruby, I am begging you—”

“Alright, alright.” She flounced to the register to sign out. “I’m not working window, though.”

“I agree,” Jeff said, turning to Belle with his wide, manic smile.

“Fine.” She threw up her arms, annoyed despite herself. “Weaver’s on window. Ruby, you’re front.”

Ruby cackled, even as she blew them a kiss. “I’ll see you babes in ten minutes.”

Belle turned back to Jefferson. “That means all the antics you had lined up aren’t going to work.”

He shrugged easily, pulling out a cell phone and tapping his messenger app. “Oh, that won’t be a problem at all. So, Belle,” Jefferson said, one eye on the screen. “That’s the third break that Ruby’s taken today. Why is that?”

“I’ve already explained this.”

Jefferson gestured to the camera, pinned to the metal shelf above them, the red indicator light glowing a reminder that no one has had any privacy in the past week.

With a sigh, Belle looked directly into the lense. “It’s company policy for any employee of Mr. Cluck’s Chicken Kitchen to be given one thirty-minute break for any shift that exceeds six hours. Since Ruby is a minor, she must be given an additional ten-minute break for every two hours she works, under Maine’s child labour laws.”

“You’re killing me, Belle.”

“I’m going to tell Weaver that he’s on window tonight.”

“Belle, I’m sorry for the switching, I know you were looking fo-”

“Whatever, Jefferson.”

“This really isn’t a dating show and I have plenty footage of you two together—“

“Not a big deal, Jefferson,” she said walking away.

Belle turned on her heel, moving past the fryers and heat lamps, into the deeper part of the back, where the washing station stood next to the freezer. The stockroom was across from there, and she made a mental note to grab medium cups after talking to Weaver, since Ruby hadn’t.

He was currently hosing down the cutting board. Belle slipped the containers she carried into the soapy water.

“I thought the point of fast food was to not have dishes,” Weaver said.

He had been making similar statements to her all week; what do you mean there’s no delete button on the registers, what do you mean Ruby is the only high schooler working here, what do you mean we have to wash dishes.

“There’s no solution in the cold bath,” Belle said, looking across him to the end of the large sink.

Weaver looked at her, then down to the clear water. They could see to the bottom, the metal shiny. The sink itself was actually pretty spotless, considering Weaver had been back here for the last past hour or so. If nothing else, Belle was going to miss him for keeping his stations clean.

“Excuse me?” he asked, eyeing her like he was trying to decide if she was pulling his leg.

Belle pointed to the blue lever above the three sectioned sink, turned to the left. “I’ve explained this to you three times, Weaver.”

“So explain it again,” he huffed. The tips of his ears (curled just so like a pixie’s) turned faintly pink.

“You wash the dishes with soap and hot water. Rinse all the suds off. Stick them in the cold bath.”

“Yeah, I got that down, thanks,” he grumbled, shaking out the pan he still held, the water droplets falling on the mats on the floor.

“We switched to putting tablets in the cold bath a month ago, so the blue lever doesn’t control anything anymore, and the sanitation stuff won’t come out when you fill up the sink.”

He scowled at her, his nose looking even more pointed as his eyebrows drew down. Everything about him was pointed, from his nose to his cheek bones, to his words.

“So nothing that’s been placed in there has been sanitized?”

“Unless the city has suddenly increased the amount of chlorine in the water, that would be a no.”

“That’s fucking fantastic, because that water has been sitting there for hours.”

“Don’t worry about it. No, I mean it—don’t look at me like that. Nothing about today has been real.” There were signs up all over the outside of the building warning customers that there was filming in progress, and Belle was pretty sure she had served more than her fair share of paid actors.

He sighed. “This week, you mean.”

Belle reached into the sink, pulling the metal plug up so the water could drain. She watched the whirlpool form, the water spinning round, round, round.

“This is bullocks.” Weaver dried his hands on the towel he had found shoved back somewhere in the cupboards, and Belle bit her lip to hide her fond smile; heaven forbid he have to wipe his hands on his pants like a normal person.

He turned so his back was to the sink, leaning his weight on the metal edge. Belle stamped down the impulse to shift closer to him, to feel the brush of his shirt against her arm, the heat of his skin. Clearly Ruby was getting to her.

“Jefferson wants to put you on window tonight, by the way,” she said with a forced air of casualty.

“With you?”

“No, with Keith.”

“Oh.”

Belle watched as his expression flattened, his mouth drawing a hard line.

When the last of the water vanished with a gurgle, Belle plugged the sink again, before ducking under and pulling out a plastic bottle full of the sanitation tablets. She plopped one in before turning on the water faucet.

“Jefferson isn’t the manager, you know, and doesn’t know the first thing about running this place. I say screw the cameras.”

Belle raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want to mutiny?”

“We can lock him in the walk-in until close.”

It was hard to see any downsides to the plan right then, Belle had to admit. “We could throw Keith in, too, and save ourselves that particular headache.”

He huffed, the humor leaving his expression as quickly as it came. “Mr. Cluck’s has an HR department. You should file a complaint about him.”

“We have.”

“I mean it. Call the head offices and ask for—” he paused, finally registering what she said. “Wait. What do you mean ‘we have?’”

Belle shrugged. “Last we were told was, the problem is being looked into, whatever that means.”

“And so you’ve just been patiently waiting for him to go away?”

“Oh, well, not exactly…”

“You can tell me.”

Belle shifted her feet. Her eyes strayed to the metal shelf that held the larger metal pots and pans, where she knew a hidden camera had been placed.

“Belle,” Weaver said, moving to stand in front of her, blocking her view. “You can tell me.”

She looked up into his sharp face. His eyes were wide, and so rich and brown, and damn, it might be cliche but they cut through her like coffee, a jolt that made her heart race. His gaze was intense, both friendly and angry on her behalf, and it felt good to have someone so unquestionably on her side.

“I asked a friend of mine to file a complaint with one of the other managers, thinking that maybe if it was a customer, someone would actually listen,” she said, her voice fast and low. She turned so she could lean her hip against the sink, so she was front to front with Weaver. “I actually asked several friends, but that was a month ago and nothing has changed. I think he might have found a way to hijack the review page, or maybe has some sort of deal with the GM. We keep complaining but nothing is happening.”

Weaver hummed, sounding unconvinced.

“I know it’s a borderline conspiracy theory, but—”

“No, no, I’m just remembering what my email said.”

Well that was a non sequitur.

“Excuse me?”

“When I agreed to do this show with Jefferson, he said that he had found the perfect store to stick me in, because of all the complaints.”

“The complaints,” Belle repeated.

“Jefferson forwarded me a few; you certainly aren’t the only one submitting them.”

Belle felt her face grow hot. “So what are you saying? That Keith hasn’t been fired because he makes for good television?”

Weaver’s tongue flicked across his lip. “This is reality TV. I’m sure this counts as mild for the strings producers have pulled before.”

“Mild,” Belle hissed. “You know, he’s been behaving himself with the cameras here. I’ve actually noticed an improvement in how he’s been acting. Also Ruby’s grandmother came in once to threaten him with an actual crossbow not too long ago, which helped Ruby out a lot.”

Weaver smiled, before scowling. “He’s still a wanker.”

“Belle! Weaver! Ruby’s back from break, it’s time to start!” Jefferson yelled.

As if on instinct, Belle grabbed his hand, finding the skin surprisingly smooth and warm. “You know,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “If you’re serious about locking Jefferson and Keith in the walk-in, the temperature is controlled on the outside.”

Weaver raised an eyebrow, his ears turning pink again, but his expression schooled into a careful mask of polite interest. “That so.”

Belle raised her eyebrows, trying to pull off an innocent look and not one like she was planning to inconvenience two people who kind of deserved it. If his answering smirk was anything to go by, she was failing miserably. “Yeah, you know. Depending on how tonight goes…”

She trailed off, and her words seemed to hang there. She felt his hand flex in her grip, but he didn’t pull away and she didn’t let go.

“Look,” he said, his voice low and deep, catching Belle somewhere in her belly. “This is just as much his last day as it is mine.” His eyes were so brown, and Belle leaned forward. “I promise you that.”

His eyes flickered down to her lips and, Belle could feel herself be pulled forward, her eyes closing. Her free hand slid around his waist, she could feel his breath at her lips—

“Belle! Weaver! The rush is—”

The producer’s shout was much closer this time, startling them. Weaver sprung back, but didn’t let go of Belle’s hand, effectively pulling her against him, since in Belle’s surprise her own hold tightened. Weaver’s knees caved under her weight, and he landed hard against the metal of the sink.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Belle said, finally relinquishing hands, only to run them up and down his arms, as if that’d make up for their combined embarrassment.

“Hey guys, as much as I encourage canoodling in forgotten corners, we have a finale to film,” Jefferson said with no small amount of smugness.

Belle rolled her eyes at his teasing, reluctantly pulling back. She licked her lips, hooded blue eyes meeting his, pupils blown wide. They were poised, ready to fall into each other. He brought a careful hand up to her temple and brushed a hair that had escaped from her ponytail.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Of course, yeah,” she said, feeling an easy smile tugging at her mouth.

His own smile was a tad more brittle. “I think I should apologize.”

“It can wait a couple hours,” Jefferson said.

Weaver shot him a look, before turning back to Belle.

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He blinked, his face going slack in surprise. “You know?”

“What, you think I’m surprised that you’re someone else? Weaver, come on.” She rolled her eyes. “Your accent keeps changing from cockney to something vaguely Irish. I’m not an American; it doesn’t all sound the same to me.” She reached up adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, which had skewed somewhat on his face.

That got a surprised laugh out of him. “Okay, fair point. It’s not Irish, though.”

“Scottish, then,” Belle said.

“Weaver,” Jefferson snapped.

“Alright, alright.”

Belle giggled. “We’ll talk after, yeah?”

“After my impending humiliation, you mean? Of course.”

“You’ll be great,” Belle said. She impulsively stepped close, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Weaver made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, but he smiled, his ears a deep pink, as he followed Jefferson back towards the front.

Watching him go, Belle tried not to let her eyes stray to his backside. Feeling much better about the final night of filming, she made her own way back towards the front.

“Hey Belle, could you drop in some fries?” Ruby asked as she handed back a customer’s change.

A line was already forming at the register, and Ruby hardly spared her a glance as she greeted the next customer.

The dinner rush went smoothly, or at least as smooth as one could hope, with the crew having to weave around cameras and recording equipment.

“Dude, check out the rack on that broad.” Keith nudged Weaver with an elbow.

Belle pursed her lips, annoyed. Weaver, for his part, brushed Keith away with a short, “do your job.” He pointedly did not look at the video screen.

Okay, so it could have been going a lot smoother. Belle was in the middle, making sure both front and window had all the food they needed. It gave her ample opportunity to eavesdrop on Weaver.

“No, sir,” she heard Weaver groan in his headset. “I can’t get you a Big Mac. This isn’t McDonald’s.” She watched him shoot a glare to Jefferson, who was hovering just outside the manager’s office. “No, that doesn’t mean you can have a Whopper instead.”

“Customer’s always right, man,” Keith said as he stuck a straw in a bag.

“We don’t sell burgers,” Weaver muttered. “It’s in the bloody name of the restaurant.” He sighed as something else was said over the headset. “Yes, we have fries. No, you have to be more specific. Just how much is a fuck-ton, sir?”

Weaver rubbed at his temple, and Belle couldn’t help herself as she swiped the headset off and pressed it to her ear. She heard a long, spaced out voice: “Just, like, a lot, man okay? A lot of fries. A fuck-ton.” Weaver rolled his eyes at her as she handed the headset back to him.

“Man, I wish I had what he was smoking,” Keith said, listening through his own headset.

Weaver grunted as he put through an order of five large fries. He seemed to rather not acknowledge Keith’s existence at all, not that Belle could blame him. With Keith, it was best to just put your head down and pretend he didn’t exist. The stoner, a young man in an old volkswagen, pulled forward.

“Now there’s a chick I’d like to show a good time,” Keith said as the next car pulled up to the order screen.

Weaver grunted as he listened to her order, thankfully a regular combo meal with a diet Pepsi. He reached over for a cup, filling it with ice from the station right next to him.

“Seriously, you gotta be gay or something to not even look up.”

If the comment bothered him, he didn’t say; he didn’t react at all. Weaver snapped the lid on the drink, placing it in line to be passed through the window. He glanced at the order screen, making sure to get the extra sauce packets she wanted.

Belle watched as Keith slid the window open, and hoped that he wouldn’t say something dumb to the customer. She really did not want to apologise again because a customer wanted a manager immediately after Keith said something gross.

For once, he didn’t make any snide comments as he took payment for the order. He leaned out to hand her her drink and card back. Belle’s ears perked up automatically, already preparing to swoop in and offer her apologies.

“You have a good day, sugar,” he said.

Belle looked up at the video feed and saw the lady roll her eyes before rolling her window up. Releasing her breath, she turned to glare as Keith shut the window and busied himself preparing the next order, who was either oblivious to both her and Weaver’s obvious distaste, or, more likely just didn’t care

Whatever. If Weaver was to be believed, this was Keith’s last night anyway. Belle wondered if it was because his inappropriate behavior was caught on camera, or if Weaver had some sort of connection with the GA.

After that, things slowed down. Because it was the last night of filming, they were able to close early so Jefferson and the crew could easily pack up all their equipment.

Weaver opted to stay, to help Belle and Ruby close the restaurant for the night, instead of leaving with Jefferson.

“Are you sure?” Jefferson asked, raising his eyebrows like he was in on a secret. “We have an early morning tomorrow, remember.”

“As I’m well aware. I’ll be back at the hotel later, alright?”

Jefferson hummed, a salacious smile curving his mouth. “Don’t keep him out too late now, you hear, Belle?”

“For fuck’s sake, Jefferson,” he muttered.

“Some of us want to go home,” Keith called from the window where he was counting out the register.

“No, he’s right,” Ruby said, pushing a broom into Belle’s hands before either she or Weaver could respond. “You take the front. I’m pretty sure some lady left her kid’s used diapers under one of the booths and God knows I’m not paid enough to handle that right now.”

Belle sighed, exhausted with today, but she managed a smile in Weaver’s direction. “We still need to talk.”

He smiled back. “Yeah we do.”

So Belle went to the front to clear away the last of the garbage and restock the condiment stations. Ruby was right about the diapers, which absolutely was not the weirdest or even the worst thing Belle had ever found while closing.

As she was sweeping the last of the crumbs and wayward straw wrappers into the dustbin, she let her mind wander to the last few days, to Weaver and his careful, slow way of doing things. To how his arse looked in his jeans.

Belle heard Ruby yell. She was wary to classify it as a scream, because it wasn’t the sort of thing that was really meant to draw attention. Belle looked over to the register, but it was long since closed, and due to strategically placed walls and machines, Belle couldn’t see much else from where she was standing.

Ruby was such a teenager, always loud and dramatic. Belle wondered what it was that she had found that made her call out like that. Maybe Weaver made her unclog the drain, or Keith was being an asshole again and hiding in the stockroom.

Not thinking anything more about it, Belle picked up the dustpan just as she heard a crash from the back, and Ruby yell again.

“You’re a fucking creep, Keith.”

Belle dropped the dustpan, pushing open the swinging door marked Employees Only. She ran around the corner only to see the cart they used to move the sandwich fixings pushed over, the plastic containers scattered across the floor, the saran wrap doing little to keep them from spilling. Weaver had Keith bent over one of the counters, arms pinned uncomfortably half-way up his back.

With his greying hair and slim-build, Belle had assumed that Weaver wasn’t much of a fighter. Keith had clearly also made that wrong assumption; the man was scrappy.

“Everything okay?” Belle asked, somewhat at a loss.

Ruby was shaking a little, but for all Belle could tell it was more out of anger.

“Yes,” Keith said.

“No,” Ruby said, at the same time.

Anger flashed across Keith’s face, gone a deep tomato red, and he kicked a leg out, cursing. Belle stepped a little closer to Ruby.

“Come on man,” he said, trying to appeal to Weaver. “We were just messing around.”

“Messing around?” Weaver asked in a low voice. “Surely you know this girl is sixteen. She’s far too young for anyone to be messing around with.”

“It was a compliment. She should learn to take one.”

“Grabbing my ass isn’t a compliment. It’s fucking assault,” Ruby snarled. Her shoulders were tight and she was leaning slightly forward, like a wolf about to rush it’s victim.

Belle squeezed her shoulder. “How about you call your grandmother? Ask her to come pick you up.”

“I’m not a girl,” she said, shrugging Belle’s hand off.

It took Weaver a moment to realize he was being addressed. “What?”

“I’m not a girl,” Ruby said again, glaring.

Weaver sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yes you’re an independent young woman. I’m sorry, does that somehow make his behavior okay?”

His hold must have slackened, because the next thing Belle knew, Keith reared up, butting Weaver in the face with the back of his head, blow hitting just below his eye. He closed his eyes against the pain, hands letting go. Belle heard his glasses crack.

Ruby let out a shout of surprise, jumping back as Keith reeled around and threw a punch at Weaver’s face. Weaver responded on instinct, his left arm coming up to perry, then ducking and shoving Keith back, but Keith was just throwing random punches now.

Keith definitely landed a few more; Belle could see blood dripping from his cheek, but he shoved him back and jammed the palm of his heel up into Keith’s nose. Keith stumbled back, trying to find purchase on the counter that he had recently been pinned against.

Belle looked at the cart, left lying on the ground. As fast as she could, she pulled it up, gripped the handles, and ran forward.

Ruby would describe it as badass later when they were telling the story, but the truth was a lot less awesome. Belle yelled, getting Keith’s attention. He turned towards her, ready to lunge, when the cart hit Keith square between the legs. He doubled over, clutching the sides, when Weaver kicked at the wheels, toppling it and Keith back to the floor. He went down in a heap and seemed to be staying there.

“You fucking bitch,” Keith said, dazed and winded. Belle wondered if he had hit his head on the way down before realizing she didn’t care.

“Are you—” Weaver hesitated, not sure what to say.

“Fine. Just—fine. Are you? Jesus, Weaver, you’re bleeding.” She grabbed a towel and pressed it to his face, hoping he wouldn’t need any stitches. Weaver cringed at the pain, taking off his glasses. Instead of pulling away for asking that the towel be put under water first, he pressed his hand to hers. Her other hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he said softly.

“Uhm, so, should I call the cops?” Ruby asked, who had wrapped her hands around herself. She winced when Weaver’s eyes landed on her. “Sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking.”

“This is hardly your fault,” Weaver assured her. He toed Keith’s side, but he didn’t stir. He must have passed out.

“I can’t believe he did that,” Ruby said, not seeming to have heard. “I can’t believe he just attacked a movie star like that.”

“Movie star?” Weaver raised a bemused eyebrow.

“Reality TV is hardly Hollywood, Ruby,” Belle said with a tired sigh. Maybe cops were a good idea. She looked out at the spilled vegetables, sad and limp on the floor. She so didn’t want to be the one to clean it up.

“You know what, close enough.” She looked at the twisted frame in Weaver’s hand. “Are they broken? I thought I heard them break.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down. “They’re fake, actually. Doesn’t matter.”

“What, are they part of a costume? For your character?”

“Ruby��”

“I’m your boss, actually.” He was met with a confused silence. Weaver was clearly expecting more of a reaction, as he shrugged self-consciously. “I figured you ought to know now, at least.”

“Wait,” Ruby said with a frown. “You mean, like a new one? New management?”

“No, I mean I’m the owner of Mr. Cluck’s. My name is Robert Gold, and you work for me.”

“CEO!” Ruby says, smacking her forehead. “And Jefferson thought he was so slick.”

Weaver turned his brown eyes back to Belle, her hand still holding the towel against his cheek. “Sorry,” he said.

“That’s what you were trying to tell me earlier, isn’t it?”

“Jefferson wanted have a reveal done at headquarters—walk into the conference room, see me sitting there in my suit, all high and mighty.” Weav—Gold said.

“Like a bond villain,” Ruby said. “I can dig that.”

Belle laughed. Her head felt a little light, actually. “Jefferson is going to be pissed he didn’t get this on camera,” she said, looking back down to the ruined floor. She wondered if Gold had broken the cart when he kicked it.

“There are still the security cameras, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a few hidden ones still tucked away.”

“Does this mean Keith is fired?” Ruby asked.

“Keith is very much fired,” he said. He seemed to realize that his hand was still holding Belle’s, which in turn was holding the cloth to his split cheek. He pulled it down, not letting go.“Belle, I—I just want you to know—I’ve grown very fond of you in this short amount of time, and I realize this puts you in a strange position, and I—”

Belle cut him of, her hand going around his neck, to the back of his head, pulling him down towards her, allowing their lips to crash together. Their teeth knocked, and their noses fought for room, but he still moaned, his lips pulling at hers.

“Ew. Guys, come on.”

Belle pulled away first, her gaze locked on his. “Let’s get this sorted out, yeah? Then we can talk.”

He licked his lips, and Belle bit back a groan, already wanting another taste. “Yeah. Alright.”

#rumbelle secret santa #rumbelle fic #itschippedcup

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bike42 · 5 years ago

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Ice AgeTrail November 6 and 7, 2020

Last time we were here, we had the experience of “winter” hiking with 6” of snow and we were all pleasantly surprised with how much we enjoyed that, as long as it’s not too cold. During one of our dinners last time, Dan commented about someone’s post in the Facebook group about night hiking, and we thought we’d want to try that sometime. Well, as usual, we jumped right in and night hiked on Friday. But it’s a long story about how that happened.

As a group, we could only swing a two-day hike in November, so we agreed to do to 15+ mile days to still cover some good miles and make the trip there worthwhile. I booked a VRBO for two nights, on the Wisconsin River in the township of Irma, a little east of where we’d be but lucky to find that in this remote part of Wisconsin. Everyone but Gary came up on Thursday night and we all arrived around 4pm in time to enjoy the beautiful weather on the deck and the sunset over the river.

Independently, Dan and I both scouted the drop off and shuttle route so we confidently told Gary to drive directly to the starting point and we’d meet him there at 8am Friday morning. The rest of us left the cabin at 7am in two cars and drove into the New Wood State Wildlife Area with a plan to drop a car at the beginning of the Camp 27 segment and then travel to meet Gary. We ran into a snag when the gravel roads on Dan’s route were gated closed, and the roads on my map never materialized. Of course, no one had cell signal to pull up a map. Using the Guthook app I figured out that we were at the END of the Camp 27 segment so we decided to leave Lynn’s car there, even though it’d add 2.9 miles onto our 15+ mile day. Then we set out to drive to meet Gary, but with no detailed maps or cell service, we decided to drive the route that we knew would get us there, which was north to Tomahawk and around the way that became so familiar to us last month. Along the way, we got enough signal to let Gary know we’d be an hour late. If you’re doing the math, we now added nearly three miles, but lost an hour of daylight in our car shuttle. Plus, with going off daylight savings last week, we knew it’d be dark about 4:30pm.

The weather was spectacular. Two weeks ago when we started the Wood Lake segment, it was 17 degrees and the snow was crusty. Friday morning most people started in shorts and T-shirts and the temperature reached into the high sixties and most of the day felt HOT!

Both days of this hike took us through logging areas, some currently being logged, but mostly old camps and logging roads from the early 1900s. Our guide book said that parts of today’s trail would be on an old railroad right-of-way that was constructed in 1902 and ran between Rib Lake and Tomahawk.

There were some wonderful interpretive signs in the area around New Wood Lake - a beautiful area purchased by the state for $250,000 in the 1970s. We passed through Wood Lake County Park, and were delighted to find pit toilets open! There were three groups of people camped there, enjoying the unseasonable November weather. The lake was beautiful, and I was delighted to see that motors are prohibited – this would be a great place to come back to! The signs told of Hemlocks that were so big two people couldn’t stretch their arms around them – the kind they’d use those huge two person saws and axes to fell. The lumberjacks worked primarily in the winter, icing the roads to transport the logs by sleds. Besides the human logging activity, we saw lots of beaver activity and traversed quite a few beaver dams over these two days.

With the pressure of burning daylight on Friday, we kept our focus on moving and took limited breaks and photos during the day. We’d hiked over 4 miles before we took our first “packs off backs” break! I thought back to some of our guided trips and how the guides would get so frustrated with our dawdling ... they’d have been proud of how focused we can be when it’s necessary.

We finished off the beautiful Wood Lake segment, and promptly went into the Timberland Wilderness segment with lots of ups and downs and over eskers. In this segment, we crossed from Taylor into Lincoln county. Our guidebook describes Lincoln County as “some of the most isolated experiences on the Trail,” we found that to be true!

The Wood Lake segmet ended at Tower Road, which we were supposed to have driven along during this morning’s shuttle?! It also marked the Guthook app official 300 mile point. We walked the 1.9 mile CR to where we were should have ended the day, but we had 2.9 miles to get to the car and about 30 minutes of daylight. With breaks, we average 2 miles an hour typically but on Friday we were averaging a mile every 24 minutes.

The Camp 27 segment started with a large beaver dam and then a river crossing, lucky that we did those while we still had a bit of daylight! Most of the trail today was a thick pile of dry leaves. While they were soft and crunchy for walking through, they camouflaged rock and roots, so we all did a lot of stumbling, more so as we got tired. The sky through the trees turned pretty pink, and then it turned from dusk to dark. Many of us had headlamps or flashlights and we agreed to stay close as we picked our way through the woods. We had a pretty easy time of seeing the blazes, and enough people had been through ahead of us that you could usually count on crushed leaves as a way to ensure you’re on the trail. The creepiest part was when you stepped in soft mud without anticipating it. It was a little unsettling to have your feet just start sliding. We’re so noisy that I didn’t expect we’d see wildlife, but from time to time I did look into the woods to see if I’d see eyes shinning back at me. The only time I did see “eyes,” it was a large black spider right on the trail. Not a fan of spiders, but that was pretty cool.

We hiked about 2 miles in the dark. We’d left Lynn and Kent’s car at a trailhead, but there was a locked gate and we knew we’d have to walk about 1/4 mile down the road to get to their car. Dan was watching on the Guthook app as we neared the end of the Camp 27 segment so that directed us out to the road. When we got there though, it was so disorienting to me! It was a two-way road, and we could see the next segment New Wood beginning across the road. I also had a paper copy of the map which showed the gate and the parking area, but I just couldn’t reconcile this road going into two directions. Tam, who self-admittedly is bad with directions, had a feeling it’d be to the right so she and I marched off in the direction. After about 0.5 miles and no gate, I knew it wasn’t right. I stopped and looked at the paper map again, and realized the New Wood segment would be on our right, not our left. I turned the group around, and while I was feeling confident (finally) I was also feeling a lot of pressure from the whole group to lead them to out of here. This area is the New Wood conservation area and it has dozens of parking areas, I prayed I was leading us to the right one. I can’t describe the joy and relief when my headlamp picked up the reflective tape on the gate, and behind that, the reflectors on the car!

And while that was relief, there was still the matter that Gary and Dan’s cars were still an hour away, and then an hour back to the cabin! It wasn’t as late as it seemed, it was not quite 6pm when we got to the car. Kent drove us back to the cabin, dropped most of us there, Jeff and I showered, Lynn finished dinner prep and by 8pm they were back from the car shuttle and we all sat down to dinner: beef stew, salad and pumpkin bars for dessert. It was easy to say grace and thank God for getting us through the tough and trying day, and not just though it, but to have had such a glorious day in a beautiful wilderness.

Jeff confessed he’d been doing a mental inventory of what was in his pack in case we ended up spending the night out there, and most agreed they’d been doing the same thing. It was a mild night and we would have been just fine, but I’m glad we didn’t have to test it out!

Saturday morning, we were up at 6am with the goal of being out of the cabin around 7. The. group is good at the morning routine, although we were challenged by a smaller kitchen this time.

We headed out with all 4 cars packed, we were in the lead due to my retained status as chief navigator. However, even though Dan had just said to me that this morning would be our shortest drive to the drop site, I was messing with getting my boots on and completed missed it! We were halfway to the starting point before I realized it, bummer to have to turn around and go back. Nonetheless, we completed the drop, drove two cars to the start, and just a little after 8am, we were walking back through the gate and taking a left into the New Wood segment.

I was feeling really flat today and it was great to be able to hang back and not feel rushed. The leaves were heavy with dew, so the sound was more muted today. It was another amazing unseasonably warm November day!

A couple miles into the trail, we spotted a partially deflated balloon over in the woods. We can’t stand little pieces of trash on the trail, and that pink balloon was really harsh to see so Tam walked over to retrieve it. When she discovered it said ‘Happy Birthday,’ she tied it to my backpack, and my birthday week continued (plus by then I was wearing a black shirt and green pants to it added to my visibility)!

A lot of today’s hike followed old logging roads so we could easily walk side by side. The guidebook stated that the Timber Wolf have reestablished themselves here and are thriving, but all we saw today was scat (containing fur) on the trail which was probably from wolves.

The end of the segment walked along the New Wood River, which was beautiful and had several benches to sit and enjoy the view. Tam and Dad had a porcupine cross the trail in front of them and climb a pine tree – that was exciting!

We met a couple hiking towards us. They didn’t have much gear and Gary asked how long they were out for. They said they’d tried to do the next segment, but the river crossing was too deep so they turned back. We got to the parking area at the end of the segment and took a sit-down break. We ate snacks and started brainstorming silly ideas about how we’d get across the river. Someone recalled that the guidebook said if the river was too deep to cross, we’d have to road walk all the way around and bypass the whole segment.

We did a quick 0.6 miles road walk down the dusty County Highway E, then turned into the Averill-Kelly Creek Wilderness segment. It is mostly private land with an IAT easement, and we were grateful for that – it was so beautiful!! The first part was beautiful new growth of white birch trees with a few hemlocks mixed in, felt like walking through a Christmas decoration!

The trail walked along the New Wood River again for a bit – it looked tranquil, but too deep to ford for sure! Our map had the word “ford” twice, and we weren’t sure if that really meant two river crossings! The first was the New Wood River – Gary took off his socks, and walked through in just his boots, making it look easy and not quite knee high. Dan went next, in just socks! Jeff went third, in bare feet – about 2/3 of the way through, he started yelping from the cold. I went next and learned he wasn’t just being dramatic!! The first few steps the cold water feels fabulous, but your feet quickly go numb and you don’t want to hurry across the slightly slippery rocks! I got my socks and shoes on while I waited for the others to cross. Then we set off feeling wonderfully refreshed.

After about 300 feet, we got to Averill Creek, which the guidebook says we’d be able to “rock hop.” Gary again went first, making it look easy. I followed in my boots and made it without wet feet. Others took the time to walk across barefoot again.

After that excitement, we had about another 3 miles on mostly wide trails – detouring around a few low muddy spots. We’d known that the last mile of this segment was closed until after hunting season. We hit the detour sign, and continued on to where we’d parked two cars. We drove them both around to the start, then caravanned to nearby Merrill in search of burgers. There we failed to find an option, so we headed to Red Eye Brewing Company in Wausau, where Dan and Tam had previously stopped. Had great burgers and stouts in a funky bicycle-themed brew pub where they were adhering to mask and social distancing protocols, which made us happy. Along the way, I got enough signal to get a notification that Tuesday’s election had finally been called in favor of Joe Biden.

It was a great two days, and we felt awesome for having hiked 31+ miles over two days, hiked in the dark, and forded a river! Happy to be home before 8pm – unpacked and had a bubble bath!

#IceAgeTrail

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therealchampagnemamii · 8 years ago

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An (Ongoing) Open Letter to White RPers and Admins

Yo,

Before I start I just wanna say that this letter is actually not for you, it’s for me. It’s a way for me to outwardly process and share my thoughts on my experience being a poc roleplayer. I also want to say that just because I am one, does not mean I speak for all and will do my best to stick to ‘I’ statements when necessary.

Anyway.

A few months ago I left an RP after countless incidents having to do with race and gender that just really got to me. I did my best to work with admins, to talk to other roleplayers but in the end it wasn’t enough to make me want to stay and I felt like I was talking to a wall. At 22, roleplaying for me is just as much of an escape as it was when I was 15, I just have a full time job now and am more conscious and aware of the world around me and the body that I occupy. As a roleplayer, it’s always interesting to see who is and is not allowed that kind of escape that so many of us aim for through our writing. Many times in this rp I got the repeated response of “Well if you choose to focus on those issues, that’s up to you and we respect that but we can’t ask that of all our players. Some people just want to escape the real word.” AKA This is rp and we want to pretend like racism and race don’t exist. Even worse is that I felt too intimidated to speak up in the ways I really wanted to because I felt alone and because I felt like maybe I should just be enjoying my charas as is. I loved my connections with people, I liked where my characters were going but I couldn’t ignore the things that were going on. But I spoke up only at certain times but now I’m saying FUCK THAT SHIT.

I don’t need to call out people directly because I don’t need that mess and I’m not interested in having a back and forth with folks who I know are not ready to break open their mind and consider that they could be wrong. And I don’t need to call you out, y’all know who you are. And it’s not just this rp it’s COUNTLESS rp’s that do problematic shit. Like the rp I was in that wanted to have a sadie hawkins dance (where the girls ask the boys out) yet there are queer and non-binary characters in the rp. Or like when that bomb went off in chelsea last year and some rp I was in decided to let characters post starters and talk about it like they were affected cause the rp was set in NYC.

THE LIST GOES ON and ON

But my particular focus is on the topic of race and the marginalization of roleplayers of color and characters/fcs of color. Do you have any idea how disheartening it is to look at an app count in an OC roleplay and see that out of all of the ten applications not a single one is a poc fc? Do you know how disheartening it is to watch people eagerly accept plots with my cis white dude fc and not any of my fcs of color ESPECIALLY black women? Do you know how fucked up it is to have people view your complaints as you making too big of a deal? Do you know how frustrating it is to have countless white roleplayers use quotes from songs by poc artists for their blogs and appropriate language only to have their character not talk to a single character of color in the rp? Do you know what it’s like to play a black character and have someone consistently fetishize biracial babies? Do you know what it’s like to watch people play latinx characters and continuously describe them as “spicy”or pretend like they can’t speak english? Do you know what it’s like to watch someone (most likely a non-black and/or non-poc) act like a black fc can’t fit for a super smart, Harvard bound socialite character? Do you know what it’s like to watch people cast white people with a tan as latinx characters? Do you know what it’s like to watch various communities of color be typecasted again and again for roleplays? Do you even know it’s happening???

Y’all I’m tired. I’m tired of shit S H I T. I spend everyday dodging old white dudes on the train on my way to work, the last thing I need when I sign on for my “escape” is for some white person telling me that my feelings are invalid or that you don’t have room for poc fcs when you’ve literally created a character for every crusty white man who has the same first name. IM TIRED, man. Why don’t I get the same luxury to escape as all of y’all? Why is it SO HARD for you to go to google and do a search on what it means to be intersectional and inclusive?

Those are all rhetorical questions, btw, I know the answers and you do too. There’s a lot more that I wanted to say but I got too frustrated so the bottom line is:

If you’re finding it hard to be inclusive of people of color in your roleplay then you need to dig deep and do some reflection and realize that yes, you are inherently racist, yes you were born into a world that is inherently racist but there comes a point where you become explicit in your own ignorance, racism and prejudice.

Wake the fuck up and read a book.

#text post #idk what to tag this but i needed to vent hardcore #open letter

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toddlazarski · 6 years ago

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The Tlayuda Trail

Shepherd Express

There’s not a newly minted driver’s license-holder, gaggle of buddies in the backseat, nowhere to go in awkward underage-ness save suburban drive-thrus, nor a college-age stoner, worth his or her weight in Grateful Dead Dick’s Picks discs, or even an early adult barfly, in possession of the Grubhub app, who hasn't had a moment, maybe even something resembling a full blown affair—unseemly pant seat stains, GI stress, a burning of the heart—with the Taco Bell Mexican Pizza.

Even if you haven’t, consider the guilty-pleasure little monster: two crisp pizza shells, mashy refrieds, seasoned ground beef, a creamy three cheese blend, BBQ-ish, Mexican-inspired pizza gravy, tomatoes. It covers the texture gamut, is crackly, saucy, sodium-packed, pleasantly messy but edible on-the-go. Processed running queso rivulets dangle seductively between bite edges. Then consider the weird fourth meal hours, the flexed schedule it finds itself plopped in the middle of, the mix of excitement segueing toward yawning regret. It’s all a bit like having a baby.

Maybe the magic is in the joyous sum of the over-salted parts, or the conditions within which it is usually, hopefully always, consumed. Or possibly it’s just the fact that “Mexican Pizza” is as pleasant a term combo as might exist this side of “Open Bar.”

But then ponder the sound Tlayuda—that rough consonant collision leveling off with a pleasant oooh of an old-timey car horn, coming back up with the ahh of satisfaction. This Oaxacan specialty is the spiritual inspiration behind the aforementioned corporate calorie conglomeration. Which, despite munchie merit, is a white-washed bastardization, one on par with the Doritos Locos taco, Charlton Heston’s portrayal of a Mexican DEA agent in “Touch of Evil,” or your drunk uncle’s Cinco de Mayo celebrations. When made with real ingredients though, a diner can expect a fresh, oily, shimmering, seared tortilla crust holding, or pocketing, some sort of earthy meat-and-bean band, half-melted cheese layers letting mouth warmth finish the cooking task. It’s usually topped off by clingy clumps of avocado, maybe a flourish of crema velvetiness, crowned with some sort of chile pepper pop.

Often served closed-face, the tlayuda in this form can come across as the more successful, well-rounded cousin of the quesadilla. It’s maybe a bit fatter. But in the doing-alright-for-myself kind of way, as the ingredients melt and tumble and spill together like late night at a wine mixer. In the fold of protein, cheese, crusty carbs, some bites can resemble those of a smushed, airless calzone. Or there is the version that harkens closer to an actual pizza, with manageable wedges, a segregation of flavor proponents, proper ratios, never too much crust.

Whichever iteration, there is a time in adulthood for refinement, for proper exploration and broadening horizons, for consciously eschewing Big Box pig-outs. At the very least, in the hopes of smoothing some rough primitive urges for sopping grease and base beef pleasure points, here’s a tour of Milwaukee’s finest Mexican “pizza.” Because there’s also a time to admit, in most all cases, Taco Bell is actually quite bad.

Villas Restaurant

Of the multitude mistakes I’ve made in life, leaving Villas with a tlayuda hastily ordered “to go” ranks somewhere between studying journalism and beginning the previously hinted-at affair with Taco Bell. The foil-wrapped half-moon shaped monster was heavy enough on the passenger seat that the Honda thought it needed to turn on the airbag. I wondered if I should buckle the big guy in. By the time we got home though, it was all accident anyway: a mushy, soggy mess, impenetrable by fork, cooled and coalescing.

Yet two indicators instinctively led me to the ridiculous conclusion that I would again be on my way west on Greenfield Avenue, in a matter of days really, for a return to the scene of the calorie crime. One, like any conscientious father concerned about poisoning and decent palate-making, I stole a monitoring bite of my daughter’s quesadilla. Then another. It was a bursting, beautifully-golden crisped tortilla, packed with oozing, overflowing cheese, bits of which had touched the flattop, become blackened with a delicious bit of caramelization. Then there is the salsa. Probably a front-of-classroom sort of MIAD student could name the color that is the orange-ish, yellow-ish, burnt grass-looking stuff in the squirt bottle, but it seems too abstract to try, like trying to describe a feeling in a dream. Singular in taste too, it is a sauce at once punchy and inviting, scorching and addictive.

My return was also hastened by the pleasantness of the place: the blue-on-blue floor and table motif, the warm orange walls, the Easter decorations, fake flowers and plants, the Packers ceiling fans. Mostly I enjoyed the tuba pop bumping from the kitchen, competing with the Mexican soap operas. It’s nice to remember that there are people back there, people working, rocking out at work too, just like me and you. Maybe working harder though, based on the mass of the 14-buck tlayuda. It is sized to emasculate, dropped at your table with a smirk like it’s a very big joke. It’s large enough for sustenance for somewhere between three meals and the time you just get sick of it or forget it’s in your refrigerator.

The closed shell is crispy and oil-shimmering, fresh out of a bath it seems. And while takeout was a disaster, there is something within where it only keeps getting better as it sits in front of you, gathering itself as you eat, the chorizo settling, the queso warming, gooping, becoming happier, friendlier with the other ingredients, even with the subdued beans, which need some coaxing out from under their shell home. There’s actually almost enough lettuce to make you feel something approaching responsible life decision-making. But then you are cracking the chippy skin again, and there’s no turning from the fact it’s a plate of sheer fried bombast.

Why does it need to be so big? It’s a question along the lines of “where do we go when we die?” Which, if you eat a whole one, you may find the answer to sooner than later. Or, if like me, you eat half with way too much of the salsa—unable to stop with the squirting—you have a more sure destination: A late afternoon siesta with just a brief stop in bathroom purgatory.

Chicken Palace

There are few places in town where the gulf between expectation and execution is wider: the overly-bustling corner of 35th and National feels like a frenzy, what with the packed lot of Asian restaurants, beaters speeding too fast, trying to make the light, too loud without mufflers, and the bus stops so crowded, occasionally looking like the characters within could easily double as a police lineup. Inside there’s a grimy tile floor, Mexican soap operas at uncomfortable volumes, and a gaudy neon-centric color scheme that reeks of schmaltz and Breaking Bad’s Pollos Hermanos. But most importantly there’s a tiny counter with a smiling woman and a cash register, offering a chance to request happiness while yielding free whiffs of endlessly grilling chicken.

It’s the specialty, if you couldn’t tell by the royal name. And it is best in whatever form allows the most usage of the deep, dank reservoir of a salsa bar. Within explore the neon verde, cool and pepper-y like a Mexican relish; the onion and habanero pickled mix of capsaicin angst; the bright tomato, with a sneaky spice finish; the dark rojo, both hellish and earthy; the thick, emulsified light green cream that I would like to request one day be splashed around my gravestone on a weekly basis. You have to ask for salsa cups, so, be reasonable, just get cinco.

The tlayuda more than fits the order for framework in this case. Coming charred and burnt-smelling, it is folded into a form that is almost sandwich, almost panini, almost three-piece erector set. The bites are crackly, foundationally-threatening for those not paying attention, but there is still a doughy, chewy finish that renders it something like wood-fired Roman pizza. Creamy black beans are front and forward, mixing nearly half with the shredded, orange-hued chicken. Incredibly moist, it’s nice to be reminded how good poultry can be when it’s not a menu afterthought. It smacks of salt, time, care, a red hot grill. The lettuce and cheese are thusly overshadowed, wilty, the avocado is mostly buried. But that seems all the better, creating a blank pollo slate, one buttery with beans, crisp with a cracker corn crust, allowing the salsa to shine like your favorite ‘za toppings. All in rotation with every bite.

Taqueria La Costena

This rolling red doll house parked down 27th street from St. Luke’s Hospital—looming like both health warning and some security—offers probably Milwaukee’s finest take of the pizza form of tlayuda. The corn crust, acting as pure conveyance, is a bit floppy, lightly oiled and griddled, a consistency of an every-corner New York City slice, strong enough but needing some second hand assistance. There’s lettuce and tomato for body, a smidge of a smear of refried pintos, and svelty sour cream to smooth it all out. Queso warmly hugs the shell, cilantro flutters about like pleasantly unchecked flora sprouting between salty sidewalk cracks. It’s a beautiful, colorful site, sitting there in it’s styrofoam home on your passenger seat. It can also be aesthetically enhanced by the dark red, smoky salsa, everything enticing enough for me to risk listeria from a recent avocado recall, the hunks sitting on top so soft and green and fatty.

But really it is all in unintrusive service of the bountiful meat-of-choice. Chorizo, which often makes the best filling, almost always makes the best topping, as it also would and could on many Americanized sorts of pizza—say, the meat-lover’s special. It is crumbly, salty, satisfying in a crisped sausage way, but better, garlickier, more chile pepper-exotic. Here it comes perfectly charred, black but juicy, generously bountiful.

“Seven minutes” was the quoted wait time from the happy man in the little window, a timekeeping call met, showing he knows how this all goes, that it is far from his first tlayuda rodeo. Back in the car, it becomes one of those dishes you look at, and even on an empty lunchtime stomach you think you’ll have at least half to save for later. But then, maybe barely longer than it took to finish your order, maybe emboldened by some clean test results at the hospital, or perhaps hungered from a foliage eye feast at the nearby Domes, there is nothing left but but meat-hued carnage, some debris almost forming a police chalk outline of a greasy front-seat crime. There’s also more than enough satisfaction to realize that taco trucks are the true, adult form of the drive-through window.

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shannrussell-blog1 · 6 years ago

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Going camping at Christmas time is an Aussie tradition. ‘What you doin’ over Christmas?’ you’ll be asked. ‘Heading up the river/down the beach’ will be a common response. In fact, Christmas camping is about as Australian as the flies that will be there to greet you when you arrive at the campsite. True patriots, them flies.

But, due to its popularity, Christmas camping can be challenging. Chances are you won’t have that idyllic bush campsite next to the Howqua River to yourself. Everybody is on annual leave, the kids are off school – heading bush at Christmas time isn’t just your bright idea!

That’s why we thought we’d share 10 tips to make camping over Christmas more of a breeze.

1. Be prepared by doing your research

Leaving things to the last minute is never a good idea. Picture this: you’re about to head off for a week on the Gloucester River. You have yet to even unlock the shed door and start packing the car. Chances of forgetting something are pretty high if you’re this unprepared.

If you plan to head off over Christmas, make sure you start planning a few weeks in advance. The first thing you should do is prepare a gear list. This could be as basic as a handwritten checklist or Snowys own gear checklist.

Or if you’re a geek like me, a comprehensive spreadsheet with weights, prices, the packing order, and all the bells and whistles (you should see the extent some ultralight hikers go to.)

Check gear off as you go, that way you won’t forget anything!

Over the proceeding days start bringing stuff out of the shed to check that it is in good repair and put it aside, ready for the car. This will give you plenty of time to repair (and clean) anything that is broken and buy replacements. This is also a great time to update your camping tool and repair kit as well.

Be sure to write a shopping list for anything you may need to buy. If you’re going to shop online, make sure you leave plenty of time for the purchases to arrive. Over Christmas, Australia Post and couriers are run off their feet so get your purchases in early.

Wikicamps provides the most up to date info on campsites around Australia. Image: WikiCamps Australia

Make the most of apps

During your research, download the WikiCamps app and check the campsites you’re interested in visiting. There’s also a whole host of other handy outdoor apps that are helpful for this time of the year which you can check out here.

WikiCamps is crowdsourced (campers just like you list their favourite sites) and allows users to leave comments and photos of their experience. The comment section is a handy way of gauging how busy a campsite might be at a particular time of year, and any other useful tidbits that might help fellow campers, e.g. pub happy hour is at 4 pm!

Also, be sure to research fuel prices. Petrol and diesel can be really expensive the further you travel outside of the city. There are many sites and apps out now that display fuel prices in a particular area – have a look at FuelMap and MotorMouth as examples.

Don’t leave anything to chance. Be prepared. You’ll be less stressed. Oh, and don’t forget the toilet paper!

2. Book in advance!

So it’s Easter and you’ve just had a fantastic couple of days at your favourite caravan park on the Murray River. ‘We have to come back at Christmas!’ you announce on the journey home. Do it, but book now! If a campsite requires you to book, book as far in advance as possible.

3. Arrive early

I headed down to the Coorong for Christmas last year. We arrived on Christmas day. There was hardly a soul to be seen. We got in ahead of the crowds. Two days later, as we braved the road back to Adelaide, there was a convoy of 4X4s and camper trailers heading in the opposite direction.

Had we stayed another night, our peaceful waterside camp would have been transformed drastically. Get in early to bag the best spot!

Getting in early means plenty of peace and quiet. Image: Matt Pfeil

4. Head a little further afield

The easier a camp is to access, the more people it will attract. Consider going a bit further afield this Christmas to avoid the crowds. It may just afford you the peace and quiet that we tend to like when we go camping. Having a 4WD and a sense of adventure comes in handy, as you can access places off the beaten track.

Just a note, if your intention is the fire up the trail bike or jet ski, be mindful that others that have gone to the effort to camp out in the sticks might have done so to avoid that sort of noise. Make friends, and enjoy the serenity together.

5. Shop in town

Do your shopping before you leave the big smoke. Not only are the prices cheaper, but you’ll also be able to buy a lot of things that you might not be able to get in rural or remote areas.

Like with Tip 1, preparation is key. Write a list. Come up with a menu (read more about menu planning here). Work out what you can take from home, what you need to buy, what can go in a storage box or on ice, and what needs to go in your car fridge/freezer.

That said, support the local economy by picking up the essentials in the local town. And don’t forget to visit the local bakery. Country bakeries are always the best!

Planning your menu beforehand will make mealtimes so much easier. Image: Coleman Australia

6. Make friends

Camping over Christmas usually means sharing a camping spot with lots of other people. Don’t let this be negative, see it as an opportunity to meet new friends. After all, you all have a common interest – you like camping! Shouldn’t be too hard to strike up a conversation.

7. Get wet

Holidaying near the water is such an Aussie thing to do over summer. It’s likely to be hot if you’re out over Christmas, so add some water to the experience.

Australia is a big place with heaps of great camping spots close to beautiful beaches, rivers, streams, and lakes. There’s nothing quite like making a morning cuppa while staring out over a beautiful stretch of water, then ten minutes later take a dip. What a start to the day!

Camping near the water also allows you to take some water toys with you. Snorkels, body boards, surfboards, jet skis, boats, fishing rods. Your togs. Yep, you can see why Aussies like camping near the water over summer.

Look for a campsite with water nearby, Christmas has the perfect weather for a swim! Image: Alite

8. Buy gifts that can be enjoyed on the trip

As the kids get older they’re probably less interested in heading bush with their crusty old folks (if not, you have top kids!), only to be away from the new PS4 they got for Christmas, or not have any mobile reception for their new iGadget. Consider gifting them something that they can use while camping. It might be a snorkel or a small kayak or a camera or colouring in books or the must-read fantasy novel.

Buy them something that will keep them entertained while you’re laying back with a cold one. The best camping trips are the ones where everyone is happy and gets something out of it.

You can still have a delicious Christmassy meal, even when you’re out bush. Image: Oztent

9. Get merry

If you’re camping on Christmas day, it doesn’t mean you have to pass up the Christmas meal. There are some amazing recipes floating around the place for Christmassy things like Jack Daniel’s honey glazed ham, and stove top roast chicken that can be cooked in your camp oven (check fire bans in your area – there is a way to use your camp ovens in summer though) or camp stove.

Nothing says Merry Aussie Christmas more than fresh seafood. So if you’re camping near the ocean or river, and have some luck with the rod and line, you could have the beginnings of the most Aussie of Christmases yet!

10. Be prepared for hot weather

Summer in Australia gets hot. Who would have thought? So it’s important to be prepared for a scorcher. There are stacks of things you can do to maximise your comfort if you’re faced with blistering temperatures (we’ve got some more tips for keeping cool here):

Position your camp in a shady spot and set up a sunshade

Remove your tent fly to encourage airflow (and place a shade over the top of it if necessary)

Bring a lightweight 12V fan or

Staying focused on the roads is essential especially around the holidays. Image: Cybertext Consulting

Bonus tip – stay safe

Finally, being safe when out bush is vital to an enjoyable trip. Camping during summer can be risky, what with snakes and bush fires out to get you. Keep tabs on the weather and conditions. If a bushfire approaches your campsite, follow the instructions as set out by the local fire board. Make sure you have a reliable means of communication as well for emergencies.

Getting to and from your campsite requires you to exercise caution and good judgement too. You may be a top driver but not all other road users are. And a distraction in the car can have shocking consequences.

You’ve probably watched the news over Christmas and Easter and seen all the reports about the road toll. Don’t push yourself, don’t drink and drive, drive to the conditions, and take regular rest breaks.

Most importantly, if you’re going camping over Christmas have a great time, bond with the family, and relax. That’s what it’s all about, right?

Where are you heading this Christmas? Let us know in the comments!

The post Top 10 Tips for Camping this Christmas appeared first on Snowys Blog.

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miketendo-64 · 8 years ago

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Missed the Splatoon 2 focused Nintendo Direct? Not a problem as you can watch it all right here:

But if you’re in a mood to read as opposed to watch, then I hope you’re comfortable as we have a ton of details, followed by all the Splatoon 2 related tweets and over 50 images for you to go through. Let’s do this!

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Splatoon 2 Details Revealed in the Freshest Nintendo Direct Yet:

Get to Know the New Features, New Weapons and New Styles Before the Game Launches on July 21

REDMOND, Wash., July 6, 2017 – With the Splatoon 2 game launching exclusively for the Nintendo Switch console in just a couple of weeks, Nintendo partnered with the renowned Squid Research Lab to provide a refresher on some of the new and returning features coming to the squid sequel. The special Nintendo Direct presentation highlighted many of the game’s new features, new weapons, new locations and, most importantly for all the fashion-forward cephalopods out there, its fresh new styles. The video also touched on SplatNet 2, the new service for mobile devices that displays information about Splatoon 2 like stage schedules, gear and stats. SplatNet 2 is part of the Nintendo Switch Online mobile app launching on July 21, which lets players send multiplayer invites to their friends via social media, as well as enables the use of voice chat in battles.

“Splatoon 2 is a huge, robust sequel to the original Splatoon,” said Doug Bowser, Nintendo of America’s Senior Vice President of Sales and Marketing. “Fans that played and loved the first game will have plenty of new stuff to enjoy, while the game is also a great introduction for players new to the colorful and stylish series.”

Before the game launches on July 21, Nintendo Switch owners can dive into the fun with the Splatoon 2: Splatfest World Premiere demo. This special Splatfest will happen July 15 from 3 to 7 p.m. PT. Players just have to download the free demo in Nintendo eShop on Nintendo Switch and choose a team before the Splatfest begins. The demo can be downloaded early before the Splatfest goes live, starting later today.

Some of the highlights revealed in the video include:

Custom Style: In Splatoon 2, Inklings can be customized to fit the player’s taste. Things like eye color, hair style and skin tone can all be adjusted when creating a character. And this doesn’t even mention the fresh new gear like shirts, shoes and hats that can also be equipped. Since two years have passed in the world of Inkopolis, many styles have been upgraded so no one is caught splatted in something that is “so 2015.”

Galleria: To find all these hot new fashion trends, players just have to make their way to the Inkopolis Galleria. This row of popular gear and weapon shops is where all the cool kids and squids hang out. In Ye Olde Cloth Shoppe, a jellyfish named Jelfonzo will help players obtain T-shirts and jackets. A spider crab named Bisk runs the shoe shop Shella Fresh, while Flow the sea slug helps players at the headwear shop Headspace. Weapons can be picked up by stopping by Ammo Knights, run by the knowledgeable horseshoe crab Sheldon. And who doesn’t love food? Inklings can grab a bite at Crusty Sean’s dive to get more points and in-game currency from battles.

Gear: Equipping gear in Splatoon 2 will give players special abilities. Each piece of gear has certain abilities, and there are even additional abilities that appear as players use the gear more and more in battle. By speaking to Murch, a sea urchin (naturally), players can freshen up their gear with abilities that reduce ink consumption or help them move faster – some will even decrease respawn time! There is a wide variety of abilities in the game, so selecting the right one to use could make or break the battle.

Fresh Features: Some additional features coming to Splatoon 2 include a handy menu that lets players change the sensitivity of the controls separately for TV and Handheld mode, amiibo functionality and the ability to post drawings directly to social media. By tapping a Splatoon series amiibo figure, players can save control settings, gear and weapon loadouts, and nicknames to any Splatoon amiibo figure. New Splatoon series and legacy Splatoon amiibo are all compatible with Splatoon 2 and can also reward players with exclusive gear when tapped. (The game saves data on the amiibo figure, which can hold data for one game at a time. The game, system and amiibo are sold separately. Visit http://www.nintendo.com/amiibo for details about amiibo functionality.)

Turf War: Turf War, which finds two teams of four battling to ink the most turf, makes its grand return in Splatoon 2. There are all kinds of different stages in the game, ranging from city streets, a sports club, an academy and even a BMX track. Different stages have different environmental hazards, so players will have to work together to figure out the best strategy.

Ranked Battles: Every two hours, the three Ranked Battle modes rotate, offering something new to play. The three modes are Splat Zones, which finds teams fighting for control of Splat Zones placed on the stage; Tower Control, a fast-and-frantic mode in which players ride a moving tower; and the chaotic fun of Rainmaker. By winning a Ranked Battle, players increase their rank in each mode. Ranked Battles can be played online*. The modes in Ranked Battle can be played in local multiplayer** in Private Battle.

League Battles: League Battles allow players to form a team with friends, fight alongside them and battle their way to the top of the charts. There are two ways to join in these 4-on-4 battles: Players can enlist one other friend to form a pair and be matched with another pair, or connect with three friends to form a four-squid team. Once teams are created, players compete in Ranked Battle modes to aim for a top ranking.

Salmon Run: This new local- and online-multiplayer mode* to Splatoon 2 finds up to four players** working together to defeat bosses and collect Power Eggs in a limited amount of time. Each match in Salmon Run lasts for three waves, with players having to collect a select number of Power Eggs to advance to the next wave – oh, and at least one player on the team has to stay alive. This last part might be tough since the stage is overrun by Salmonid enemies and giant bosses, each with their own weakness. Salmon Run is a frantic multiplayer mode that can be played locally with friends at anytime and is also available to play online at designated times, just like Splatfest.

Single-Player Adventure: Oh no! Callie (of the famous Squid Sisters) has disappeared! Of course, there’s no need to panic. Players can just hop into the game’s single-player adventure to ink their way through a variety of creative obstacles, monstrous bosses and devious Octarians. This single-player mode is also a great way to learn the basics of the game and try out different weapons.

So Many Ways to Play!: Splatoon 2 can be played in so many different ways, including TV Mode, Handheld Mode and Tabletop Mode, as well as online* or local multiplayer**. And not only are the game-play options numerous, but the jam-packed sequel can be played anywhere!

Main Weapons: In Splatoon 2, weapons come in sets of three: a main weapon, a sub weapon and a special weapon. There are many different types of main weapons, from long-range weapons to short-range ones. Some new (wonderfully named) weapons introduced in Splatoon 2 include the Clash Blaster, Flingza Roller, Goo Tuber and the Dapple Dualies.

Sub Weapons: In addition to inking and attacking, many sub weapons will help players with other abilities, such as defending from attacks or revealing enemy positions. The new Autobomb, for example, will find an enemy and automatically follow them, while Toxic Mist, well, is exactly how it sounds! It fills the surrounding area with a poisonous mist, reducing the ink of opponents who dare step in its range, as well as making them move slower.

Special Weapons: All the special weapons in Splatoon 2 are new! Some of the weapons making their debut are the Tenta Missiles, the Inkjet, the Sting Ray and the Baller, which lets players roll up walls in an explosive hamster ball. Special weapons can be used once a player’s special meter is filled.

Post-Launch Updates: Like the first Splatoon, Splatoon 2 will see a continuing rollout of updates to the game. These updates will take the form of new weapons, like the umbrella-shaped Brella, new gear and additional stages.

SplatNet 2: When the Nintendo Switch Online app* launches for mobile devices on July 21, players will also have access to SplatNet 2. This Splatoon 2-specific service helps players stay in touch with Inkopolis even when they are away from their Nintendo Switch systems! SplatNet 2 displays information like stage schedules, gear and stats, and even lets users view their lifetime inkage, a feature that shows how much turf a player has inked compared to real-world places. The Nintendo Switch Online app allows users to invite other players to join Private Battles, League Battles, Salmon Run and Splatfest Battles, as well as communicate with those players using voice chat. (A compatible mobile device and persistent internet connection are required. Data charges may apply.)

Splatfests: While content updates for Splatoon 2 will last around a year, more limited-time Splatfests for the game are planned for the next two years. To kick things off, a free demo to try out the first Splatfest for Splatoon 2 is going to be held on July 15 from 3 to 7 p.m. PT. Players just have to download the free demo in Nintendo eShop on Nintendo Switch and get ready to decide if cake or ice cream is their dessert of choice. To prepare in advance, the demo can be downloaded early before the Splatfest goes live, starting later today. Once downloaded, players can start the demo to vote for their team, and even visit the in-game mailbox to create and share drawings in support of their team.

https://twitter.com/NintendoAmerica/status/882958784871661568

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We hope you all looking forwards to the upcoming game as much as we are right this second. The #Splatoon2 hype is real!

Source: Nintendo of America PR

Ultimate #Splatoon2 Direct Coverage, Complete with Photos and All Official Details! Missed the Splatoon 2 focused Nintendo Direct? Not a problem as you can watch it all right here:

#Splatoon #July Feature #news #nintendo direct #Nintendo Switch

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patrononfire · 8 years ago

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What follows is simply an account of what I found helped my state of mind while I was getting crushed by repeated 100+ hour weeks one after another. I am writing this in the spirit of trying to help another guy trying to get through a tough and miserable time - if it comes across as preaching or condescending then that is unintentional. If it comes across as braggadocios alpha-male bullshit then that is not intended either. I was a soldier for nearly a decade and I guess that colors how I look at a lot of situations. Here goes:

1. Adopt A Survivor Mentality.

There are some extraordinary stories of people that have survived in the face of incredible odds against them. I am talking about being stranded in the wilderness or adrift at sea - that kind of a thing. There has been a certain amount of academic research and a number of books filled with awe-inspiring stories. Movies too; "127 Hours" is a recent example that comes to mind. Those that survive exhibit a number of common personality traits. Fortitude and an absence of self-pity are among them, but the one that really resonated with me is: Acceptance. Those that got their heads down and prevailed against an awful situation accepted the hand that they had been dealt. That was just how it happened to be for them. They accepted that this was the situation that they'd got themselves into, they accepted what resources (or more importantly what constraints) they had, and they made the best of what they had to work with. Getting frustrated or angry about things that you simply cannot change is an enormous waste of energy. Save that energy for something that will actually help you.

2. Put It In Perspective.

I am wary of becoming preachy here so I will keep it short: there are many, many people whose lives are a fuck's-sight worse than yours. Nothing highly original here, but what put it in perspective for me was reading a well-written book about somebody roughly the same age as me who is having an altogether different, and worse, experience. Apart from the fact that reading is an enjoyable and enriching escape - even for 20 minutes before bed, it can also give you tremendous perspective. [I had the Kindle app downloaded onto my work computer, and sometimes inconspicuously read between 9am and 3pm while I was waiting for a turn of edits]. "Unbroken" and "Matterhorn" are two books that I recently read. I also taped a small picture of Nelson Mandella to my monitor. When I was really hating life I thought about what he described in "The Long Walk to Freedom" and it put things in perspective for me. Once one of the Directors asked me who the picture was of - I told him it was my uncle and he seemed to believe me, the ignorant fuck.

3. Rationalize 2 Years.

I know its hard when you are there, and at the time of being an Analyst its not much less than a tenth of your life, but two years really is not a long time. If you get caught with a small amount of weed and are unlucky you can get sent to prison for more than two years, soldiers go to Afghanistan for nearly 18 months. I know that these are downbeat examples but you can get through two years if you can keep the end in sight and break it down into chunks. I created a fancy spreadsheet with loads of date functions that broke down how far through my stint I was and how much money I had made so far. This can sap your morale as well as boost it so decide for yourself and obviously never let anyone see it! Two years all at once can seem overwhelming so break it down into milestones that work for you: Thanksgiving, when bonuses get paid, your one-year point - whatever. Focus on getting to the next milestone and then pick another one. Somehow it makes things seem a tiny bit less shit.

4. Be Strong.

carry yourself with purpose and aplomb - do not look like a victim and never complain. It is a shitty life right now - everyone knows that it is. The Analysts that tearfully drag themselves about the floor like zombies mark themselves down as bitches and it becomes a downward spiral of disrespect from there. It is an ugly, "Lord of the Flies", side of human nature and I am not endorsing it but if you mope around and visibly hate every moment then it gets noticed and it becomes the legacy that you do not want.

5. Create Options.

If your current job genuinely is the only current opportunity that you have for gainful employment, then yes that sucks and you feel trapped. Forgive me for the blunt analogy, but being a junior investment banker is in some ways akin to being in an abusive relationship. You can be the victim that's trapped in the trailer park and regularly beaten by your drunken spouse and for as long as you let it be so that will be your life until such a time as you chose to make it otherwise. Nobody will help you get out, nobody cares and the cycle of victimhood will be perpetuated for as long as you let it. I'm not saying its easy to switch jobs, and as we all know, it takes time, persistence and good fortune to make a smart career move. But every outreach, every networking email, every informal coffee meeting creates optionality for you and makes you feel a little bit less trapped each time you make some headway. There are alternatives and if you proactively go out there after them, each small success even if it doesn't directly result in a job opportunity will take you down the road and make you feel a bit less trapped by where you are now.

6. Think Creatively About Your Career.

I accept that this might not the same for everyone, but I found that the abject crapness of being an M&A Associate actually made me really think a lot more than I ever had before about what I valued in life and what I wanted from it. Despite working 100-hour weeks, in what little downtime I had, I actually was able to think incredibly sharply about the career that I wanted and what interested and motivated me. No longer having the luxury of idle time for thought made me use what scarce time I had very carefully. I tagged ideas, whims and fantasies in Evernote (both on my browser and on my iPhone) and this led me to my current career (soft commodities) and pursuits (for example Krav Maga and cookery) that would probably never have occurred to me beforehand. I also went through my alumni network, a handful of headhunters and LinkedIn to build a CRM database in Zoho of people that I wanted to make contact with. It was surprising how much progress I could make even just putting in an hour or two a week - people were also very understanding about my current situation.

7. Exotic Jobs.

If you are pre-MBA and really need to re-set after a couple of years as an Analyst, I would encourage you to think about parlaying your skills into a business-related function but for an altogether different organization. I'm thinking places like Peace Corps, MSF, Red Cross, War Child, LeapFrog Investments etc. People with business, finance and consulting experience are in demand in such places - friends of mine have worked at all of the above. Pros: its only a year or two commitment, it gives you a chance to live healthily and get tan, if you're in any way bullish on emerging markets its great exposure, you get irreplaceable experience in a foreign country, your MBA application essays are going to write themselves. Unless you are smitten to taking your chances with a mega LBO-fund (which with all due respect I don't sense that you are) I really don't think that it is going to hurt your career in the long run, and on the contrary could open a lot of doors in interesting parts of the world where there are some fantastic opportunities to participate in their economic growth.

8. Heroes And Mentors.

When I was on my second tour in Iraq, a 36-year old Major that I knew was killed by a roadside bomb. He was ten years older than I was at the time, and left behind a wife and a couple of infant children. It was around this time that I decided a long-term career in the military was not what I wanted. It's a bit of a stark example, but my point is to look at guys who are a bit further ahead in the same career as you are now in. Ask yourself whether you would want their life, and whether you would want to go through what they did to get there. Perhaps you do, in which case it is fairly clear-cut what needs to be done next. If you balk at it then that's a message to you - it's a message to start redirecting your career to somewhere that you do want to take it. Additionally, I cannot be too encouraging of seeking a professional mentor.

You'll get differing opinions from everyone, but what has worked well for me is NOT reaching out to some crusty septuagenarian who plays golf with your Dad - this rarely works unless he is exorbitantly well-connected and happens to love you like a son. Find someone with whom you have some commonality who is 4 to 6 years further in his or her career than you are. Use your alumni network, LinkedIn, WSO whatever. Pick someone that you are able to meet in person in NYC or whichever city you live in. Buy them a beer and make it clear that you are not looking for them to find you a job - you are just grateful for their advice and suggestions. They will drop their guard when they realize that you are not trying to pump them to find your next job for you (as just about everyone else is) and if they are a half-way pleasant kind of a person they will take some satisfaction from giving you a leg-up and helping you get ahead in your career.

Other guys have commented on alcohol and office politics so I will only briefly add my 2c. I would advise against hitting the bottle too hard. Like you, I found it quite a good way to depressurize although it is obviously injurious to your health and can all too easily get out of control. Understand what a "high functioning alcoholic" is, and if you identify with any of the symptoms I'd recommend giving it a break for a bit. It won't do you any favors in the long run. The best move I made was not keeping any alcohol whatsoever in my apartment; when you get home at 5:30am you simply don't have the option of having a quick and easy nightcap before bed. I would also recommend, if you possibly can, talking to your Associate and appealing to them to manage you in as humane a way as they can.

Unless a direct promote, they have learnt all that leadership, man-management BS at business school and a sincere appeal for empathy ought not to fall on deaf ears if they are a half-way decent human being. I would try to send Analysts home early when I could, and I know that other Associates tried to as well. Ultimately it's a give-and-take relationship between Analysts and Associates - a bit of goodwill is always repaid before very long so you shouldn't be too hesitant about being asked for a small break now and then.

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