#THE PIZZA TO MY FRENCH FRIES

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙿 𝚈’𝙰𝙻𝙻 🔥⁉️ 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙸𝙽 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽— 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝙰 𝙻𝙾𝚃𝚃𝚃𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝙱𝙲 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚁𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟻,𝟽𝟶𝟿

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡 (𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️)

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️ (𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡)

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖.

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚃*𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙳𝙽𝙸 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜— 𝚢’𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚢 <𝟹)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜 𝚋𝚌 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝: @tiggleebug @tmnt-th1ngs @creativecutie

@veryblushyswitch @snugglyfluffle @kanene-yaaay

@someone1348 @vxlepop @what-youd-expect

@ziipzeepzop-eez @my-l0v3r-v3rse @skye-minecraftyt-blog

@augonot @soft--dragon @titters-and-tingles

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐— 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚊𝚖, 𝚙𝚕𝚣 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 ❤️🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“No.”

“But Raph—”

“No.”

“But Raphie—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I literally just said no, Mikey.”

“But Raaaaaaphhhh, I’m bored!” The youngest groaned, flopping onto the second oldest’s bed dramatically. The second oldest in question raised an unamused brow, looking up from his comic where his little brother laid in front of him. The red banded turtle sighed, going back to reading his novel calmly and ignoring the younger turtle completely. 

Now, if you couldn’t tell by Mikey’s whole demeanor, or the fact that he just stated so…he was bored. VERY bored. EXTREMELY bored. 

TREMENDOUSLY bored if you will.

And if the youngest was bored, you’d best believe you’d hear him complaining all day in and all day out until he found something to occupy himself with. And Raph? Well, the young teen personally did not have the time nor patience to deal with all of that today. 

Or any day really.

“For the millionth time, Mike— I’m busy. Go bother Don or somethin'.” The hot-head grumbled, flipping through the pages of the comic book he was currently reading. The other rolled his eyes, turning his head to his older brother, “Don’t you think I already did that?” Raph chuckled at the statement. “Oh really? And how’d that go?”

“He threw a beaker at me…but I think it had acid in it—“

Raph visibly shuddered, “Okie-dokie then. Another reason for you to get out of my room. Buh-bye. Sayonara. Thanks for stopping by. Adios amigo.” He demanded, pushing Mikey’s face with his foot but the youngest stubbornly stood his ground. He pushed back with his head until the other eventually gave up, throwing his comic book at him in frustration. 

Mikey got up from the bed, annoyingly whining again.

“Just do an activity with me or something…! He huffed, shaking Raph by the shoulders back and forth. “I can show you the way out of my room! That can be an activity we can do together!” The red banded teen smiled with a fake sweet tone, which only caused the other’s frown to deepen. 

“I’ll never ask you for anything ever agaiiiiinnn! Just do something with meeee! Pleeaseee?!” Raph had to bite back a grin when he heard that bargain. In the next 5 minutes, Mikey would probably ask him to do the hokey-pokey or some shit like that. The second oldest let out a long yet playful sigh, rubbing his temples before crossing his arms. “Fine fine…what do you wanna do?” 

The youngest blinked, rubbing the back of his head and looking away for a bit. Well…Raph was surprisingly easy to convince today. It usually took him a solid 2 hours and 30 minutes (he’s counted) until he cracked. Usually 1 hour and 15 minutes on a good day…

“That’s…a very good question…I’ll get back to you on that…” The smaller turtle muttered. Raph tilted his head in complete and utter disbelief. “You came in here harassing me for, like, an hour straight talking about how you wanna spend time with me and now you don’t even know what you wanna do?!”

“I’m thinking, okay?! Don’t get your tits in a twist!” Mikey huffed at his older brother. 

“Don’t get my what in a what???”

The youngest then suddenly snapped his fingers, smiling brightly and turning to the second oldest, “We should play a video game!”

“Like…Fall Guys or something? Dude, I’ve beat you anytime we’ve played two player. Just accept your many MANY losses.” The green eyed mutant teased, laughing at the offended expression Mikey was giving him now.

“I think you might have hit your head a bit too hard when we came from the ooze, my dear friend. Because I clearly remember you losing when we were playing last weekend.” The orange banded teen challenged, sticking his tongue out at Raph who only scoffed in amusement, resting his hand on his hip. 

“I was being a good big brother and let you win.” He retorted. Mikey rolled his eyes, knowing full damn well Raph just sucked absolute ass and didn’t want to admit it. “Yeah yeah, whatever. But, no. I have an even better thing in mind. And it’s a board game.”

A pause.

“…so are you gonna tell me what the board game is?” Raph asked impatiently. 

“I’m pausing for emphasis! I request a drumroll, please.” 

…oh for the love of…

Raph sighed, drumming his hands on his bed for a couple seconds before stopping, waiting for Mikey to tell him the name of this soooo special game that he couldn’t just tell him already.

Because emphasis or whatever.

“Twister!” Mikey smiled, clapping his hands excitedly. “Twister.” Raph repeated, his eye-ridges (is that what they’re called—? Idk…) raising in surprise as he scratched the top of his head confused. “Why Twister of all things? We haven’t played that game since we were, like, 7.”

The blue-eyed mutant shrugged, leaning against his big brother’s beside and lazily checking his nails. “Eh. No reason. Just what first came to mind. What? Afraid you’ll lose, Raphie boy~?” He smirked, looking up at the taller green eyed mutant who only chuckled at his taunt. 

“Oh please. That game is so easy I could play it in my sleep.” He smirked, looking down at Mikey who only had a satisfied grin plastered on his face.

Raph was lying— lying right through his teeth in fact. He wasn’t good at Twister— he wasn’t even semi-good. He didn’t even qualify anywhere near semi-good when it came to Twister. Raph wasn’t the most…flexible turtle of the bunch, which made it hard to do some, if not most of the poses Twister had conjured up for you. 

And usually, he wouldn’t care so much about losing a game. Heck, it was Twister for crying out loud. But Raphael grew up with a family of competitors.

And so, he was competitive. Very competitive.

He didn’t like to lose— in fact, he hated losing. He’d rather beat up Kraang droids all day than lose. 

Well…he’d beat up Kraang droids any day but that’s beside the point! 

Point was, he absolutely sucked at Twister, period. And personally? It wouldn’t be so bad if he was going against Leo, heck— even Casey Goongala Jones himself would be a better opponent than Mikey.

If Mikey won (which he always did), he would make sure you knew all day in and all day out that he beat you. It was annoying as hell and that would only fuel Mikey more into reminding you that you lost against him. 

And like stated before…Raph did not like losing. He didn’t like it one bit. 

The elder straightened up his slouched posture, extending his hand to do a hand shake, which the youngest gladly accepted. “I accept your offer. But don’t be disappointed when I completely annihilate you.”  

“We’ll see about that.” Mikey chirped, grabbing Raph’s arm and almost soaring out of the room with him. 

Aaaaand so that’s where the two were now; spreading the well known dotted mat onto the floor carefully in front of the TV. The two spun a couple times already, the positions that were being requested weren’t hard. At first…just subtle movements here and there. Until Raph had his whole arm underneath Mikey and Mikey had his whole arm under Raph’s…

And by 12 turn’s, they were intertwining each other like a bunch of yarn. Raph, surprisingly, was doing really well. His stance being something along the lines of a downwards dog and a corpse pose— if that makes sense. Which it doesn’t. Because it’s Twister. Twister doesn’t make any sense in the slightest. 

Mikey on the other hand, was not doing so hot. His stance was just basically the Family Guy dead pose but just slightly standing. With every spin of that darn evil plastic wheel, the younger teen seemed to be getting more and more difficult adjustments, while Raph barely had to move a finger. Or…limb in this case. 

The turtle gods were on his big brother’s side today and Mikey was not having it. 

“Doing alright, bro?” The hot-head smugly asked, his voice a little strained due to the odd positing but a teasing grin was on his face nonetheless. “You’re shaking a bit there…” He mused at his little brother, whose limbs were shaking like a bunch of conjoined jello conjoined.

The smaller mutant then fixed his footing, not shaking anymore as he looked up at Raph, smirking smugly right back at him. “Oh I’m fine, big bro. Just. Fine.” The orange banded turtle gritted out.

Now, Mikey wasn’t going to lie, but this whole Twister thing was starting to not seem like such a good idea. His older brother was a complete abomination when it came to Twister! But apparently, he seemed like he was getting every single easy position, and he was doing a pretty decent job at it— and Raph…Raphael has NEVER done decent! 

Mikey, on the other hand, was struggling. He might as well become the actual mascot for the game or something because his arms and legs were getting twisted like actual Twizzlers. It’s probably not even normal for his body to twist like this, but hey! He’s not losing and that’s all that matters, right? 

But he couldn’t keep this act on forever. He was going to fall sooner or later if he didn’t do something fast. 

The younger tried to move to spin the wheel but almost fell in the process; catching himself at the last second. “Yeah…I won’t be able to reach it…” The elder hummed in acknowledgement, also attempting to spin the wheel but ultimately failing as well.

Conveniently, a couple seconds later, the eldest turtle of the four quadruplets walked out of his room, walking into the lounge area where the two were playing Twister. Leo looked the two up and down before sighing, rubbing his face tiredly.

“It’s too early for this…” He grumbled, going to the kitchen to refill his tea cup. Raph and Mikey shared a confused glance with each other, before looking at the other turtle with even more confusion.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon…” The youngest giggled. Leo turned around, glaring at the both of them. And if looks could kill…Mikey would’ve been nothing but a bare shell.

“Yeah. And my statement still stands. It’s too early for this…” The blue banded turtle repeated, taking a sip of a now full tea cup. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go read some Captain Ryan x reader fanfiction…” He grumbled with the most deadpanned face and voice ever, but you could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that he was genuinely excited.

The young leader was probably too tired to acknowledge what he just said…oh well. More blackmail for Mikey then.

“Leo, wait! We need you to spin the spinny thingie!” The second oldest yelled in impatience. This stance was starting to hurt like shell! And losing is not an option here!

Leo turned around, looking his brother up and down again before sipping his tea again. “Do it yourself.” 

“I can’t, wise guy! The spinny whatchamacallit is all the way over there! If I try to spin it, I’ll lose!” Raph explained which only resulted in Leo blinking once before rolling his eyes.

“Then lose.” And with that, the young leader walked to his room, chuckling a bit to himself as he closed his door. “Smug bastard…” The red banded turtle grumbled under his breath.

After a few moments of thinking, Mikey decided he needed to do something to try and get an advantage in this game. That’s when he reached up with one hand and jabbed Raph in the side lightly.

The elder flinched violently, drawing out a surprised and loud shriek, but stubbornly staying in the same position he was before. The second oldest glared at his younger brother, who had the most innocent smile plastered on his face.

“Michelangelo. Hamato.” He warned, his glare hardening. “Poke me again and see what happens.” He said threateningly, which only caused the younger in question to innocently bat his eyes at him, continuously poking around his side.

“Mihihike— shihihit!” Raph cursed, trying to squirm out of reach of the poking with the little room he had. Mikey continued to tickle him, now moving his fingers to scribble on his stomach, which obviously made Raph shriek louder.

“MIHIHIKEY!” 

“Aw…there’s that smile!” The youngest grinned. And finally, to the smaller turtle’s delight, the older fell down on his shell, officially concluding the game and granting Mikey his 100% hard earned victory. 

“I won!” The menace giggled, doing a small little victory dance on the mat before he made eye contact with Raph— who looked like he was ready to KILL.

Victory dance over. Victory dance WAY WAY over. 

The younger got up almost immediately, quickly backing away as the other turtle scaringly followed right behind him. “W-Wait wahait…dude, bro, my man…we can talk about this! We can talk this out like the civilized mature mutants we are! There’s noho need to doohoo anything drahastic…” He rambled, taking multiple upon multiple steps back as Raph inched closer and closer towards him, game obviously loooong forgotten at this point.

The elder cracked his knuckles, an evil smirk spreading across his face almost like a wildfire. And that, ladies and gentleman, was enough evidence for Mikey to know that he was absolutely in for it.

The youngest bolted for Donnie’s lab, running as fast as his little legs could carry him, only to be hoisted onto his big brother’s shoulder as the red banded turtle walked back to the lounge area.

Nervous giggles escaped Mikey’s mouth as he tried to get out of his older brother’s grip, squirming, pushing, kicking— basically all the things he could do in this oh-so-horrible-situation-that-he-definitely-did-not-plan-out-what-so-ever!

Raph put Mikey on the ground, sitting on his legs. “Mihike, I haven’t even done anything yet...” He commented at the squirmy giggly mess that was his youngest brother. Mikey snickered, a small blush creeping to his face. “Shuhut it!“ He squeaked as he felt three fingers on his sides, not moving but just resting there in anticipation. 

The youngest helplessly held the taller turtle’s wrists, shaking his head back and forth while sputtering out giggly pleases as his eyes were closed shut. “What’s gotten you so giggly?” Raph asked innocently, smirking down at his baby brother who was currently losing his mind.

“Just gehehet it oveheher wihith already!” He giggled desperately. If getting absolutely wrecked wasn’t gonna kill him…then the anticipation definitely would.

“Get whahat over with, Mike? I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about…” The orange banded turtle lightly smacked at Raph’s arm, loving and hating every single second of this. Mikey looked to the side, hiding his head in his shell a tiny bit out of embarrassment. 

“Is there…something specific you’re talking about? Something oh-so embarrassing that you apparently can’t even say it out loud?” Raph grinned, his fingers clamping lightly on his sides as the other giggly whined in annoyance and desperation. 

“Will yohou plehease juhust tihihickle me already???” The smallest turtle squeaked; the last part barely audible to the turtle ear and of course Raph felt the need to comment on it. 

“Hm? What was that~? I couldn’t quite hear you…” He smirked, his fingers twitching against the other’s sides. 

“Rahaph!!”

“You gotta speak louder, bud. I can hardly hear you.”

“Rahahaphie plehease!”

“Well since you asked so nicely…” Raphael smiled, starting to actually tickle Mikey’s sides now.

“You know, you could have just…told me you wanted me to tickle you, instead of doing the whole ‘let’s play Twister’ bullshit.” The taller turtle stated calmly, only causing Mikey’s blush to deepen. 

Was he seriously that easy to read? Well that’s embarrassing…he honestly thought he had his older brother fooled with the whole ‘Let’s play Twister bullshit.’

Random fun fact, one of the best and worst things about being tickled by Raph was that he could just casually say the t-word as if it was an everyday word as you can see.

Well…in retrospect it is an everyday word.

But it’s a very embarrassing everyday word.

A very VERY embarrassing everyday word.

And you best believe he always used it as an advantage to gain the upper hand in every situation. Whether he was tickling one of his brothers or not…you bet he would randomly use it in a sentence.

“Literally what are you talking aboHOUT?” Mikey screeched as Raph prodded and poked his lower ribs. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.” The second oldest smirked. “Playing duhumb is not my forte— thahat was yohou duhuhuring Twister.” Mikey managed to giggle out.

Raph sent daggers to Mikey as he pinned one of his hands to the carpeted floor, digging his free hand into his exposed underarm. 

The blue eyed mutant automatically squawked at the sudden sensation, trying desperately to pull his arm back down. The other let out a satisfied huff from the noise, “You were saying~?”

 “ScREHEHEW YOHOU!” He squawked. Raph flinched slightly at the turtle belle’s sudden yell but chuckled at it nonetheless. Oh this is gonna be so so easy…

Mikey’s feet helplessly kicked behind Raph, his legs going up into the air every so slightly every now and again. “Your gonna break the sound barrier with all that screaming, baby brother...” Raph commented.

“But, you okay? You’re voice raised a bit there…” He asked as he heard Mikey’s laughter spike up suddenly. The youngest wiped a couple happy tears from his eyes, giggling still. “Yeah, yeah…I’m okay…”

Raph nodded at the response, rubbing some of the ghost tickles away before going back to tickling him, now squeezing his hip area.

The freckled turtle’s eyes completely shot out of his sockets as and of course his big brother had to make a smart remark.

“Uh oh…did I happen to find a bad spot?” Raph smirked, raising a brow as the younger shook his head back and forth. “NOHO! NAHAT THEHERE! RAHAPH! PLEHEASE!” The teenager cackled loudly, grabbing the other’s wrists but making no attempt to push them away of course.

“Not there?? Whaddya mean not there~? You mean right…here?” Raph giggled, “Right here? Is this a bad spot, Mike?” He questioned innocently.

“RAHAPH *squeak* PLEHEASE!” Mikey squealed. “Please what? I can’t understand you because of my little brother’s mouse squeaks. Sorry man…” Raph said as he dramatically wiped a tear from his eye, before going back to tickling Mikey’s hip area.

“SHUHU— *squeak* SHUHUT UHUP!”

At times like this, you would not question the fact that Mikey’s Dad is a 6'2 rat mutant. Just listening to his laugh you could hear the resemblance.

“My gahaHAHASH! JuhUST STAHAP!” He whined throughout his laughter as Raph continued to knead his hip bones, causing Mikey’s laughter to rise in volume tremendously now and again.

The youngest arched his back with a loud squeal, pushing on his older brother’s wrists again as he tried to turn himself so his shell was facing upward.

“Now where do you think your goin'?” Raph snickered, now using both his hands to tickle Mikey’s underarms now, instead of just tickling one.

“WAHAHAIT! WAHA— *squeal* WAHAIT! IHIHIT TIHI— *squeak* NAHAHAH!” The youngest stammered through his laughter, his bandana long gone off of his face due to how much he was squirming around.

“It tickles? Ya don’t say.” Raph deadpanned, snickering at the small squeal the turtle below him let out after the comment. “Can Dr. Name-Einstein not take what he dishes out~?” He continued, digging deeper in Mikey’s underarms.

“Tickle tickle tickle~!”

“NoHOH—!”

“Tickle tickle~! Kitchie kitchie coo~!”

“SHUHUT— *squeak* SHUHUT YOUR MOHOUTH!”

“Aww…well, that’s not very nice, now is it?” The green eyed teen fake pouted, continuing to tickle Mikey’s underarms, but slipping his hands out every now and again to poke the other’s neck lightly before going back in.

“Ahh tkltkltkl….ahh tkltkltkl— what? I’m abbreviating it for you because you hate that word soooo much, see? Ahh tkltkltkl…”

“IHI’M GOHONNA MUHUHURDER YOHOU!” The youngest shrieked, banging his heels on the floor in a futile attempt to escape his big brother’s VERY mean comments. “Oh yeah? You and with what hands, little man~?” Raph grinned, grabbing both of Mikey’s wrists to put above his head, scribbling all over his stomach.

Mikey’s hyena cackling only raised in volume after that. Raph evil laughed at the reaction, chuckling to himself as he tickled the younger to pieces.

“Woah. I think I hit the jackpot…what do you think, Mike?”

Mikey squeaked.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

Behind all the evil laughing and teasing, Raph took glances at his baby brother’s face every now and again to make sure that he was actually enjoying himself; and that he wasn’t uncomfortable in any way.

…And before you even think of calling him a softie for thinking this, being a softie and being caring are two completely different things.

Don’t get them twisted.

Anyways, even if Raph never openly says so or displays so…he genuinely cares about his brothers, and if he ever hurt them in any way, physically or mentally…just know that he’s taking that with him to the grave. No further questions asked.

Unfortunately for the youngest, this didn’t mean Raph would be merciful while tickling him in any way, shape, or form right now…

But Raph didn’t want his baby brother’s voice disappearing all the way to Timbuktu, so stopping right now would suffice.

The older turtle ceased his tickling onslaught, crossing his arms across his plastron to glance at the flustered and oh-so giggly mess he created.

“Yohou…suhuck…” The maskless turtle giggled, refusing to look at his big brother who just snickered at the purely adorable behavior.

“Yohou okay?” The elder turtle asked, “Like seriously, I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?” He asked genuinely. And now wasn’t that sweet? Asking if someone was okay after almost committing a first degree murder to said person. Yeah. Reeeeaaal sweet alright.

“Mhm…yeah I’m okahay…” He nodded, sitting up slightly to look for his mask that flew over to who knows where.

”I don’t remember your stomach being that ticklish, Mike.” Raph teased, snickering softly at his comment which Mikey only rolled his eyes to. “Whehell, my neck isn’t embarrassingly sehensitive. Especially the bahahack ohof ihihit. I don’t thihink yohou can relate, but I’m juhust putting thahat out there…”

…Remember how I said Raph loved his brother very dearly? Well…forget it. Stopping right now would not suffice. It would do anything but suffice.

The hot-head simply gave his little brother a look that would be known as the look of ‘You are getting your shell HANDED to you.’ Now Leonardo was the turtle who invented this scary yet effective gaze (because of course he did…)

And so naturally, the look got passed down to Raph. Then to Donnie. And even Splinter found a way how to.

The youngest on the other hand, never really had any reason to learn the look, as he had wonderful looks of his own. Obviously.

But now…he was kinda wishing he did, so that the look didn’t look so scary (see what I did there? I’m hilarious, I know)

“I-Ihi’m sohorry?” Mikey giggled out meekly, immediately going to grab Raph’s wrists again for, like, the hundredth time in the past hour.

Sometimes it’s best to keep your comments to yourself…even if you are spitting straight up facts…

“Oho you will be sorry.” The elder effortlessly grabbed his baby brother’s wrists, slowly bringing his head down towards the other’s stomach. Mikey kicked his knees into Raph’s shell, hoping to at least faze him, but all his attempts to stop his brother were in vain as the other took in a deep breath and lowered his head at an agonizingly slow pace to his plastron...

“W-WAHAIT! RAHAH— *squeal* PLEHEASE!!!” However, even if you’re a strong, cool and fast mutant like Mikey himself here, you would never be able to go up against the power of an older sibling in a tickle fight (a very one-sided tickle fight but a tickle fight nonetheless…)

Raph had to stop to chuckle at the wriggly mess that was his baby brother— the dude was wriggling and giggling like he planted some drug in him! And he hasn’t even done anything to him!

Yet, anyway…

“SHUHUT UP! STAHAP LAHAUGHING AHAT MEEHEE!” The youngest screeched as he felt his mind going on an anticipatory rollercoaster, thrashing in his big brother’s hold which he knew he was never getting out of. Well…acceptance is the first step to anything right?

“PLEHEASE! IHI’M— *squeak* SOHORRY!” Mikey cried, now frantically trying to get out of the hold. Screw acceptance. Mikey didn’t want to see heaven’s gates early. And besides, he has a slice of pizza in the fridge that he’s been dying to eat. So dying right here, right now, isn’t an option.

Raph hummed in amusement, “Oho yeheah? Where were all these apologizes when you made me lose in Twister?” Mikey giggled, “Ihit’s nahat MYHY fault YOHOU suhuck at gahames! Ehespecially board games. Ahahand video gahames…dohoo I have to go ohon?”

Raph was shocked as he was impressed. The pure nerve of this teen. Mikey definitely got that attitude from him…that’s for sure. “Okahay that’s it. No more mister nice turtle…”

“Sihince whEHEN were yOHOU NIHICE?”

Instead of making another sassy remark back, Raph tightened the grip of his hands on Mikey’s wrists slightly, lowering his head to his little brother’s stomach and taking a huge breath…

“RAHAPH— nohoHO— WAHAIT! RAHaph dUHUDE PLEHEASE!” Mikey rambled through his laughter, shaking his head back and forth with his eyes shut. Oh…this was gonna tickle so freaking bad. Maybe instead of provoking Raph he should of just tickled himself— because Michelangelo would not come out of the lounge area ALIVE after this. 

With one last evil chuckle, the elder lowered his head to the center of Mikey’s plastron and…well, let’s just say all of New York City presumably heard the high-pitched shriek that ascended out of the youngest’s mouth.

Raph was mean. He was the definition of mean. He might as well be cast as the next Regina George if Mean Girls gets another reboot because this. was. mean.

Because not only was this smug dunderhead blowing raspberries on his stomach without barely taking any breath’s (kinda impressive honestly), but he also was using one hand to squeeze directly on Mikey’s knee.

Evil. Pure evil.

And you would think that it was pretty nice of Raph to let one of his hands go so he could at least attempt to escape, right? Well the youngest’s free hand was too busy happy stimming in order to do said task…so he’s kinda-sorta-maybe-possibly stuck

“I don’t remember you being this sensitive to raspberries when we were little…” The elder teen commented in between his breaths. Because…honestly. Did Donnie make Mikey one of his nerd concoctions to make the youngest embarrassingly ticklish or has he always been like this? Because there’s no way he should be giggling and wriggling this much.

“IHIT’S NAHAT MY FAHAULT!” And it wasn’t! It’s not Mikey’s fault he’s a literal walking talking tickle spot! Besides, you haven’t met walking talking tickle spot until you’ve met Leo.

“It tickles that bad, huh?” Raph laughed at the inhuman screeches coming from the teen below him. “SHUHUT— *squeak* SHUHUT UHUHAHAHA—!” The youngest cackled loudly, still kicking Raph at the back of his shell with his knees.

Now, was kicking Raph in the shell going to do him any favors in the long run? Most likely not. He’s still getting tickled to pieces and no matter how much he bucked, wriggled, writhed, or squirmed from side to side, Raph’s grip would remain the same until he felt like letting go. His hold was scaringingly better than his nunchucks— and that’s saying a LOT. 

The smaller turtle just helplessly kicked behind him, just laying there and laughing his heart out. Raph took a glance at his younger brother and his snarky, evil smirk turned into a fond smile, he shook his head, laughing to himself. 

“Y'know…Leo is just a couple steps away. I’m sure he’d loooove helping me turn you into a more giggly puddle than you already are…”

“NAHAH— *squeal* DAHA— DOHOHON’T—!”

“Or…what if I got Donnie? I bet he has some tools that would help me…”

“NOHOH—!”

“What about Dad? I’m positive he would just record the whole thing and coo you all day long about you’re adorable giggles—”

“RAHAPHIE!!!” Mikey screeched, kicking Raph in the shell extra hard this time which only made the elder huff out a laugh in amusement.

“OW! Okay okahay! No need to shout!” He chuckled, getting off of the other turtle and helping him up. Raph sat down on the couch, soon followed by Michelangelo who dramatically collapsed into his lap.

He giggled tiredly, sitting up and flopping on the other’s plastron. The elder laughed at the theatrical gesture, rubbing his shell comfortingly. “You okay, bud?” 

“Nohoho. I’m lihihiterally dying.” Mikey giggled tiredly. Raph hummed in acknowledgment, resting his chin on Mikey’s left shoulder, causing the youngest to let out a subtle squeak.

The two made eye contact as Raph’s signature smirk spread across his face again.

“Huh. Which reminds me…” The elder turtle mused, wrapping Mikey in a hug with his one arm while the other was free. He shook his head, anticipatory giggles pouring out of his mouth more than ever before. “Raphie— Rahaphie nohoho don’t you dahare!”

Now, you’re probably wondering why Mikey is freaking out so much right now…let me explain.

As you know, Mikey has freckles. A lot of freckles. It was something he’s always been insecure about ever since he was a turtle tot. He used to absolutely loathe his freckles with a burning passion…and he tried to keep that fact a secret.

But sadly, when you live with 3 other brothers and you’re the youngest, there’s no such thing as secrecy.

The brothers had this whole talk about how his freckles made him, well, him. How it signified his uniqueness, adorableness, and blah blah blah sappy stuff. And that talk actually made Mikey love his freckles a lot…which he really needed.

Point being, his older brother’s created this game where they would count and poke how many freckles he had— because he had a whole LOT and they wanted to point out each adorable individual one; his freckles mainly being on his shoulders, face and neck.

But the thing was, the pokes to said spots tickled. A lot. Mikey was able to hide his reactions at first, but then a squeak went to a squeal, and a squeal went to a giggle…if you catch my drift.

And ever since then, it’s been a friendly competition on who could poke and count the most freckles on his face without him squirming out of reach (the highest score was 23 by the one and only Donatello).

“Hm. I forgot how many freckles you have…did you get any more? Seems like you got more…” Raph hummed again.

“NohOH I diHID NAHAT—”

“I think I should check just to make sure…” And with that, the poking and counting began…or as Mikey likes to call it: his complete and utter demise.

Speaking of which, Mikey might be competing with Leo for the Most Ticklish Turtle award because these pokes to his shoulders and face tickled like absolute SHELL. And Raph was barely touching him! Like…barely.

“1…2…3…4–! Mike! Stop moving! You made me lose count!” The older tried to sternly say, but it was really hard due to how much his little brother was laughing his shell off at the slightest of touches to the face and shoulders.

“PLEHEHEASE! RAHA— *squeak*! IHI’M GOHONNA DIHIE!!!”

“You’ve said that, like, 3 times. And you’re still here, aren’t you?” Raph mused, continuing to poke and prod.

“And a seven, and an eight, and a nine— wait. What comes after nine…?” He fake pondered, poking on the exact same freckle on Mikey’s shoulder to keep him a squeaky giggly blob.

“Seriously…I can’t think of the number. What comes after nine?” The hot-head asked again, going after Mikey’s neck now— causing the younger to scrunch his shoulders almost immediately. Though, that maybe wasn’t the best idea because Raph’s fingers were now stuck.

“I honestly think you’re the one with an embarrassingly ticklish neck, little bro.” The elder turtle stated smugly, wriggling his fingers in the crook of Mikey’s neck as the younger laughed even louder (if that’s possible).

Mikey flapped both of his hands, happy tears threatening to fall from his eyes, “RAHAHAPH!!!” He shrieked, his legs kicking the couch as well as the floor.

“Okay! Alright! Okay! No need to shout out me! Heard you loud and clear, giggles.” He drawed his hand away from Mikey’s face and shoulders, resting them on the other’s shell, rubbing it soothingly. The smaller turtle rested the back of his head on Raph’s shoulder, catching his breath slowly but surely.

“Are you done torturing me now?” He giggled tiredly, becoming relaxed and comfy in Raph’s arms due to the shell rubs.

“For now, yeah.” The older winked which only caused the youngest to roll his eyes at. Raph could be such a dork sometimes, but he loves him nonetheless…sometimes anyway.

“Thanks. For, uh…y'know…doing that…” The orange banded turtle mumbled after he calmed down fully, getting his mask that flew up on the couch earlier. “Yeah. No problem.” Raph shrugged nonchalantly, sitting back on the couch before creasing his eyebrows together, looking at Mikey in confusion.

“Wait. Didn’t you tell Leo like a week ago that it was 100% okay to ask for tickles? Why aren’t you taking your own advice?” He asked.

“Wha— you heard that?”

“The sewer walls aren’t that thick, Mike.” The elder explained, rolling his eyes fondly at the new silence he was being wonderfully graced with.

“Freaking hypocrite…” The green-eyed teen sighed, shaking his head and wrapping Mikey in a hug, squeezing him gently. “Again, you didn’t need to come up with an excuse for me to tickle you. You can just ask me.” He smiled softly, making Mikey return the smile tenfold.

“Yeah…I know. But playing Twister made it more fun didn’t it?”

“Pff…yeah. Yeah, I guess it did.”

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

[sprinkles-stims]

toy food !

[mymelodyisme]

Helloooo farmer friends!! So last night my friend @pavusprince mentioned how she doesn’t understand the toothpaste mint chocolate chip ice cream comparison and that got me thinking!! Let’s talk about food!!

Does your farmer like mint chocolate ice cream? Does it taste like toothpaste? Are they neutral, or do they hate it?

During the summer does your farmer visit Alex’s ice cream stand? What flavor/treat do they buy? What’s their least favorite flavor?

What is one treat your farmer will ALWAYS have in their home? Is it healthy or unhealthy?

If your farmer was a snack item what would they be? (It cannot be a food that could be eaten like a meal, but it may be a dessert) Here’s some examples: chips, cookies, M&ms, Twinkies, crackers, bubblegum, lollipops, etc

What’s your farmer’s comfort food, favorite meal, and least favorite meal?

What’s something they will NEVER eat?

What do they cook if they know they will have a guest over?

If the town’s potluck didn’t matter so much, what ingredient would they take? And what food would they put at an event table if you had to bring something?

Finally, if your farmer was real, what would YOU give them to eat.

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

Back again with another poll!

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce looks like the kind of parents who will hear the children say that they like some food and automatically accept it as the children's favorite meal

And the children will just eat it forever now to make Bruce happy

What food/snacks/fruit they accidentally say "oh this taste good actually" and now are they cursed by it?

Waitress: And what would you like as your side?

8-year-old Dick: French fries!

[19 years later]

Bruce: And here's your dinner, side of fries as always.

Dick, who's been eating fries every day since: Yippee.

———————

12-year-old Jason: *looks at a candy bar*

Bruce: You want it?

Jason: I dunno, it's like three dollars.

Bruce: Hey, don't worry about it, chum.

[11 years later]

Jason: *finds the same candy bar in his belt*

Jason: Well, it's the thought that counts.

———————

14-year-old Tim: Since Alfred's not home I ordered pizza for dinner.

Bruce, working: *grunts*

[3 years later]

*doorbell rings*

Tim: Weird, I wasn't expecting anyone.

Tim: *opens the door*

Bruce, in a Bat-pizza uniform: Delivery for Tim Drake.

———————

15-year-old Steph: *makes waffles*

[3 years later]

Steph: Bruce, why'd you buy so much flour?

Bruce: So you can make waffles.

———————

Bruce: You hungry?

Duke: I dunno, I guess I could go for a smoothie or something.

[later]

Duke: What's with the second fridge?

Bruce: To keep your smoothies.

———————

Damian: From now on, I am a vegetarian.

Bruce: Okay, but what about protein?

Damian: There are plenty of options, like tofu.

[later]

Damian, faced with a tofu truck: Perhaps I should have listened to Brown's advice.

———————

Bruce: *driving*

Cass: *points to a pumpkin patch*

Bruce: We'll see.

[later]

Cass: *goes to her room*

Cass: Dad?

Bruce: Yes, princess?

Cass: Pumpkin patch. In my room.

Bruce: I called in a favor from Ivy.

[luveline]

I’m obsessed with the sister!hotch and Reid fics. I can’t stop imagining that scene where Rossi goes to Garcia’s house and she’s fresh from the shower with Kevin. But instead is Hotch at readers house and Spencer is there.

—you and Spencer are in the midst of a long weekend together when your brother shows up unannounced. fem, 1.3k

“You’re really handsome.” 

Spencer laughs as you drag your hands back over his ears and through his sopping wet hair. The shower water is blissfully warm and soaking your front as it rains down on his head. You shield his eyes but otherwise have your fun. His hair is softer than anything you’ve ever felt. 

He holds your hands flat to his head. “You’re handsomer.” 

“Am I supposed to take that in a good way or a bad way?” you ask. 

“A good way!” he says, forgetting your hands in favour of guiding you under the water. “Handsome has nearly always been used for men more than women, but it didn’t fall out of fashion for girls until the fifties.” He tilts your head upward and to one side as his own begins to fall the other way. “You’re beautiful.” His voice is warm on your lips, “you’re so–”

His kiss is ridiculous; he kisses like he’s starving. You didn’t realise men could actually kiss like this until you met him. It’s not just in the movies, it’s right now, his hand at the back of your neck, unbothered by your laughing or your hand slipping down his wet t-shirt. 

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you say. 

“We were covered in mud.” 

“We should’ve just got naked.” 

“We’re taking things slow,” he says, laughing, “it’s fun. But what are we gonna do about our wet clothes?”

“You got the most of the mud on you,” you say. Spencer had performed a valiant rescue in that when you fell, he was straight down into the grass after you in an attempt to save your jeans. It didn’t work, obviously, but the thought was there, and he’s such a good kisser in the shower that you don’t mind the loss. “I’m gonna get out and get changed, you can have a real shower, okay? I’ll get you a towel and your pyjamas and stuff.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I think all the mud from my top half is gone.” 

Spencer takes your face into his hand. His thumb rubs a line along your jaw. “Now it’s gone.” 

You beam. Who knew Dr. Spencer Reid was such a tender guy? You could sort of guess from looking at him that he’d touch you like that, but it’s a contrast, too, to be kissed as though you’re some irresistible siren and to have your face held like fragile glass. 

You step out of the shower still sodden, clothes heavy, and close the frosted door between you and Spencer to strip down. Separated but still shy, you hurry out of your clothes and into a towel, wrapping yourself tightly to head into your bedroom. 

You put on blissfully dry underwear and blot your face. Next is loose pyjama pants and a big t-shirt: you’ve never worried about being sexy for Spencer and you’re not about to start. Your first date was a walk in the park, your second date at the bowling alley. He’s not concerned with that stuff. It’s why his frankness about wanting to take things slow isn’t scary, because when he holds your face and tells you you’re pretty, you believe it. 

“Y/N?” 

You flinch so hard your neck cracks. “Ow,” you whine. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You walk forward before Aaron can let himself into your bedroom. Sure enough, your older brother is in your apartment (as he’s allowed, given that he furnished the entire place and paid the security deposit, and, also, awfully, is a very nice big brother). He’s smiling, carrying two pizza boxes and a carton atop it that smells like French fries. “What have you done now?” he asks fondly. 

“I hurt my neck, you scared me.” 

“If you answered your phone, you’d know I was here.” 

“I was in the shower!” 

“I can see that. You’re getting slovenly, it’s almost midday.” 

You’re so genuinely happy to see him that you forget for a moment your predicament. “It’s the weekend, I can do what I want.” You’re gonna have to let him down, which won’t be easy. “I’m not feeling the best, actually.” 

Aaron lets the pizza boxes rest against his stomach. “How come?” 

“I don’t know, I just feel tired. Maybe we can do something tomorrow.” 

“Honey,” Aaron says, with all the cadence of someone who’s used to rubbing your back when you’re sick, “what’s wrong? Let’s go sit down, I can make you something less greasy.” 

“I think you should just go home, actually. I might be contagious.” 

He looks less concerned and more gutted. “What? I don’t care if you’re contagious. When has that stuff ever bothered me?” Aaron takes another step toward you, his gaze flitting past you toward your bathroom. “What’s really going on?” 

The age gap between you and Aaron is expansive. Your being adopted is another gap, and neither have ever bothered him. The moment you showed up in his life he gave you everything he could manage, which has manifested in long phone calls, in hugs, in homemade soup and delivery when he couldn’t be there. Asking him not to look after you is like telling him you don’t want him to, and it isn’t true. 

He means a lot more to you than whatever awkwardness your confession will inspire. 

“Aaron,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “Spencer’s in the shower.” 

He squeezes his pizza boxes. “Sorry?” 

“We went to the park and I fell by the lake. He’s in the shower.” 

“But you were just in the shower,” Aaron says. 

“Well, we weren’t in there at the same time,” you drag. 

Your lie is obvious to him, not just as a profiler but as your brother. His brow pinches and his nose wrinkles, not disgusted with you or anything so cruelly stupid, but dissatisfied, at least. “Did you have to tell me that?” he asks, pained.

“I didn’t tell you that, you profiled that, and it’s sort of not what you think anyways! We didn’t do anything–”

“Honey.” 

“I’m really sorry, but it’s not what you think.” 

“Listen to me.” The shower turns off and Aaron’s cheek twitches. “You are a grown up. You can do what you like with who you like. It’s my fault for coming here unannounced, I keep thinking of you as younger than you are.” Says the adult. Then, the more friendly part of being a sibling emerges, “Could you send him home?” he whispers. “I got your favourite.” 

You laugh at his proposition. “That’s kinda rude, isn’t it? Can’t he stay? He’s cool.” 

“I’m having trouble coalescing the two of you as more than acquaintances in my mind,” he says, as though he has much more to say about it, even if he’s smiling. 

Spencer chooses that moment to walk from the en-suite bathroom and out of your room, a t-shirt stuck to his chest with damp, his own pyjama pants baggy at the ankles.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer grabs your hand impulsively, twining his fingers in yours. Then he sees Aaron and does a double take. “Hotch?”

You give Aaron a sorry smile. “Does that make it easier?” 

“I’ll wait in the kitchen.” 

You and Spencer watch Aaron retreat. His hand stays in yours, but he squeezes you too tightly. “Wait for what?” Spencer whispers fervently. 

You lean up on tiptoes to kiss his eyebrow. “You’re about to get the shovel talk, I think.” 

“Oh. Great.” He drops his forehead against your shoulder, wet hair dripping a path down your shirt. “This is really bad.” 

“He brought pizza.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to help me.” 

You crane your head and kiss-kiss-kiss the top of his ear. “You’re really pretty when your hair is wet.” 

Spencer murmurs to you reluctantly. “You’re really pretty all the time.” 

[obaewankenope]

American to English translation for fic

So I read and write fanfic, as do lots of others, and I've noticed that when it comes to British shows or movies, Americanisms or American terms crop up often. It's mostly because most don't know we have specific terms for things in the UK, and I've seen references here and there before, but I've decided to write one of my own. Feel free to add to it tho! I'm gonna put it up on Ao3 too and any additions, I'll reference the tumblr and link them on Ao3 too.

AO3 link is here!!

Anyway, here we go I guess.

Some Americanisms to English-isms

Gas = fuel/petrol/diesel (we tend to specify the type of fuel the vehicle uses, diesel vehicle or petrol vehicle for example)

Gas station = petrol/fuel station

Gas court = petrol/fuel court, or sometimes forecourt (not often with this one tho)

License plate = registration plate/reg

Diner = cafe

Fast-food = takeaway (this is sort of interchangeable. McDonald's is called fast food, a meal from a pizza place that delivers is takeaway)

Motel = hotel

Side-note: We tend to use specific named hotel chains like Premier Inn (or Prem-Inn for short) or Holiday Inn or Travelodge. We also have Britannia Hotels and several others. If the fic is based in a specific place, local hotels or famous ones may be better options. For example, in Liverpool, we have The Shankly or Adelphi.

Cab = taxi or black hac for a specific type of taxi.

Side-note: These are what you see in BBC Sherlock, for example, and are a UK staple. They're less popular or common-place nowadays but there are dedicated taxi companies that use them. There's on in my town that operates until 4pm each day. They are also usually more expensive than a car taxi but they have oodles of space and you can have a pram/buggy kept upright rather than folded-down in them which is brilliant.

Cop = police officer

Side note: more informal, colloquial terms include "copper", "the fuzz", "tit-head" (because of the nipple hat okay, just look up the hat, it's hilarious), "bobby", "rozzer" (pronounced r-o-z-er not Row-zer), and "the bill" (there's an actual show called this btw. It can be a good reference for anyone writing crime fic in UK). There's more but those are the most common. Older terms do include "peelers" and "old bill".

Second side-note: the police have a whole host of terms, colloquial and slang that can be a great thing to include in fic, which I'll link a glossary of here. It's not all UK centric but cross-country policing is a thing so that may just be a boon imho. Also the short-hand acroynmns used are useful so here's a link to the Metropolitan Police glossary of those too!

Patrolman = constable or police constable

Antenna = aerial or TV aerial

Fall (season) = autumn

Bill = banknote or specifically "tenner", "fiver", "twenny" (not "twenty"). We don't have single banknotes like a dollar bill. We have pound coins

Dimes, nickels, etc = pound coin, two-pound coin, fifty-pence, penny, two-pence, five-pence, ten-pence, twenty-pence (link here about the coin currency)

Drug store = chemist or pharmacy

Optometrist = optician

Primary care physician = GP (general practitioner) here's a link about UK medical terms for doctors etc

Side-note: here's a link about medical terminologies etc between American and UK

Social security number = national insurance number

Liquor store = off-license or, specifically, Bargain Booze™

Liquor = spirits (usually)

Store = shop

Target, Walmart, etc = honestly, it's probably gonna be Tesco, ASDA, Morrisons, ALDI or Lidl

Superstore = supermarket

Shopping cart = shopping trolley or just "trolley"

Yard-sale = car-boot/car-bootie/car-boot sale

Attorney = barrister or solicitor (solicitors you go to for legal help, barristers tend to be involved in actual court matters, like a the Crown Prosecution Service), here's a link that explains it better

Janitor = caretaker

French-fries = chips (although McDonald's French-fries are just that, French-fries)

Intersection = crossroad

Highway/freeway = motorway

Interstate = usually an A-road or a motorway, we don't really have interstates here)

Overpass = flyover

Turnpike = toll motorway

Windshield = windscreen

Trunk of a car = boot or car boot

Hood of a car = bonnet or car bonnet

Truck = lorry

Sedan = saloon car

Blowout = puncture or flat tyre

Pavement = road

Sidewalk = path

Subway = underground (like the London Underground)

Drapes = curtains (though we do use "drapes" we tend to say "curtains" more)

Pacifier = dummy or "dodo" or "dodi"

Diaper = nappie or a pull-up (if its like underwear for toddlers)

Baby crib = baby cot (though we do use "crib", we tend to say "cot" more)

Baby carriage/pushchair/stroller = pram or buggy (more specific type tho, here's a link about the differences)

Trash/garbage can = bin, dustbin, rubbish bin

Garbage/trash collector = binman/binmen

Mail = post

Mailman = postman

Mailbox = postbox

The movies = cinema or pictures

Movie = film (less common nowadays with influence of Americanisms but I still use "film" and a lot of people my age and older do too (25+)

First floor = ground floor okay, it's the ground floor because it's on ground level

Sneakers = unless they're Converse, it's probably just "trainers"

Baggage = luggage

Purse (as in the bag) = handbag, or "purse" but that tends to be the thing you put your money and cards in then put in your handbag

Vacuum cleaner = hoover or a specific brand like Henry Hoover™, which you'll find we tend to just call Henry (though I have a John Lewis hoover I got from George, ASDA that I've named 'George' and yes, I do say "I need to use George in a bit to hoover" regularly)

Sweater = jumper or, if it buttons up it's a cardigan or cardi

Closet = wardrobe

Elevator = lift

Call collect = reverse charges

Schools = we have primary/infants (11yrs)and secondary/high school (11-16yo) with some high schools have sixth-form college (16-18yo) or actual independent colleges for the same ages

College = university

Semester = term

Vacation = holiday

Kindergarten = nursey/reception

Flashlight = torch

Wrench = spanner

Backyard = garden

Cookie = biscuits

Chips = crisps (like Walkers™ or Lays™ in the States)

Pants = trousers

Cottoncandy = candyfloss

Dude = bloke/fella/mate

John Doe = John Smith

Exhausted (tired) = knackered

Cell phone = mobile

Cell data = mobile data/4G/5G

Bathroom/restroom = loo/toilet (informal term "bog")

Thanks = cheers

Soccer = football

Y'all = "you lot"

Fuck off/hit the road/go away = bugger off

Some slang phrases too

Bits and bobs = stuff, usually random

Take the mick/mickey = making fun of someone or over-exaggerating

Bob's your uncle = there you go, basically

Bog standard = typical, run of the mill kind of deal

Gutted = feel upset, disappointed

Dull as dishwater = basically really, really fuckin boring

Chinwag = basically "shooting the breeze" or just having a talk/chat

.

If you have any others that you think of or want added, reblog and add em! Tags too if you'd prefer but reblogs would be easier ☺️

[sailorrhansol]

Blood & Popcorn | l.c (m)

❀ Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader 

❀ Summary: Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn. 

❀ Word Count: 11,315

❀ Genre: Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff

❀ Type: Smut 

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Literally so much misunderstanding and repressed feelings, pining, light themes of jealousy, recreational drinking, recreational weed use, bad communication skills, some mild insecurities, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (do not do this lmaooo), nipple stim, light teasing, oral (f. receiving), clumsy/playful sex, jokes/banter while fucking. They’re both down horrendous. Joshua as an almost love interest. Jeonghan is both terrible and great at advice. Alternating POVs and some time skips. 

❀ A/N: This is another work coming from a conversation with @daechwitatamic who at this point, I think had been the driving force behind all three random one shots I’ve written. I apparently can’t say no when she asks for something :) so anyway, here is simp Lee Chan and simp reader because ???? And yes I'm posting this at 11:30 pm at night who cares there are no rules!!!!!!!!

❀ A/N 2: Also thank you to Jo for reading this before hand because it would be otherwise largely illegible. King Julian is on the way, bestie.   

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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“So why not Blood and Pizza if pizza is always involved but popcorn isn’t?” Mingyu eyes the french fries on your plate. You give him a warning glance, pointing the sharp tines of your fork at him. He retreats, leaning against the cracked vinyl of the booth, pouting. “Also, the title sounds gross.”

“Good thing it has nothing to do with you then.” 

“Wow, you’re not even going to invite me?” 

“No,” you chirp, popping a shoestring fry into your mouth. You savor the saltiness, humming delightedly. “It’s for me and Chan. Not me, Chan and you. Plus, you know nothing about Buffy.” 

“Isn’t that a magic dragon? And are you sure you two aren’t dating?” 

The look you send Mingyu makes him hold up his hands in surrender. It isn’t the first time someone has asked if you and Chan are dating, and you know it won’t be the last. You don’t want to start down that avenue tonight, trying to navigate the questions of why and well you seem to be a good match. 

If romantic relationships were started over simply having things in common and matching a vibe, you and Chan would have started dating a long time ago. But you’re not, and you’ve already gotten over the fact that you’re not dating and that you will not start dating.

Mostly. 

The bell rings above the diner door, drawing your attention. Like he’s been manifested by Mingyu’s dangerous question, Chan spots you and lifts a hand, a smile splitting his face as he heads over. You scoot over in the booth, dragging your plate along with you to make room for him. 

Chan is dressed in jeans and a green sweater, your favorite color on him. He sits down next to you, cushioned seat dipping a little as he leans over to kiss the top of your head and steal fries off of your plate. You let him, feeling heat flush up the side of your neck as you look anywhere but Mingyu’s accusatory stare.

“These are so good,” Chan says around a mouthful of fries. “Thanks, Bambi.”

You grin at the nickname, trying not to flush too hard. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Mingyu says pointedly. You ignore him, shoving your burger in your mouth. “Apparently I’m not allowed fries or to attend your movie night.”

“Order your own fries,” Chan says. 

“Ugh. I already ate mine.”

“So order more, idiot. And of course you’re not invited to Blood and Popcorn. That’s our thing.” 

Our thing. 

The corner of your mouth twitches as you glance at Chan. He doesn’t notice, catching the eyes of the server and waving happily, giving her a broad smile. She gives him a thumbs up in return, confirming she’ll put in his usual now that he’s there. 

There are a lot of things that belong to you and Chan. Studying at the very diner you were sitting in during freshman year had been one of them, though now in your final year there’s not as much of a need to study and you’ve incorporated other friends in your late night trips for grease and calories. 

You also shared trivia nights on Tuesdays with Vernon and Seungkwan, football Sundays with Seungcheol, Mingyu and Jeonghan, once a month family dinners with everyone, and most importantly, Blood and Popcorn. 

Chan steals another fry off of your plate and you let him, leaning back in the booth. Mingyu glares daggers at you, dark eyes flicking from your plate, to you, to Chan. You grin around a mouthful of cheeseburger and he scoffs before looking away. 

Behind you, Chan’s arm stretches across the back of the booth, just barely brushing against the top of your shoulders. Your stomach flips a little, momentarily elated at the contact before you swallow it down with Sprite, pretending it wasn’t there in the first place. 

The two boys immediately fall into a conversation about their shared engineering class. You tune it out easily, a learned habit over the last four years of having to listen to Chan tell you the functions of a bridge and the best way to design one. Instead, you focus on the rise and fall of Chan’s soft voice and the way it lulls you into a state of calm. 

When the server brings over his order, he pulls his arm from over the back of the seat. Immediately you snatch one of the onion rings from his basket, popping one into your mouth and hissing as the crispy snack burns you. He shakes his head, laughing as he gives you a napkin while you sputter.

“Careful, Bambi,” he murmurs. “They’re literally steaming.” 

Mingyu reaches for an onion ring, only to be threatened with the blunt end of Chan’s steak knife. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But she-”

“Bambi has special privileges,” Chan quips. “Order yourself some more fries for the love of God. I’ll pay for them.” 

Mingyu immediately stops whining, mood improving markedly as he orders fries, wiggling in his seat happily. Chan cuts his burger in half, asking, “Why were you talking about Blood and Popcorn anyway?” 

“Shua asked Bambi out on a date,” Mingyu answers around a mouthful of fries. “She told him she couldn’t go because of Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan stops eating and looks at you, brows creasing. You feel your heart rate speed up as you kick Mingyu under the table. He yelps, knee jerking upward to slam against the underside of the table. The salt and pepper shakers rattle in place as Mingyu bends over to rub his shin. 

“He didn’t ask me out on a date.”

“He asked you to dinner!”

“As friends!”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu snorts, rolling his eyes. “Friends take friends to fucking prime steakhouses. He asked you out on a date.” 

For a moment, silence envelops the table. You stare at your fries, watching Chan out of your periphery. He looks away from you, wiping the grease from his fingers onto the napkin. The air feels pregnant with tension suddenly, your anxiety bubbling as you open your mouth to assert once more it wasn’t a date.

Chan beats you to breaking the silence, “We can skip this Friday so you can go!”

You open and close your mouth a few times, heart dropping to your ass. “What?”

“It’s totally fine if we have to skip. I don’t mind.” 

Chan picks his burger back up, not looking at you. Heart pounding in your chest, you can’t help but watch him in total silence, trying to string together a response. Sure, maybe Chan doesn’t mind if you miss your weekly solo hangout. But you care. 

The ache of the implication cuts you suddenly, a delayed reaction. You feel your throat tighten painfully, reaching for your Sprite to try and swallow past the sudden tension. It does nothing to quell the way the casual dismissal of your tradition keeps cutting you long after he’s said the words, sawing down to the bone. 

“I wasn’t aware that we could just skip Blood and Popcorn, I guess.” 

“I mean if you’ve got a date.” 

That’s not the point, you want to scream at him. 

Chan is a lot of things. Perceptive isn’t one of them. If he had been, you know he would have sniffed out your feelings for him a long time ago. Luckily for you, he’s remained completely oblivious over the last four years of your friendship, and you like to keep it that way. Keep it safe. 

Nothing ruins a friendship more than unrequited romance. You know that from more than just the media you consume - you’ve seen more than once first hand when one friend catches feelings for the others but the desire isn’t mutual. 

It isn’t mutual here. It’s always been very clear where Chan’s interests lie, and you’re totally fine with that. You accept the relationship that you have happily and quietly, and thought moments like are a brutal reminder of where you stand, it’s alright because you also love your friendship. More than you love him - at least, you think so. 

So when Chan so easily suggests to go on a date, to cancel your thing with him to accommodate, you know it isn’t because he doesn’t care. He just thinks that you should go on a date because it doesn’t occur to him that the real reason you don’t want to is because your interests are somewhere else. That you don’t want to cancel Blood and Popcorn because it’s for the two of you and no one else. 

“Yeah,” you rasp, unsure what else to say. “Um, maybe.” 

“Shua is a good guy.” 

“Yeah. Yeah he is.” 

Mingyu and Chan go back to their conversation about class. You finish your meal in silence, leaning back against the seat as your thoughts wander listlessly. You gaze around the diner, drinking in detail as their conversation becomes background noise and you can no longer understand what they’re saying. 

Rounders Diner had been a staple in the college community long before you were born, and continues to be the center for academic life. Students fill the booths sipping on milkshakes as they cram for exams or homework, night shift workers sit at the countertop and order coffee before heading to work, and the jukebox in the corner glows neon, only offering a selection of music from the 50s. 

Behind the countertop is an open scratch kitchen, the sound of sizzling grease and yelled orders bracketing an Elvis song you know the words to but don’t know the name of. Black and white tile flooring with years worth of scuffs reflect the canned lighting in the ceiling. Over near the entrance is a wall covered in pictures of students of note throughout the years. 

You remember the first time Chan had hauled you to Rounders. It was the first day you’d met, two freshmen absolutely terrified of the world after experiencing two back to back intro courses together. The dining hall was on the opposite side of campus from your classes, but Chan had insisted there was a diner just off the corner that everyone said was a necessary experience. 

He was the first real friend you made. Your roommates had become your best friends too, Lorna and Mai splashed across almost every memory you have of college. But that first day is only colored with Chan, who had slid into the seat across from you and looked around the diner with a bright grin like he was suddenly at home. 

Wanna start coming here after class? 

You did. And you had. 

A hand waves in front of your face, making you blink several times before Chan’s face swims into focus. Your thoughts are a little delayed as you drink him in: dark hair framing dark, angular eyes that turn molten brown when the sun hits them just right, a jawline that has turned sharper as he’s aged, though his cheeks still have a youthful softness that you adore, and a grin that makes the world dim. 

“What?” you ask him, totally at a loss for words. 

He laughs and you feel the corners of your lips turn upward, an automatic response to his mirth. “I asked if you were ready to go.” 

You look up to see Mingyu at the register, passing over the bill and a card. “I think I spaced out. I thought you were buying him fries?”

He snorts. “Never fear, it’s my card. Everything okay?” 

You hesitate. Not for the first time, the urge to spill your guts to him grips you so forcefully that you almost do right in the middle of Rounders. Almost tell him everything from start to finish, the feelings, the reason you don’t want to date Joshua, how beautiful you think Chan is-

Mingyu starts heading back and you force a grin on your face, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Of course. A little tired, though. Thanks for dinner.” 

“You know I’ve got you.” He gets up from the booth and holds his hand out to you. “Always.” 

-

Chan is the stupidest fucking person he knows. He lets out a loud scream into the warmth of his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as he lays face down in his bed. His arms are shoved under the pillow, fisting in his sheets as the long-winded scream finally begins to die out. 

“Yes, that is healthy,” Seungkwan calls from Chan’s desk against the window. “Let the pillow know everything that you’re feeling.” 

Scowling, Chan lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder at where Seungkwan is sitting. His roommate is hunched over Chan’s laptop, a document open on the screen as he clicks around rapidly, cursing under his breath. 

“Why are you in here again?”

“My literature professor is a dinosaur,” Seungkwan answers. “And only accepts printed essay submissions.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean you don’t have your own printer?” 

“No, and I will not be paying thirty cents a paper for an essay that is almost thirty pages long.” 

“That’s like, nine dollars dude. Also, why is your essay thirty pages long?”

“Ask the dude who wrote Beowulf.” 

“Isn’t that like… a movie?” 

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath. The printer chimes, followed by a mechanic whirring as the paper feeds into the machine and starts printing. Spinning in the chair, Seungkwan looks at where Chan is still laying stomach down, face squished against his pillow as he cradles it. 

“Speaking of movies - are you having Blood and Popcorn here or at Bambi’s?” 

Chan can’t help but smirk at the nickname. It had stuck ever since your freshman year when you’d called Rin Hartford a bambi-eyed bitch for saying nasty things to Mingyu. He thinks that night might be the night he realized he was absolutely head over heels for you, even if he had only known you for two weeks then. 

Despite your quiet disposition, you’ve always been the epitome of bravery. He can’t recall a time that you haven’t said what you meant or meant what you said, and defending your friends and speaking up has always been paramount to you. 

For someone like Chan who was often the youngest and the softest spoken in any group he was in, you were a breath of fresh air. And you’ve taught him to speak up for himself, letting him grow comfortable pushing back with people - especially his friends - and how to give back what he gets. 

Corrupted, Seungcheol joked once. She corrupted him and taught him how to bully us back. 

“I’m not really sure,” Chan says slowly, thinking about your conversation at the diner, the exact source of his pillow-scream. “We might not be doing it.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. We’re just friends.” 

“That’s the trouble I’m talking about, brother.” Seungkwan turns around to start collecting the pages out of the printer. “Is the Blood and Popcorn cancellation the reason for your pillow screaming?” 

“I don’t know that it’s canceled.” 

“That really clarifies the issue.”

Chan scowls. “Did you know Shua was into her?” 

“Uh, yeah.”

“He asked her on a date.”

“Joshua must have got tired of waiting for you to make a move on Bambi. I guess he decided you weren’t going to.” 

Chan frowns and sits up. He didn’t realize Joshua remotely had a thing for you, and while Chan adores the older member of their larger friend group, the thought of him taking you to dinner - a date - makes his stomach tighten. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Seungkwan clarifies. “That you have had the last four years to nut up or shut up. Everyone has waited for you to make your move on Bambi and you haven’t. If you’re not going to do it, someone else might as well.” 

“I mean, anyone could ask her out. It’s not like I have-”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t have dibs. Dibs can be unspoken, Chan. You’ve been in love with that girl since freshman year, if you think people - especially our friends - cannot tell and don’t respect you enough to give you time to ask her out, you need to wake up.” 

“It’s that obvious?” 

“Not to her, clearly.” Seungkwan stands and grins at Chan placidly, his essay collected in his hands. “Fortunately for you, the only person who is as dumb as you are is Bambi. Match made in heaven, really.” 

Chan chews his bottom lip. That offers a little bit of relief. He doesn’t like knowing that his feelings are so obvious to everyone else, but at least you don’t know. He cannot imagine how uncomfortable it would make your friendship dynamic knowing he was mooning over you while you just saw him as a friend. 

“Well, she doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m not going to confess my unrequited feelings and put her in that position to deal with them. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

Seungkwan gives Chan a slow blink, smile turning plastic. “Like I said. Match made in heaven.” 

Heaving a sigh, Chan throws himself on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Chan was certainly an idiot for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason has to be the way he has let his feelings for you fester since freshman year. Instead of implementing preventative maintenance, he’s let the problem grow to the point that his friends are no longer waiting for him to do something about it. 

The window of opportunity is gone. 

Not that there was a window of opportunity to begin with. Chan has seen what it looks like when you’re interested in guys - dazed eyes, a little flustered, a tiny grin on your face. You’ve never looked at him that way. At least, not really like that. You smile at him all the time, but it’s different. 

If he had the slightest indication you looked at him like you were interested, he’d have spilled his feelings a long time ago. Hiding this from you feels almost like a violation of friendship, but in order to preserve the friendship and keep you comfortable, he does what he must. 

The memory of him telling you to go on a date with Joshua makes him  groan in embarrassment. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars explode behind his lids. It had been a knee jerk response, something to distract you from the immediate jealousy and panic he’d felt that moment that Mingyu had dropped that bit of information at the table.

Mingyu. That motherfucker did it on purpose - not to rile Chan, but to try and  give him a kick in the ass toward the right direction. But like everyone else, Mingyu doesn’t get it. If Chan told you how he felt just to get it off of his chest, it would be putting his burden on you. You’d be the one who had to feel guilty for it being unrequited, you’d be the one who would inevitably feel uncomfortable or out of place. 

No. It would be the highest form of selfishness he can think of, offloading the heavy weight of his feelings just to give them to you as a reprieve from carrying them around so long. 

Chan blinks away the swimming colors, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom again. He can hear Seungkwan singing somewhere in the apartment, liquid voice calming even in Chan’s mild state of distress. 

Joshua is a good guy. Honestly, there are only a few guys that Chan knows who would make a suitable partner for you, and he begrudgingly acknowledges that Joshua is at the top of that list. And yet he still feels a twist of self-loathing that he had pushed you so quickly towards it, the regret like bile in his stomach. 

The last thing Chan wants to do is skip Blood and Popcorn this week. It is the one guaranteed day of uninterrupted time with you, and he waved it away like it meant nothing to him, which could not be farther from the truth. The nights of watching Buffy and eating pizza and sometimes popcorn mean everything to him. 

He just wishes he had been brave enough to stand his ground. 

-

Maybe Joshua Hong is the worst person ever. Chan dismisses the irrational thought as soon as he has it. Joshua isn’t awful at all. It’s just that he’s leaning in toward you and saying something into your ear over the loud din of the party, and Chan watches the way you nod. 

Crack. The plastic cup in his hand splits and immediately spills rum and coke all over the kitchen floor. Jeonghan starts yelling at him, ripping paper towels off of the roll and throwing them in Chan’s direction. He mutters an apology, gaze drifting over the kitchen counter to the living room where you’re laughing, head tilted back, warm light splaying across your throat-

“Ya! Don’t just let it pool at your feet!”

Jeonghan’s screech brings Chan back to life. He snatches the copious amounts of paper towels Jeonghan has thrown at him and starts to soak up the drink. The tile floor is already sticky and Chan cringes. No way have either Jeonghang or Seungcheol cleaned this floor any time recently. If anything, Chan has done it a favor. 

The party is in full swing around him. He stands up with the soaked paper in his hand, tossing it into the trash and grabbing more while Jeonghan digs underneath the counter. Chan finishes soaking up the spilled drink and comes eye to eye with a new set of paper towels and spray cleaner. 

Chan gives Jeonghan the soaked papers. “Jeonghan, your floor is already disgusting.”

“Then you should have no problem cleaning it!” 

“Sure, Mom.” 

“Don’t call me that!”

He rolls his eyes but does what Jeonghan says, spraying the area quickly and pressing down the paper towels. They come away sticky and black, making him cringe in disgust before tossing them out and washing his hands. As he turns off the faucet, Jeonghan has the decency to hand him a new drink.

Chan takes it without comment, the image of Joshua leaning into you a little too much for him to deal with right now. He drains the cup, sputtering a little. Jeonghan is a heavy pour and the spiced rum goes down rough, his eyes tearing just a little as he finishes the drink. 

“Well, that’s one way to stop from spilling.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a look before reaching for the mixer and handle of rum again. “You do normally drink like a fish, but anything in particular driving tonight’s thirst?” 

“Nope.”

“Right, so it’s not tall, dark and handsome hanging out with Bambi?”

Chan feels his eye twitch as he heavily pours the liquor into his cup. “Nope. And Joshua isn’t even that tall.” 

“Taller than you.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a venomous look. His face is beatific, grin a little bit dangerous as he holds his hands up in a white flag. “You look pretty bothered. If only there were a way to fix that.” Chan looks at Jeonghan with wide eyes, hope surging for a moment. “Just tell her you like her.” 

“Why is that the only advice any of you have?”

“Because it’s the only advice I have. Either tell her or get over your feelings. Those are your options.” 

“And I’ve already told you, it would just make her uncomfortable. It’s not her burden to bear.” 

Jeongan taps his fingers on the countertop, studying Chan. Chan pouts into his cup, taking long draughts, trying not to cringe at the strong taste. He can already sense the oncoming buzz and he welcomes it, needing a little something to distract him from the obvious elephant in the living room. 

“Alright,” Jeognhan relents. “Then deal with the consequences and get over your feelings.” 

And he will. Chan has always been good at dealing with the repercussions of hiding his feelings, and he does them well. So he tips back the cup and rejoins the party, nerves steeled and ready to deal with the consequences like his friends keep telling him to. 

-

“What?” you asked, lifting your voice to be heard over the rowdy game of cards at the coffee table. Joshua had asked you something but the words had been lost on you as your gaze drifted to Chan where he was leaning against the wall, talking to a girl you didn’t know. He was leaning awfully close. “I didn’t catch that.” 

Joshua smiles. He really is handsome, and everything someone could want in a partner. He’s kind and gentle, has a little bit of an insane streak, and he is incredibly intelligent and loyal. So why do you feel nothing when he grins at you or laughs? 

Your eyes drift over to Chan again and you feel your stomach flip. The alcohol turns to lead. The girl Chan is speaking to is so close to him, both of them turned toward one another as he ducks his head down to say something to her. She laughs and he smiles, looking her up and down.

Jealousy swallows you whole. It roars so loudly in your ears that you almost miss Joshua’s question again. “Did you give any thoughts about dinner on Friday?” 

Dinner? Friday? Oh right. He had asked you to dinner on Friday, but you’d declined due to your planned Blood and Popcorn night. With Chan. Who is flirting with the girl next to him, who is flirting back. 

The jealousy feels like a raw, rotten thing. It turns the alcohol in your stomach sour, makes the sweat on the back of your neck feel too much, like the room is too loud and too full. Even as the envy rears its head, an ugly beast ready to unleash, you turn to Joshua and say, “I really can’t. Friday nights are really important to me.” 

Joshua looks disappointed, but he’s polite enough to nod and smile. “I understand. Maybe a different night?”

“Um, maybe. Would you excuse me? I really need some air.” 

You stand abruptly, starling the people next to you. The cup in your hand shakes a little and your throat constricts and oh god. You cannot cry in the middle of a party just because you’re a little buzzed and the boy you like is across the room with another girl. 

“Do you want me to-”

“No!” You quip, shaking your head. “Totally fine, I’m so fine, I just need some air. Please! Sit! Stay!” 

Joshua raises his eyebrows at your frantic commands and you give a laugh that is a little on the hysterical side as you step over the legs of people sitting on the floor and on the couch. Joshua calls after you as you make the escape but you don’t turn around, eager to get out of the room. 

You trip over someone’s foot and nearly launch into a passerby as you go. Strong hands steady you before you totally topple over, though your drink sloshes over the edge of your cup, spilling it on the carpet. 

“What is it with you and your other half?” You look up to realize that it’s Jeonghan who stabilized you. “Spilling drinks all over my damn floor!”

“It probably helps. Your floors are disgusting.”

“Ya! That’s beside the point - why do you look like you’re about to die?”

“I feel like I might. I need fresh air.”  For a moment, Jeonghan looks confused. You watch his dark brows pull together and he looks over your head, dark gaze scanning for something. For Chan, you realize. It’s usually Chan who leaves with you if you need air or need to stick your head in a bucket to vomit. The realization hits you like a brick. “Not him,” you whisper. “I’m fine.” 

Your words land at the same time Jeonghan focuses in the direction you’d last seen Chan. He holds you there, suspended in time for a moment as his eyes dart between you and back to where you know Chan is still leaning against the wall. 

There is a flicker of something that you cannot place in Jeonghan’s gaze before it softens and he nods. He pulls you toward him and helps guide you around the groups of people. “Fresh air it is.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“I don’t know, crying alone is kind of lame, Bambi.”

Cool air hits you the second you step onto the porch. Soonyoung is sitting on the railing with Jihoon and Vernon leaning next to him. He waves enthusiastically when he sees you, breaking out into a grin and lifting the joint between his fingers, an offer. You shake your head and he shrugs, passing it to Vernon who lifts a hand in salute. 

The smell of weed chases you down the grass slope of Jeonghan’s backyard. It’s not so much a backyard as it is open to the apartment community’s lake. The spray of the fountain grows louder as the sounds of the party fade. 

Jeonghan sits down in the grass, leaning back on his hands. You join him, cringing at the dampness from the dewey grass. Taking in a deep breath you close your eyes and lean your head back, letting the wind cool the sweat on your overheated skin. The breeze mists the fountain, tiny specks of water tingling on your face as you sit in silence. 

Behind your lids, you can see the image of Chan leaning in toward that girl. The intimacy of the space. You hate how you can recall it in such detail - you’d always been able to remember details where Chan was involved. Like the way he was wearing a black, long-sleeved tee that pulled against his chest and arms perfectly, or the way the necklace you bought him two years ago glinted in the light of the living room, or the way-

“I did it to myself, huh?” you ask, feeling the first tear collect on your lash line. You tilt your head upward, trying to blink it rapidly away. “I could have just told him a while ago.” 

“Well, I don’t think you’re entirely responsible,” Jeonghan mutters. “Look, putting your heart on your sleeve is really scary, especially when it’s to someone you really value. But you have to decide what to do. You can either tell Chan you love him or you can decide to get over it. You can’t cling to unspoken feelings, though.”

“I just… I don't feel like he returns the feelings and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Then get over him.” You snap your gaze at Jeonghan, who is looking at you with the cool and calm you wish you felt. “If you’re unwilling to be honest with him, then your option is to get over it.” 

“Do you think he would… react poorly?”

“Of course not, but I will not speak to all of Chan’s feelings. Those are his to share, not mine, and I believe in the sanctity of acting on one’s own.”

“You sound so… saintly.”

“Dealing with all your problems has turned me into a saint. Do you know what it’s like being therapy to all of these damn people? You all take ‘door open’ a little too seriously.”

You laugh, feeling a little lighter. Pulling at the grass, you sigh. “You’re right, though. I either need to just tell him or let it go. I can’t just… suffer.”

“If only you’d come to that conclusion a while ago.”

“Bleh.” 

Fresh air and the weight of Jeonghan’s words weigh down on you. You know that he’s right. Though you’re confident that Chan doesn’t return your feelings, you don’t explicitly know because you’ve never asked. And if you never ask, you’ll never know. 

Calm settles over you as you decide your course of action. Blood and Popcorn is in two days - you can bring it up then. 

Nodding to yourself, you pluck more grass out of the ground. “Alright,” you tell Jeonghan, heaving a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.” 

“Ugh, you two! Don’t call me that!”

-

Hands shaking, you stare at your phone. You’ve had two days to mentally prepare for this evening and yet when you look at your phone, you think two days was not remotely enough to prepare for this evening. You haven’t spoken to Chan at all about what time you want to have your weekly hangout, but that’s not unusual. 

The only thing unusual is your hesitation to hit the call button and ask what time he wants to come over. It’s such a simple thing - you don’t need to confess your feelings to him right now. But the anticipation of what inviting him over means and the possible disaster it can bring makes your fingers shaky. 

Instead of hitting dial, you take one deep breath and let it out slowly. In slowly again, and-

Your phone starts ringing before you can finish the exhale. Your heart pounds in your throat when you see Chan’s name flash across your screen. For a few seconds there is pure panic, but you manage to collect yourself and slide your thumb across the screen. It takes a few tries, your hands clammy with anxiety as you answer. 

“Hi!”

“Don’t kill me,” Chan immediately says on the other side of the line. You pause, cocking your head. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“I have to raincheck on Blood and Popcorn tonight.”

“Oh no, are you sick? Do you need me to bring anything over? Is Seungkwan-”

Chan laughs on the other side of the phone and your stomach flutters helplessly. You hear the creak of bed springs and you know he’s sitting on his bed. He has the world’s creakiest bed. “I’m not sick.”

“Oh.” 

You frown, sitting down on your couch and folding your legs. There’s nothing else you can think of that Chan would cancel Blood and Popcorn for, so illness had seemed like the first rational thing. You feel a little embarrassed at immediately trying to take care of him, but push it away to ask, “What’s up?” 

“I have a date. Tonight is the only night she was available for like two weeks. She’s in her first year of law school so her availability sucks.” 

It feels like the air vanishes from the room. You lean back against the backrest on the couch, deflated. You hold the phone to your ear, but don’t feel the weight of it in your hand. The TV across the living room becomes a blur, the muted program in the background unrecognizable. 

A date. Chan has a date. That he’s willing to cancel your night for. 

You think back to that night at the diner when he told you to just go out with Joshua instead of doing Blood and Popcorn. How easily he pushed it aside. Like it was unimportant. Easily missed. 

“Bambi?” Chan’s voice sounds distant through the roar of your emotions. “You there? The cell service in your apartment is so shitty.” 

“I’m here.” 

“Oh good. Sorry to miss, please don’t kill me. We can add two days of Blood and Popcorn next week to make up for it?”

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah.” 

There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Definitely.” Lie. “Sorry, I just woke up from a nap and I’m a little spacy.” Lie. “No problems here. I’m not mad. Enjoy your date.” Lie. 

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes after!” 

“For sure.” 

When Chan hangs up the phone, you think that Jeonghan was right. Crying alone is lame. 

-

Chan can’t do this. 

Sol isn’t the problem - at least not directly. She is beautiful and funny, sharp as a whip and has an edge to her that he loves in women. She is successful, has goals, and she’s sensible. And she’s into him, which is perhaps the biggest plus of all. 

But she isn’t you. Sol’s biggest problem is that she’s not you, and it’s not really her problem at all. It is Chan’s and Chan’s alone, and he cannot sit through this date anymore. He’s tried for the last hour already, asking all of the right questions and laughing at all the right places, but he cannot stop the way he wonders if you’re watching buffy. He cannot help but wonder if you’re in those expensive pajamas you like, drinking inexpensive wine from the corner story, his favorite contrast. 

Chan cannot stop thinking that his button up is a little too tight on his chest and the uncomfortable way his new shoes rub his ankle. He’d rather be in a tee and shorts, freshly showered and stretched out. He cannot stop blinking his eyes, hating the way one of his contacts is irritating him, wishing instead to be in glasses and the lowlight of your apartment. 

From the moment he ended that call with you to cancel Blood and Popcorn, all he’s felt is dread. Dread for the upcoming date with someone he should be excited about, dread for telling you how it goes, dread for having to be in public with people and to get to know someone, dread at what happens at the end of the date, does he have to kiss her? Does he have to go get ice cream? What does he do-

“Are you okay?” Sol’s raspy voice draws him from his thoughts - not for the first time that night. She’s leaning back in her seat, dark eyes pinning him to the spot. She is as sharp as she is beautiful, and normally someone like Sol would make him trip over his feet. “You zoned out.”

“I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“It was,” she agrees. She swirls the wine in her glass, looking him up and down before giving him a sympathetic smile. “I won’t be offended if you want to call this off early.” 

“What?”

“You’re not interested,” she asserts. Confident. Self-assured. “It’s totally okay if it’s not working for you.” 

Heat crawls up the side of Chan’s neck. He runs his sweaty palms over his slacks. “I am so sorry,” he says earnestly. “This sounds so stupid to say, but it is me, it isn’t you.”

“No offense, but I know. You’ve been distracted since we got here. You obviously have something or someone else on your mind.” 

“That easy to read, huh?”

“Open book. I have some pride, though. Let’s pay the bill?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her grin is polite. Understanding. “Don’t be. You’re cute and nice, but I cannot suffer knowing your mind isn’t on me.” 

“Understandable.” 

Chan knows he’s lucky. Anyone else a little less level-headed or less confident might have made him suffer. As it is, Sol does let him suffer a little, sliding the bill over to him with a knowing grin. He likes Sol - not like he likes you, but she’s good people. 

“Promise me one thing?” Sol asks before ducking into her Uber. “It’ll help my pride.”

“Sure.”

“Go spend the rest of the evening with whoever it is and make sure you tell them how you feel. It’ll be worth it, that way.”

Chan grins. “Alright. I promise.”

And he does intend to hold to that promise. Something about tonight is different. He can feel it as he walks quickly to his car, undoing the top button of his shirt as he goes. The air is crisp and there are still a few streaks of orange in the night sky, the sun long gone. 

Chan calls you as he turns his car onto the road, heading toward your apartment on the northside of down. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, buzzing with nervous and excited energy as the line rings. When you don’t pick up, he ends the call. 

Jeonghan was right - he usually is. Chan could either tell you how he feels or live with the consequences, and he’s decided he cannot live with the consequences. He cannot sit across the table from someone who isn’t you and pretend that he isn’t wondering what you’re doing. He cannot look at the curve of someone else’s mouth and wonder what it would be like if it were yours. 

The date had been spurred by the intense wave of jealousy and inadequacy he felt at Jeonghan’s party when he saw you sitting on the couch with Joshua. He has no idea how else he would have had the confidence to start chatting up someone as commanding as Sol, but he was powered by rum and a wounded heart. 

Stupid. It was stupid, he realizes now. He has been stupid so many times regarding you and for long enough that even Joshua, the most polite of his friends, felt like they could respectfully intercept you, now. 

Well, perhaps you will choose Joshua instead. Chan is fine with that. What you want has always been paramount to him. But if you choose Joshua, it will be with the knowledge that Chan loves you and he always has. 

Steeling himself, he gets out of the car at your apartment complex and looks up at the building. He can see the lights on in your living room, confirming you’re still home and probably watching Buffy. The thought sends a thrill through him and he smiles, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.

“You’ve got this, Lee Chan,” he tells himself. “You’ve got this.” 

-

A loud knock on your door startles you. You finish blowing your nose in the issue, trying to suck up the rest of your tears. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater - Chan’s sweater - over your hands, you wipe your face with sweater paws, trying to erase some evidence of your tears before having to face the delivery person. 

Grabbing the bills on the counter, you wonder how many people delivering food have seen people answer the door while crying or immediately after crying. Honestly, they’ve probably seen all types of strange situations, which makes you feel a little bit about answering the door after very clearly sobbing. 

Unlatching the top and flipping the deadbolt, you yank the door open, prepared to not make eye contact to make it a little less awkward for you and the person just trying to hand you pizza and soda, except- 

“Chan?” 

It is Chan standing outside of your door. You blink in surprise, giving him a quick once over. He looks really nice, dressed in slacks and a black button up shirt that is a little too tight across the chest - not that you’re complaining - and the top of the buttons undone to reveal the necklace you gifted him. His dark hair has styling product in it, pushing it out of his face, save for a small rebel strand that hangs over his eyebrow. 

Chan looks… beautiful. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, face swollen from crying, nose a little snotty and looking worse for wear. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Why are you crying?” 

Chan pushes his way into your apartment and you let him, dropping your arm as he passes by. He shuts the door for you, flipping the latch and lock out of habit as he turns to you. He reaches out to grab you by the shoulders but you back up a little, suddenly terrified of his touch. 

He notices. “Why are you crying?” he asks again, dark brows knitted and mouth twisted in a frown. “Talk to me.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” 

“Left early, wasn’t working. What’s going on?” 

You swallow thickly, realizing you’re at a crossroads. Silence stretches between you as he waits for your answer, looking at you with so much concern that you begin to crack. The tension in your throat returns, the telltale sign of tears and you ball your fists, nails digging into your palms.

A torrent of feelings bombard you. Anger. Hurt. Desire. Relief. Hurt again. 

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn.” 

Chan opens and closes his mouth, head cocking to the side a little bit. He looks mystified, trying to put together the pieces to the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn for something else. For someone else.” 

“I-” 

A series of emotions flit over his face. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you watch each one, trying to catch them as they go. Confusion. Thoughtfulness. Confusion. Realization. You watch as he drinks you in, the tears, the wet stains from crying on the shirt, your words. Slowly, Chan puts the pieces together for the entire picture, and his face becomes so soft that you nearly cringe. 

“Oh, Bambi.” 

“You can date whoever you want, you’re not mine,” you punch out, wiping a tear as it escapes your eye. Feeling small, you back away from him a little, breaking eye contact. “But it hurts when you shove me aside like that. Look, I know we’re friends, but-”

“Bambi,” he says gently. You’re not looking at him, but you know that tone. The pleading. He’s begging you to stop, you think, but if you don’t get this out now you never will. 

“Blood and Popcorn is important to me. You’re important to me. I know you’ve never seen me as more than a friend, but Chan-”

Chan interrupts you again. This time though, it’s by crashing against you. You nearly topple over onto the coffee table with the force of it, but you cling to him, digging your hands into the meat of his biceps to hold yourself to him. His hands press into the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity to you that you can’t pay any attention to, because Chan presses his mouth against yours softly, stealing all of your thoughts.

For a second, your brain goes static. You’re so stunned you don’t do anything but cling to him, vacantly aware that the softness of his lips are on yours. Tentative. Questioning. 

Chan pulls away and your eyes flutter open. He is only an inch away from your face, his minty breath fanning your lips as he begins to apologize, panic on his face. You interrupt him this time, surging forward to crash your lips to his, far less gentle than he had been the first time. 

The box you’ve shoved every feeling for Chan cracks open. You feel everything pour out of it, a steady stream of want as you press into him. He smells like teakwood and mint, hypnotizing you. His mouth is soft and eager, sucking gently against your bottom lip. 

Everything feels lighter, like gravity has lost all meaning. Chan pulls away from your mouth a little, close enough to brush your lips against his in a feather-light kiss, but enough to gaze down at you through half lidded eyes. 

“The date didn’t work out because I kept thinking of you,” he whispers, voice shaking. You feel your breath stop as he speaks, each word sinking in. “It was stupid to ask her out. I was feeling insecure about Joshua asking you out, and it was stupid and petty-”

You kiss him again. He smiles into the kiss, letting you lead him, slow and lazy. You feel his tongue brush against the seam of your lips and you eagerly let him in, toes curling as he licks into your mouth. 

“I just want you,” Chan admits, breaking away for a quick breath of air. He presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheek. He peppers your face in them as his hands skate up your back, hot even through the material of his sweatshirt. “I have for so long and I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

“I was afraid too.” 

“I have wasted so much time.” His hands cradle your face, turning you to look at him. 

Chan is so earnest. Raw honestly glitters in his eyes. Deeper, hiding beneath the surface is something a little darker and more intense. Want. Desire. Something that lingers, waiting for you to call it forward. You love him so much that in that moment you almost cry more, feeling overwhelmed with everything you’ve buried down for years. 

“I want to make up for it,” you whisper, stealing a kiss that is more teeth than anything. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Your hands sink to his waist, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. “I was actually going to tell you tonight, before you canceled.”

“What a stupid man I am.”

You smirk a little. “Yes.” 

“Let me apologize,” he murmurs, voice low. You feel yourself shiver as he pushes you toward your room, connecting your mouths again. The kiss is messy and needy, so different than the one moments before. You tangle together, stumbling toward your room. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Oh?” 

The crash landing onto your mattress is not graceful. Chan’s full weight falls on top of you and your foreheads smack a little. You yelp in paint and Chan groans, burying his face in your neck. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles to the surface, exploding out of you as your hands press flat on his back, soothing as you hold him to you.

“First step of apologizing,” you wheeze under him. “Give her a concussion.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face further in embarrassment. “I’m a little eager.” 

His breath tickles your neck, making you squirm under him. He seems to notice, opting to press open-mouthed kisses against your throat. You hum, eyelids fluttering at the stimulation. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fingers turning to claws against his back. “It’s cute.”

Chan leans off of you, properly supporting himself with arms on either side of your head, caging you in. His knee slots between your legs, making your stomach leap in excitement as he scoots it up a little, almost pressing against you. 

“You’re cute,” he notes, kisses getting messy as they go up your neck toward your ear. He nips your ear and you let out a sound. His laughter is warm against you and you shiver. “You’re in my clothes.”

“I wear them all the time.”

He groans. “I know. Fuck I know.”

“Is that what does it for you?” You move your hands from his back to his waist, pulling the tucked shirt from the waistband of his slacks. His hips twitch forward, excited. He busies his mouth with pressing wet kisses to your jaw. “Me in your clothes?”

“Everything does it for me. I am down horrendous for you.” 

“I really didn’t know.”

He moves a hand to pull at the collar of his sweatshirt, exposing more of your collarbones to him as he kisses. “Everyone else did,” he assures you. You hiss when he bites down and licks over the sting, looking up through dark lashes to gauge your reaction. You nod a little and he grins, doing it again. “Biting. Got it.” 

With trembling fingers, you work the buttons on his shirt. You steal touches as you go, greedy for him. Too long have you hidden what you want in the shadows, too long have you resisted this. Now, you take. 

You brush your fingers against the flexing muscle of his stomach as you pull at the shirt, making him moan deep in his throat. His skin is like fire as you brush your fingers across its warmth, shoving his shirt off. He leans up, letting it fall from his shoulders, rippling to the ground.

The light from your hall glows behind Chan, haloing him in golden light. Your breath catches in your chest as your fingers press to his skin, brush over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach. You feel him twitch beneath your hands but he lets you explore, breathing hard under your reverence. 

Golden boy, so full of fire. It’s all you can think of as you stare up at him, equal parts light and dark in your bedroom. Your hands drop to his belt and you tug him to you, desperate for him. 

“Kiss me,” you beg. 

He does. His mouth is greedy, stealing your breath. A thrill shoots through you when he slides his knee up higher, pressing it between your legs. You breath the kiss to gasp at the barest amount of pressure and Chan grins, watching your reaction through a heavy gaze. 

“Take this off for me,” he asks, voice raspy. He pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt on your frame. “Please.”

You lean up, pressing your mouth to his collarbone in a sweet kiss as you pull the shirt over your head. He helps you, tossing it somewhere else. His hands go to your sides, fingers tracing up your curves as he pushes you back down, claiming your mouth again. 

It feels like you might go crazy. Your bare chest presses against his, the friction turning your blood to liquid fire. His knee is firm between your legs, and when his hand slips to your waist, squeezing you and urging you to roll your hips you can’t help but let out a moan in the shape of his name, helpless.

“Fuck,” he swears, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he helps you move against his thigh. “If you say my name like that again I might bust in my fucking pants.” 

“Chan.” 

“Don’t,” he laughs, biting your shoulder. “I want this so bad.” 

“I want you.”

“I might pass out due to sheer joy.” 

“I have some ideas on how to revive you.” 

He lets out a swear and you laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

“Maybe.” 

Truth is, you think he might be the death of you. You’d die happily in his arms, completely swept up in the feeling of Chan’s tongue as it skates across your skin and up the swell of your breast. When he pauses, you look down at him. He smirks, happy to have your attention before he flicks his tongue lightly over the peak of your nipple. 

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, back bowing off the bed. He lets out a chuckle, repeating the flicking motion as he watches you with dark, satisfied eyes. It drives you insane, the way he watches you with equal parts reverence and determination to find out what makes you squirm. 

Chan is a fast learner. His teeth scrape against your nipple and you whine, thrashing under him as he teases you, pulling gently. The sting feels so good, making you melt into the mattress underneath him. He makes a sound of appreciation, sucking gently and sending you to the moon before trailing his mouth toward your other breast. 

The hand on your hip squeezes you, reminding you why it had been there in the first place. “Keep going.” His breath fans against your skin and you tremble. “I like seeing you worked up.” 

“God,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his leg again. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and as he sucks greedily at your chest you feel like you might rip at the seams. “Who knew you were so… this.” 

You feel his wet grin against you, tongue flicking against your pert nipple. Your head falls to the side as you pant, trying to catch your fucking breath. 

Of course he can reduce you to nothing so easily. No one knows you better than Chan, the two of you like twin flames. Every touch of his tongue, every press of his fingers into your skin, every breath of your name on his lips were made to unravel you because it’s Chan. Your Chan. 

Your Chan who gently pulls the sweatpants from your hips, groaning low and slow when he sees the way your panties stick to your folds. Your Chan who kisses and bites the softness of your thighs, breath ghosting across sensitive flesh, fingers prying your legs apart when they start to twitch shut. 

You’d always been made for him. To think otherwise was folly. You know that now, hand gripping his bones tight as he pulls your hands to the side, the cold air hitting your aching cunt. He lets you squeeze his hand, not caring that your gripping is bone-breaking. 

“Hmm.” He looks up at you and you look down at him. His eyes are blown and he grins, shaking his head a little. “This for me?” You nod, your thoughts banging around the near empty space in your head as you do. “Fuck.” 

And then his tongue presses against you, flat and warm and fuck fuck fuck. You can barely function as Chan drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, avoiding your clit entirely before dragging it back down. He makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a whine and you nearly lose it there, driven insane by him. 

Chan takes the hand he has linked with yours and rests it on your hip, pressing into you to keep you still. You buck under his mouth and he laughs, unbothered as he looks up at you. The vision of him between your legs makes you dizzy, his hair mused, tongue pressed between your folds, eyes starving. 

Your other hand grips his wrist where his opposite hand holds you open. You cling to him, thighs twitching as he licks you at his leisure. His mouth is a weapon, bringing you to the edge of insane easily. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, you fear you might break. 

He can sense it too, setting himself to the task of pushing you over the edge. Chan learns you so quickly - maybe just knows you intuitively - alternating between circling his tongue around your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking on it gently. 

“I am going to die,” you gasp between ragged breaths. “Your fucking mouth.” 

“Yeah? Feels good?” The buzz of his words drive right into your lower stomach where your orgasmed has so much compacted pressure you know you’re going to snap any moment. “Taste so good. I could eat this pussy all fucking night.” 

“Fuck, Chan. I’m gonna come.” 

He gives a harsh suck to your cunt, the wet sound obscene. “Good.” 

“Like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, panting. He does it again, following your instruction. Your mouth falls open as you nod, unable to string together more than. “Mmm.” 

Chan doubles his effort, the wet sounds of his mouth making it all the harder to keep it together. He keeps you in place as best as he can, but his little hums of pleasure and the combination of his mouth and tongue send your orgasm slamming into you. 

You think you say his name. You have no idea if anything comes out at all. You come hard, thrashing against the bed as he licks you through it, uncaring. Every nerve in your body is on fire, limbs tingling as you float in the momentary high of your peak before you start to come back down, breathing raggedly. 

A cramp throbs in your fingers that are still twisted in Chan’s grip. You loosen your grip a little bit, feeling a little bad about almost snapping his fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind, head still between your legs, tongue gentle and pressed against your twitching entrance. He avoids your clit, letting you catch your breath.

“Chan,” you mumble. He lifts his head, your arousal spread across his mouth. He is a mess, spiking your need for him. You pull at him, wild. “Kiss me.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles up to you, letting go of your hand in favor of cradling your face. The kiss is hungry and wet, your heady taste on his mouth as you drink him in. You don’t care, desperate to have him close, pulling him into you. 

One of your hands snakes between your bodies, pressing against the firm outline of his cock through his pants. He lets out a whine, shaking his head as he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy. 

“Don’t,” he begs. “I will cum right now.” 

“Oh?” 

“I’m so serious, I almost came untouched.”

“Wow, I really do it for you, huh?” 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His sincerity makes you flush and you peck him on the lips. “I cannot promise I will not come apart after a single stroke.” 

“Don’t care.” You undo his belt, pulling. “Want it. Want you. Please don’t make me wait.” 

He curses. “I can deny you nothing.” He sees your wicked grin and shakes his head, laughing as he pulls away to kick out of his pants. “You like having me wrapped around your finger, huh?” 

“You’re not the only one whipped.” He looks at you, doubtful. “You think I share my fries with anyone? Be so real, Chan. That’s something only you can do.” 

“Got it. French fry privileges, what else can I weaponize?” 

You don’t answer his question, distracted by him as he peels his briefs off and fists his heavy cock. You lick your lips, drinking in the length and thickness of him, the sticky, swollen tip, the way he pumps himself when he kneels on the bed again. 

“Hmm?” he asks, noticing you're distracted. “Everything okay?” 

“You have a nice dick,” you blurt. He pauses, raising his brows, thighs pressed to the back of yours. You fold your lips flat, a little embarrassed by your outburst. “Thank you is the proper response to a compliment.” 

He bursts into laughter and you can’t help but join him, covering your face as it heats up. “Don’t hide from me, wanna see you,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pulling them from your face. He pins them above your head. “And thank you.” 

Chan runs the head of his cock along your sticky folds, both of you moaning in unison. His hand still pins yours above your head, making you feel open and vulnerable. Your knees squeeze his hips as he ruts against you a little, eyes focused while he uses his other end to guide himself to your entrance. 

“Mmm,” the sound escapes you as he presses in, the ache in your core doubling for a second as he sinks further. “Fuuuck.”

“Okay?”

“Very. Just- slow.”

“You got it, baby.” 

The term of endearment hits you low in the stomach. Between him whispering baby and sinking into the hilt, you don’t know what drives you crazier. The easy answer is just Chan. It’s simply Chan who does this to you, who turns you inside out, who reduces you to a whimpering mess. 

Chan lets go of your hands and brings it to your face. He leans down, supported by the other hand as he kisses you gently, letting you adjust to his girth, pussy spasming around him as you try to keep it together. The kiss is slow and sweet, in contrast to the feral kiss you shared earlier. 

“Fuck,” he breaths against you mouth, laughing. He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking squeezing me. I might die.” 

You do it on purpose this time and he hisses, all of his muscles clenching. “Like that?” 

“Doonnn’t. If I come right now I’ll be so embarrassed.” 

“Why? It’s just me.”

“I don’t want to one-stroke my dream girl, are you serious?” 

“Dream girl, huh?” He pulls out a little before shallow thrusting back in. “Mmm yeah. That feels good.” 

Instead of answering your jest, he kisses you slowly. His strokes are slow but deep, making you sigh. He feels so good, having him like this. Chan presses his body against you, melding the two of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, squeezing to keep him as close as possible. 

Your name falls from his lips as you move in sync. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel him shake in your hands. He buries his face in your neck, mouth pressed against your skin as he breathes heavily. You cling to him, as though you could press your love into him, as though you can transfer it through touch. 

Chan slides a hand between the two of you, reaching down to circle your clit gently. You whimper in surprise, squeezing around him and drawing out a low sound. “I’m gonna come soon,” he murmurs. “Do you have another one, baby? Can you try for me?”

You nod. He presses his lips to your temple, driving his hips faster, fingers firm. You feel yourself wind up again, desperate to catch up to Chan, to give him what he wants, to come undone together. You’d do anything for him - anything he asked. You always have.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You see the necklace you gifted him hanging around his neck, tapping his collarbone in time with his movements. The sight of it makes you possessive, your desire for him surging. Gripping the back of his neck, you bring his mouth to yours. You don’t kiss him, but your mouths are pressed together as you mutter, “I love you, you know?” 

He groans, hips stuttering, fingers firm. You’re so close, you feel yourself right on that edge again. “I do know,” he admits, his cock pressing that perfect spot inside of you that has the room spinning. “I love you too, you know?”

You feel him smile against you. The kiss he gives you is so gentle that it sends you over the edge. You hold him tight, coming undone around him as he groans into your mouth, unraveling with you. When he stills, you keep holding him to you, his embrace warm. 

Chan nudges your nose with his. You open your eyes to find his dark ones peering at you. You smile, lifting a hand to trace your fingers along his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the roundness of his cheeks. You note the faint freckles under his eyes, his long lashes, the way one side of his lips lifts before the other when he smiles. 

“Hmm?” he asks.

“You’re so pretty.” You trace your finger to his nose and then flick it. He frowns and pulls away, making you laugh. “There is cum leaking down my leg to my ass.” He thrusts once sharply and you whine. “Chaaaan.”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we shower?” 

“We?”

You grin. “You speak French?” 

“I speak pussy.”

“Ew, get off of me!” you laugh, hitting him in the shoulder. He laughs too, rolling off and pulling out. “Take me to the shower, you loser.” 

“Oui.” 

“Then I want to watch Buffy - oh no.”

“What?” He stands and reaches a hand out to you, helping you up. “Are you alright?”

“I ordered pizza and they probably tried to deliver.” 

“That’s okay.” He pulls you toward the shower and smacks your ass lightly, making you yelp. “Start the shower, I’ll call and get it re-delivered.”

You pause, looking at him, unable to bite back the smile. “I love you.”

“Mhmm. Love you too, Bambi.”

-

“I know I’m good looking,” Chan murmurs, eyes on the screen. “But you’re staring very hard at me.” 

You’re laying against his chest, head tilted up to look at him. You can’t help it, watching the blue light from the TV dance across his face, reflected in the glasses he put on after the shower. His hair is still damp and fluffy, skin glistening from the skincare post-shower. 

“You are good looking.”

“Damn. Only like me for the looks?”

“Well your jokes aren’t very good.” 

He levels you with a glare and you laugh, kissing him quickly before settling down in his arms again. His embrace is warm and he smells like your shampoo. You press yourself into him further and he grunts, letting you. 

“Can we do Blood and Popcorn forever?” you ask, watching him fondly. He smiles and kisses your forehead, flooding you with warmth. “Please?”

“Anything you ask, baby. Blood and Popcorn forever.” 

-

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@jespecially @asyre @eoieopda @todorokiskitten @pyeonghongrie-main @sebbyswifu @softiesoga

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[elinorasims]

Build | Strangerville | Ziggy's Diner

Lot Info

Type | Restaurant Lot Size | 30x20 World | Strangerville Value | 94,857 Baths | 3 CC | No Packs | Unrestricted Ziggy's Diner is a classicly retro mashup of Googie and passenger train inspired styles situated in Strangerville Plaza.

Ziggy's is a compact restaurant and bar combo with a Strangerville twist: classic red booths and an elongated mid-century modern bar layout meets sci-fi inspired and 50's-kitsch inspired cluttered decor..

It's giving the diner from the movie 'Paul'. I hope. lol

Ziggy's has a fully customised menu featuring some Mountain States inspired comfort dishes and some American classics (full menu below the cut).

DOWNLOAD >>

Interior Tour

Bar

Staff Areas

Floor Plan

| hi my loves

hopefully you like this one- it was super fun to build and I'm finding my feet a bit more building for this save, i think!

it's been playtested (briefly lol) and should be fully functional and a smooth enough restaurant experience for your sims to enjoy.

i love Paul so much aha we watched it this past weekend and i was immediately like 'yup. gotta go do a strangerville build now.'

| dag dag fn. <3

Ziggy's Diner Menu

Drinks water ; lemonade ; milk ; orange juice ; coffee ; cream cola ; fizzy fruity drink ; pitch black ; root beer float ; soda ; tang and zing ; boiler room ; eapa ; juice on the rocks ; wrench ; galactic vita-water ; silent film ; sour punch ; sunset valley ; alien juice ; cupid juice ; space energy drink ; jet juice

Appetisers chips and salsa ; mac and cheese ; bowl of olives ; bread roll ; french fries ; whole wheat bread ; popcorn shrimp ; garden salad ; cheesy bread ; grilled plantains ; seafood chowder ; soft shell crab cake ; empanadas ; watermelon salad

Mains mac and cheese ; chicken nuggets ; popcorn shrimp ; baked potato ; hot dog ; lobster roll ; veggie burger ; chicken and waffles ; fried chicken sliders ; mushroom waffles ; sausage and peppers ; scrambled eggs with bacon ; seafood chowder ; tofu dog ; fish tacos ; hamburger ; fried fish ; pancakes ; aubergine Parmesan ; sweet corn pizza ; mushroom steak ; french toast ; vegetable chilli ; egg white omelette ; mushroom soup ; bbq ribs plate ; blackened bass ; gumbo ; steak

Dessert neapolitan ice cream ; rainbow sorbet ; vanilla ice cream ; alien fruit tart ; cream filled donut ; cream snack cake ; honey cake ; plain waffles ; rainbow brownies ; hamburger cake ; chocolate chip cookie ; apple pie ; banana cream pie ; pumpkin pie ; simcity cheesecake ; fruit cobbler

[lastoneout]

Okay then,

[feyburner]

hiii, do you have any good fall recipe recs? sweet or savoury I don’t mind I just regard you as a cooking god and am looking for inspiration

Yes! Here is my current To Make list.

Many I’ve made before and some are recipes I want to try.

I’m linking specific recipes just bc I’m copy pasting from my own list. Sorry for all the instagram reels, you can just google the name of the thing and find it.

I’m going apple picking with my friends sometime in early October so I’m already planning all the apple things I want to make 🤤🍎

And Friendsgiving… so many pies…

SWEET

- French Apple Cake/German Apple Cake

- Apple Tarte Tatin

- Apple Crunch Tart/“The Best Apple Tart in Paris”

- My auntie’s date pecan bread, one of my favorite quickbreads of all time. Yes you are reading that ingredient list correctly. This is for real fruit & nut enjoyers only. If you can’t play with the big boys go home.

- Pumpkin Bread

- Pumpkin Pie (I use the Libby’s recipe but double the cinnamon & ginger, brown sugar instead of white, 1 extra egg, and add 1 tsp vanilla, 1/2 tsp cardamom, 1/4 tsp nutmeg, a few cracks of black pepper, and lemon or orange zest. AND let the filling chill in the fridge overnight!!)

- Sweet Potato Pie (my own recipe, I’ll put under the cut)

- Pecan Pie (same)

- Cinnamon Roll Focaccia/Pumpkin Cinnamon Swirl Sourdough

- Orange Cardamom Olive Oil Cake

- Pear Almond Tart (Tarte Bourdaloue)

SAVORY

- Arayes (made already, so good)

- Crispy Pork Scallion Buns

- Coconut Curry Butternut Squash Sheet Pan Soup (+ Any Vegetable Sheet Pan Soup)

- Veggie Filo Crinkle Cake

- Peanut Noodle Soup

- Fall Squash Galette/Butternut Squash & Caramelized Onion Galette

- Crispy Parmesan Carrots

- Garam Masala Roasted Carrots

- Zucchini Cornbread

- Homemade (sourdough?) pizza with roasted butternut or kabocha squash, goat cheese, figs, caramelized onions

- My dad’s red beans and rice :)

- Spicy Korean Fried Chicken

- Potato Tart with Zucchini & Feta

- Thai Red Curry Dumpling Soup

- Channa Masala

MY RECIPES:

SWEET POTATO PIE

MAKES: 1 x 8-9” pie

INGREDIENTS

1 ½ lbs sweet potatoes (2-3 potatoes) (3 cups flesh), whole, to be roasted

1 x 12 oz can evaporated milk

1 cup (200g) dark brown sugar

2 eggs

5 Tbsp (70g) butter, melted

1 Tbsp lemon zest (zest of 1 lemon)

1 tsp lemon juice

1 Tbsp cinnamon

½ tsp kosher salt

½ tsp ginger

¼ tsp nutmeg

a few cracks (⅛ tsp) freshly ground black pepper

+

1 disc (½ recipe) All-Butter Pie Crust*

*I’ve posted my pie crust recipe on tumblr before tagged “recipes”

DIRECTIONS

1. Roast sweet potatoes: Preheat oven to 400°. Line a baking sheet with foil. Wash and scrub whole sweet potatoes. Pierce potatoes all over 3-5x with paring knife. Roast 45 minutes until fork tender. Let cool, then collect 3 cups flesh.

2. Prepare crust: Roll out pie dough (12-14” diameter circle, ¼” thick). Press into tin and crimp edges. Chill shaped shell in fridge or freezer until ready to use.

3. Preheat oven to 350°.

4. Make filling: Put all ingredients in food processor. Pulse 3-4x until smooth. (You can also use a blender, or simply beat ingredients until fully combined.)

5. Pour filling into pie shell.

6. Bake 45-60 minutes until puffed and firmly set (toothpick clean) everywhere except the very center, which should retain a very slight jiggle (but not look liquid). The center will set as it cools. Start checking at 45 minutes and continue baking at 5 minute intervals until set. (If crust gets too brown, shield edges with foil.)

7. Let cool completely before serving, at least 1 hour.

NOTES

Roast the potatoes whole, in the skins, so the sugars & starches properly caramelize. Do not steam or boil potatoes, even whole. They will take on water and make the filling soggy.

You can roast the potatoes up to 1 week in advance. Collect flesh day of.

PECAN PIE

MAKES: 1 x 8-9” pie

INGREDIENTS

2 cups (250g) chopped pecans

1 cup (200g) dark brown sugar

1 cup light or dark corn syrup

¼ cup (56g) butter

4 eggs

1 Tbsp vanilla

1 tsp kosher salt

1 tsp cinnamon

+

1 disc (½ recipe) All-Butter Pie Crust

DIRECTIONS

1. Prepare shell: Roll out pie dough (12-14” diameter circle, ¼” thick), press into tin, crimp edges. Chill shaped shell in fridge or freezer until ready to use.

2. Preheat oven to 350°.

3. Cook sugar syrup: In a saucepan, bring sugar, corn syrup, and butter to boil over medium heat for 1-2 minutes, whisking constantly, to cook sugar. Take off heat. Let cool slightly, 3 minutes.

4. Temper eggs: In a bowl, beat eggs until lightened and frothy. Slowly, while whisking, pour ½ cup of warm syrup into eggs. Whisk to combine. Then, while whisking, slowly pour egg mixture back into the remaining syrup mixture. Whisk until smooth.

5. Whisk in vanilla, salt, and cinnamon.

6. Pour chopped pecans into bottom of pie shell. Pour filling over pecans.

7. Bake 45-60 minutes until fully set everywhere except the very center, which should retain a very slight jiggle. The center will set as it cools. Start checking at 45 minutes and continue baking at 5 minute intervals until set.

8. Let cool completely before serving, at least 1 hour.

NOTES

Many recipes do not require you to cook the sugar before baking the pie. However, pre-cooking the sugar (and tempering the eggs) ensures the ideal gooey, silky, perfectly smooth texture.

Toast pecans if desired: Arrange pecans in a single layer on a baking sheet and toast in preheated oven 5-8 minutes.

[daytaker]

Chat Log: A Human Child Arrives in the Devildom

Beelzebub: I don’t remember. Beelzebub: I don't remember that either. Mammon: Oi, Beel, what the hell are you saying? Satan: That isn’t Beel. It’s “the new human exchange student”. Mammon: Why are ya sayin’ that in quotes? Satan: You’ll see. Mammon: The hell does that mean?! Beelzebub: I fell. Beelzebub: I fell out a tree and then I was here. Lucifer: Satan, Asmo, Beel. I thought I said to look after the human child. Why is it sending nonsense in the chat? Asmo: It can’t talk, so we’re asking it questions out loud and having it answer like this! Lucifer: Why did you not create a new chat where you could interrogate it without annoying the rest of us? Satan: Convenience. This chat already existed. Mammon: Whoa whoa whoa, did you say human CHILD? Why the hell did you guys recruit a child? Lucifer: We didn’t. Something appears to have gone wrong in the summoning process. Barbatos is attempting to resolve the issue as we speak. Mammon: Is the kid still in the chat? Asmodeus: Yes, Beel loaned it his phone. Mammon: Hey kid, ya like ice cream? Beelzebub: Yes. Mammon: Well, I got a massive chocolate cone for any human kid who’s willing to come hang out around the central plaza for a few hours. Demons’ll pay good money to get a look at a genuine human child.  Mammon: Hey, Asmo, is it cute? Beelzebub: They want me to tell you I'm not going anywhere with you. Asmodeus: Yeah, leave the poor thing alone! It probably misses its parents! Asmodeus: And yes, it’s adorable! ♡ Mammon: Good, folks’ll pay more for that. Leviathan: Whaaaaaat? Sorry, just backread, but wow! You guys isekai’d a BABY to RAD? LOLOLOLOL Beelzebub: I’m not a baby. Lucifer: I apologize for the delay in sending this message. I was occupied with Diavolo and Barbatos. Lucifer: Mammon, if you take that child out in public and it gets eaten, I will flay you alive. Beelzebub: Do demons eat kids? Mammon: Yep. Mammon: They’re pretty freakin’ delicious too. Way better than old people. Mammon: ‘Cause they’re softer. Lucifer: Shut up and listen. Lucifer: Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem as if this issue is going to be resolved as quickly as I had hoped. Lucifer: Mammon, if I leave you in charge of the human until tomorrow, do you think you can keep it alive? Mammon: What? Why me? Ain’t Asmo and Satan there already? Lucifer: I hesitate to entrust a child to either Asmo or Satan for any extended period of time due to certain personality defects each of them possess. Asmodeus: Rude!!! Mammon: What about Beel? Lucifer: Beel would certainly eat it. Mammon: …Yeah, I guess that’s fair. Lucifer: Satan, Asmo, Beel. Please take the human to the school gates and wait for Mammon to retrieve it. In the meantime, Diavolo has graciously offered to lend it the D.D.D. he had prepared for the original transfer student, so stop by the dean’s office to pick it up. Asmodeus: Fine, we're going. Mammon: I really gotta do this, huh? Lucifer: Yes. Mammon: :( Leviathan: LOLOLOLOL!!! This is hilarious! Lucifer: Don't think I've forgotten about you, Levi. I'd like you to prepare a few dishes Barbatos says are in vogue with human children. Leviathan: Wait, are you making me its personal chef? Mammon: Ha! Serves ya right! Leviathan: Shut up, Mammon. Lucifer: Macaroni and cheese. Lucifer: Chicken tenders/nuggets (in the shape of dinosaurs, if possible) Leviathan: Dinosaurs? Lucifer: Apple juice. Lucifer: Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Lucifer: French fries. Lucifer: Cheese pizza. Leviathan: Do I have to make all of this right now? Lucifer: Chocolate chip cookies. Lucifer: Human-world grapes. Leviathan: Am I being trolled right now? Lucifer: Absolutely not. Prepare one dish immediately using whatever ingredients we already own. Lucifer: Human, if you are still here, I would like to extend my deepest apologies on behalf of the Royal Academy of Diavolo for this unfortunate mistake. Lucifer: I hope we are able to resolve this in a timely manner.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Paranoid, paranoid, paranoid

Things feel out of order

Look and look around, I'm not sure of

Pair of paranoia, no

I can feel it in my aura…"

Tyler the Creator—"Noid"

Life in New Orleans dragged to a crawl for Celeste. Pure drudgery.

With Terry gone, colors didn't look as bright in the world. Food lacked taste and texture. Getting out of bed in the morning took prayers and innate willpower. Her mother sent over aromatic herbal bath salts to soak her body in. Grand-mère left Tupperware sealed containers of sausage gumbo, or fried chicken wings on her stoop that Celeste found after work at night. She acted like an addict suffering from withdrawals. Micah said she might be anemic. She thought about making a doctor's appointment.

Lighting candles and praying didn't make her feel better. Bargaining with lower-tiered saints didn't either. She spent her lonely nights sitting on her stoop chain smoking and drinking more rum punches than usual. The trilling of insects and the calls of nightbirds kept her company until she became numb and crawled into a cold bed.

Dark dreams rattled the peace of her sleep and Celeste often woke up in a sweat, paranoid that she was being watched by some unknown entity in her bedroom or outside her French doors. Her dreams were of a macabre nature with visions of walking in the French Quarter at night, or traipsing along the riverfront at sunset hearing the flapping of large wings behind her back. Terry never appeared in those nightscapes, although she caught glimpses of a shadow slithering across the ground, trying to catch up with her running footsteps. His voice called out to her, and she'd wake up hoping for daylight so she wouldn't have to lie awake for hours waiting for the sun to burn away the eerie webbing of terror that entrapped her every evening.

The worst night happened when sleep paralysis took over her body, and she swore evil shape-shifting shadows crept along the ceiling trying to steal her breath. Eventually, she could wiggle her toes and fingers and slowly regain control of her limbs. On those nights, she missed Terry's enormous body spooned around her, protecting her from the bogeyman.

To his credit, Terry called and left her messages, not completely dumping their connection cold turkey. However, he always chose times when he knew she'd be at work and unable to speak. He still professed his love for her, but he wasn't coming back soon. She left him a voicemail asking for his address, willing to make the drive up to see him, even if it had to be a quick turnaround trip. He never gave it to her.

Long summer days took over. The southern heat rolled in, and so did the start of hurricane season.

An oppressive heatwave layered itself all over Louisiana, and no matter how many cool showers she took, her body sweated buckets in the sauna-like atmosphere. The weather didn't stop her from walking or riding her bike around her neighborhood. She forced herself to stay active, visiting her grandparents more often, and attending random brunches Joyce pulled together.

Nothing filled the void of Terry, though. Eventually, his calls and text messages thinned down to an occasional heart emoji.

On a rare two days off, back-to-back, Celeste slept in and ate leftover pizza. She pulled her locs back into a high pigtail and prepared for a long meditative walk to the French Market to meet up with Joyce and some new people she didn't know. No more moping about Terry. Life had to go on and there were other fish in the Mississippi River. Blah, blah, blah.

Wiping her face with a cool washcloth, she painted on shimmery orange lipstick and added a few gold hair decorations to her locs. She broke out the lime-green summer dress and clear jelly sandals that always made her feel pretty and summery.

Locking her cottage door and the iron security door, she waved to a neighbor across the street and headed north, her feet automatically walking her toward the B&B Terry stayed at. Walking past the property, she looked at the playful statues on the roofs and stopped.

The gargoyle statue was no longer curled behind the big dragon figure. Celeste paced back and forth, craning her neck to see if the glare of sunlight prevented her from seeing it. No, it was definitely gone. She pulled out her smartphone and swiped the screen until she came to her photo gallery. When she looked at the image on her phone, it reminded her of how unsightly the statue had been compared to all the other goofy figures displayed on the roof. Maybe the owners came to their senses and realized the thing didn't match the whimsical vibe they tried to cultivate.

She carried on her merry little way and entered the Quarter, wishing she'd thought to bring an umbrella for the direct sunlight burning her skin. Passing by one of the many historic hotels, she glanced up to see a sight on a wall that knocked her breath short.

A stone-gray gargoyle fixture clung to the side of a sweltering red brick wall holding out the head of a gorgon…Medusa. The face of the creature looked exactly like the one on the B&B . Celeste walked past that part of the Quarter too many times and knew for a fact no gargoyle statue had ever been there before. She snapped a picture of it and hurried along to her brunch meet up.

She forgot about the gargoyle until two hours later when her entourage of seven window-shopped, and she glimpsed a different, more ferocious-looking gargoyle statue peering down from the roof of a boutique shoe store. Its six-foot wide flint-gray wings cast a shadow across the sidewalk. The outstretched clawed hand looked ready to snatch pedestrians off the street. Celeste shivered and nausea overtook her stomach. Acid churned in the back of her throat and she almost vomited her lunch special onto her sandals.

"Duchess, what's wrong?" Joyce asked.

She pointed at the statue.

"That was never there before."

Joyce stared at it. Celeste pulled out her phone and showed her the other gargoyle.

"This one I found on the side of a hotel. Another just like it was a few blocks from my house. It seems weird to me. I feel like I've been seeing a lot of weird shit lately."

Celeste rubbed her stomach and burped. A sour taste coated her tongue.

"I don't feel so good."

"Do you need to sit down?"

"Yeah."

The group pitched themselves up at a dueling pianos bar to get Celeste off her feet. Everyone ordered frozen mango margarita drinks except for her. She went to the public restroom and hung her head over the toilet. The sickness passed, and she used the sink to rinse away the sweat on her face.

Feeling better, she returned to her group and settled in for chit-chat and getting to know a man that Joyce brought for her to meet. The sun went down and the heat dropped by two measly degrees. She snacked on creamy artichoke dip and pita chips, listening to all the lively conversations around her until she noticed a man staring at her from the main bar. His dark skin gleamed with good genetics, and his dashing eyes zoned in on her quickly. She thought he was flirting, but his direct gaze came off predatory.

Glancing around, she pretended to take an interest in the active street life as the Quarter came alive for another night of debauchery. On the corner, a striking Black woman with a bald head and gothic make-up watched her. Her black painted lips peeled back into a slick smile and Celeste's intuition kicked in, warning her that something wasn't right about the woman. Her entire focus was on Celeste, just like the man at the…

Shit!

Celeste blinked, and the man at the bar moved toward her with a disjointed stroll. His movement reminded her of glitches in video games she played as a teen, when the operating system hadn't quite worked out the kinks. Unnatural. From the corner of her eye, she caught the slow track of a dark-brown beauty who smiled in a way that chilled Celeste in her gut. It was the smile of something trying its best to look…human. The parts of Celeste's skin that Terry once bit flared with a sharp stabbing of pain, the bruised nerve-endings waking up all the way. Her body wasn't right all over.

"I have to go, it's late," Celeste yelped.

She leapt to her feet and hugged Joyce.

"Wait, we can give you a ride to your place after we finish the rest of these appetizers," Joyce said.

"No…it's okay. I have to go to work in the morning."

"I thought you had the day off from both jobs."

Celeste shook her head and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table to help with tips. She brushed past the disappointed blind date and tried to hide herself within the crush of bodies milling around the party atmosphere. Her heart almost stopped when the strange man and woman from the bar followed her.

She ran like she was doing the fifty-yard dash in tenth grade, her legs stretching out to move her ass far.

Home.

She needed to get home, lock her doors, and hide.

Her emotions caught in her throat. Something was wrong with the world she lived in. Ever since Terry came into her life, she'd overlooked strange occurrences because she was caught up in the exhilaration of new romance and new dick. She'd ignored all the weirdness, because she didn't want to connect it to Terry. Now she even wondered about the missing white guys, Carl and Jacob. Terry did physically assault them and afterward, they went missing. The coincidence of them all interacting together nagged at her subconscious.

"What the fuck is going on?" she screeched when two twin gargoyle statues overlooked the roof of a picturesque townhouse filled with three-stories of revelers drinking and shouting down at passersby. Gargoyles were not a thing in New Orleans. It wasn't even Halloween season yet.

Celeste glanced over her shoulder to track any other weirdos following her. It looked like she lost them in the packed narrow streets. She double-backed and headed up to Rampart to bypass the Quarter completely. Flagging a taxi, she jumped in and gave directions to her house. She ducked down in the backseat and pretended to check her phone.

"Night, Miss," the older Haitian driver said.

"Mèsi," she said.

"Ou ayisyen?"

"Non, Black Creole from here," she said.

"Mwen wè…but we are kouzen, oui?"

"Oui," Celeste said.

"Are you okay?"

He looked at her closely from the rearview mirror.

"Um…I'm fine. Goodnight."

She paid in cash from some money Terry left behind and darted to her front door. Jamming the key in both door locks, she twisted them open and ran inside. She turned off the living room track lights that were on a timer and fled to her bedroom.

Sweating and panting from the exertion, Celeste sat on her bed in the dark and waited for her heart to stop pounding. After an hour of sitting, she went to the restroom, and showered for bed. Her smartphone lit up with a text from Allen, the guy Joyce fixed her up with. He left his number and told her to call him whenever she wanted to hang out.

She checked the inside lock and security bolt on her front door and back. The sour taste of liquid rose in her throat and she rushed to the sink in the kitchen and vomited up pita chips and the artichoke dip that looked like beige slurry. She rinsed her mouth and wiped her lips just as a loud pounding on the front door started.

The hell?

She peeked around the corner of her kitchen. Dark figures moved outside the colored, frosted glass panels of the top half of the front door, even though her porch light was off. The corner streetlight flickered on.

Her stomach tightened, and she held her breath, afraid that whoever was outside could hear her breathing. She stood completely still and waited. The pounding started again.

"Hello?" a female voice said. "I'm a cousin of Terry's. He wanted me to bring you something."

The lie rang hollow, but Celeste's heart softened at the sound of her lover's name. She pushed her back against a living room wall hidden by a bookcase, determined to ignore the person until they went away.

"Celeste? My name is Dominique. I'm here on vacation and Terry asked me to drop off a gift. I'm saving him thirty dollars by bringing it myself instead of him mailing it."

Dominique's voice sounded sweet and very country.

"He's coming down to see you in a few days and he wanted to give you this. I think it's a fancy dress. He said you looked real pretty at Durand's the last time you were in a dress."

Celeste lingered near the bookcase, but she stepped further into the living room. Only Terry and her friends knew about Durand's.

"You know what? I'll just leave it on the porch. Sorry I came here so late. I dropped by earlier, but you weren't home, and I didn't want anyone to steal it if I left it behind."

Celeste crept another few inches toward the front door. She lifted her cell phone out of her purse and kept the police number on her screen. The cell phone still listed it under Freddie's name as "Freddie/Work". Dominique banged on the security door again.

"Just leave it on the porch, please," Celeste called out, annoyed by the intrusion, her finger hovering above the police contact.

"No problem," Dominique said.

She heard movement and footsteps walking away. Waiting for an hour quietly, she finally cracked open the front door and kept the security door locked.

No package.

She looked down at the bottom step and still didn't see any box or bundle. Glancing at Freddie's police number, she debated about calling him.

"Hello, Celeste."

She dropped her phone on the floor, cracking the screen. The strange man from the piano bar stood at the top of her stoop, his dark, foreboding eyes mesmerizing her to the point of her falling into a dazed stupor. Behind him, one step down, was the Black goth and the dark brown beauty with the uncanny valley smile. Two other Black women in dark clothing waited on the sidewalk, watching her with sinister eyes.

The man smiled, revealing platinum grills. The dark brown of his eyes faded into silver orbs that enchanted her with their strange ethereal glow.

"We don't mean to frighten you," he hissed, his nostrils flaring and sniffing at her from behind the iron security door.

The women also inhaled deeply and licked their lips, staring at her throat.

"What the fuck do you want?" she said.

"This bitch talkin' spicy, Deacon," the Goth said.

The man tutted at Celeste, shaking his head.

"No, no, no…that's not how you speak to The Deacon, my sweet sustenance. We're here to ask you about Terry."

"What about him?"

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

The man pounded the frame of the iron door. Celeste jumped and stepped back.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Duchess!" he shouted.

He turned his head away as if to gain control of his emotions. His lips curled into a deceptive smile.

"How do you know me? Who sent you here?" she asked.

"Let us in, Celeste," the Goth said.

"Yesss…invite us inside and we can…talk. Open the door," The Deacon said.

His silver, unblinking eyes held her in place, and the colors around his towering frame drained away. When he spoke again, his voice echoed inside her head, reminding her of the way Terry invaded her thoughts…read her mind. The canine teeth of the platinum grills elongated, becoming wolfish and frightening. Fangs.

"Let us come inside…"

The four menacing women dropped the façade of humanness, their fangs exposed and dripping with saliva. Celeste's security door had wide enough gaps to reach an arm inside, but The Deacon didn't grab her through the openings.

It occurred to her that the door was a barrier they couldn't cross without her permission. As long as she didn't verbally consent to letting them in, she was safe on the inside. But if she stepped out...they would feast.

"I smell him all over you…inside of you…open this door so we can speak of my brother without eyes upon us."

Celeste raised her left hand and flicked on her porch light. The bulb didn't emit UV rays, but it improved her visibility and momentarily distracted them... long enough for a shadow to stretch across her doorway.

Celeste gasped and touched her cheek. It felt like Terry's hand had stroked her skin with the warmth from his palm.

"Fucking bastard!" The Deacon shrieked.

He glanced back at the others.

"His sentinel is here...watching over her," The Deacon said.

He slammed both of his palms on the two middle bars of the security door.

"He will come back here for you, and when he does, we'll be waiting. Tell him he can't hide from us forever."

The Goth woman sniffed the air and bared her fangs at The Deacon.

"The Old Ones are near. We have to go!" the Goth yelled.

The Deacon glared at Celeste and her eyes watered. She blinked once and the strangers at her door vanished like they were never there. Her body swayed and the sound of loud flapping wings above her cottage rang in her ears. Something landed with a thud on top of her roof and walked across it with heavy footsteps. She slammed the front door shut and locked it again, cocking her ear toward the ceiling, listening for whatever new monstrosity awaited her.

Luckily, it didn't stay long. She stood staring at her ceiling with bated breath and a thundering heart rate. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled with familiar urgency. She turned around and looked at her French doors.

Terry's shadow darkened the curtains.

She walked with slow, trance-like steps toward the French doors and stared at the outline of his body behind the thin drapes.

"Are you there?" she asked.

Her voice sounded so weak and helpless.

The shadow didn't answer, and Terry's voice didn't go into her mind. That shit had been real. The first time it happened at the dive bar, she thought she had been drunk, horny, and imagining him talking inside her head. The dawning realization of what he truly was terrified her. Behind those drapes was proof of an abomination to humankind.

And she let it into her home.

Slept with it.

Let it feed from her, thinking it was some fetish kink. Just some deep hickeys and love bites that got his rocks off.

Fucking hell.

She whimpered and held her hands in a prayer position against her lips.

"Are you here with me… Terry?"

She reached for the doorknobs and unlocked them, flinging both doors wide open.

A sleek black cat sprinted across her small courtyard and leapt onto the neighbor's fence, blending into the darkness and out of sight.

Chapter 10 HERE.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl17

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@comfortzonequeen

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[what-even-is-thiss]

european here (genuinely curious): in reference to your “american home-cooked food isn’t just fast food, it’s a lot like french/italian food” post, could you give some examples? I don’t know what foods are american home staples, but your post piqued my interest

Well stews and soups for one. When I read recipes for stuff like beef bourguignon it’s quite familiar to me. Less wine perhaps but the principles of the dish are similar.

Italian-American food often also makes for easy quick food on weeknights. Pasta is something that can be just as easy or complicated as you want. You can make it from scratch at every step or just make sauce from canned ingredients and boxed pasta. Tomato paste, flour, pasta, and dried herbs are staples in most kitchens. Pretty much every household has their own way of making pasta sauces.

Roasts are popular during the winter. Both roasted veggies and roasted meat. Potatoes are popular year round but in the summer things like potato salad or fries or bagged chips are more common than stewed, mashed, or boiled potatoes.

Americans commonly cook with butter and olive oil, though canola oil is cheaper. In recent years though there’s been health questions about canola oil and some people only use it for deep frying now.

French cream sauces are pretty similar to American white gravy which we make with cream instead of milk. We do also make white sauce too and will put it on most things. I find it especially good on pizza instead of red sauce. A lot of people also put it on pasta or vegetables.

A lot of the way we eat potatoes is pretty similar to some French dishes. What we call scalloped potatoes is very similar to a French dish called potatoes au gratin. Not identical, but extremely similar.

Stuff like French onion soup and duck a l’orange is also decently popular here even if not everyday food and are things you’d more commonly make yourself than buy from a restaraunt.

French style breads and pastries are also quite popular here. Baguettes are common things to cut up to eat with dip. Croissants with coffee are common things to eat for a small breakfast or an afternoon snack. French style breads both sweet and not are also common breads used for sandwiches. Italian style coffee is also more and more popular these days but that wasn’t true until relatively recently.

A lot of similarities really lie in the ingredients we use. We often cook things in butter for example. Or add flour to stews to thicken them. Or add milk to things. Or use wine to deglaze pans for the flavor.

A lot of home cooking in the US is affected by other immigrant populations. Tacos or curry are staples in my diet for example. But when you get down to more traditional comfort food it’s potatoes, cream sauces, stews, herbs, roasts, and pasta. Stuff that’s not identical to French or Italian cooking but is very heavily influenced by it.

TLDR: It’s butter!

[felixcloud6288]

My first job was working the food court at my local university. Initially, I was a generalist who would fill any necessary positions (Deli, salad bar, line cook, server, etc) until I became the pizza cook.

I typically worked during evenings and weekends, and the customer base was college students which meant I was able to make some stoner pizzas and they would sell.

It got to a point where the chefs gave me whatever needed to be used that night and they gave me carte blanche to make whatever I wanted.

Grilled chicken breasts?: Chop it up, coat in barbeque and make a buffalo chicken pizza with cheddar cheese.

Mac and cheese?: Put it all on an empty crust, pour ranch dressing and sprinkle with breadcrumbs

Ground beef?: Sprinkle it on the pizza, add sliced cheese and pickles, cook and serve with ketchup and mustard drizzled on top. Cheeseburger pizza.

Do you want fries with your burger pizza but don't want to stand in line at the grill? No worries. Here's a pizza with french fries on top.

My masterpieces were a dessert pizza (cook an empty pizza crust then spread peanut butter on it, sprinkle chocolate chips and banana slices, and drizzle caramel on top) and breakfast pizza (spread the sauce, then a layer of hash browns, runny scrambled eggs, cheese, and whatever additional toppings you'd like)

When I finally left, management had me write down the instructions for making the cheeseburger, breakfast, and dessert pizzas because they were such wild hits and I was the only one who knew how to make them properly.

I still sometimes make those pizzas (not the dessert one. I no longer have an iron stomach) when I just want to eat a stupid pizza.

[multiverseworm]

You know what? My current obsession is Master Chef, so… Here is how I picture that would go with the Batfamily.

MasterChef: Batfamily Edition

For obvious reasons - Alfred is the chef judge.

The competition gets one person eliminated each week. They get tested in skills such as chopping, cooking, baking, plating, problem solving, and other miscellaneous events.

There’s 10 participants and each week one gets eliminated from the competition until the master chef remains.

Participants:

Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Steph, Cass, Barbara, Kate and Duke.

Week 1 - Soups

As we enter the competition, all of the participants are expectant of what their fellow competitors are able to achieve.

The most experienced ones in the kitchen wanted to demonstrate their skills right away and set precedent so everyone else would know who to be afraid of.

Kate, Duke, Barbara and Dick demonstrating great abilities with their different kinds of soups and appetizers. However, seems like the billionaire really can’t have it all, and that includes kitchen skills.

Eliminated: Bruce Wayne.

Week 2 - Sandwiches

Easy enough one would think. Well, Steph and Tim fell out hard in this challenge since they had never made anything that didn’t involve PB&J.

Damian made an excellent comeback from last week’s match and demonstrated an exceptional performance with his cucumber sandwiches (the other participants don’t seem to be happy with this result since it seems favoured enough).

Eliminated: Tim Drake.

Week 3 - All things Eggs

As the weeks start to go by, each challenge starts to get more and more complicated and the participants are feeling it.

Kate and Barbara are still holding strong their top spots in the competition bringing Benedict eggs or a Croque Madam, but this week Jason surprised everyone with a perfect French omelette one could fine at a decent Gotham restaurant.

This week, two contestants had a rough week when they burnt or included cracked egg shells into their food.

Eliminated: Cassandra Cain.

Week 4 - Italian

For this week’s challenge, the contenders were allowed more freedom to choose their dish with the condition it had to be Italian cuisine.

Duke and Damian prepared similar dishes by preparing tomato pesto and basil pesto for their pasta. This caused a timeout imposed by the judge when the youngest Wayne unsheathed his sword. This will retract points from next week’s challenge.

Steph and Jason both prepared pizza but the burnt edges on Steph’s are not a good sign.

As usual, Barbara, Kate and Dick remain on top each with a different type of dish.

Eliminated: Stephanie Brown.

Week 5 - All things Potatoes

So many variations, so many uses. Potatoes were brought by the participants in very creative ways now that we are in the middle of the competition.

Damian won this week’s challenge with an effortless and exquisite scalloped potatoes. Who knew he had this much talent to cook in him?

However, repetitive and boring dishes cost the top to our usual favourites. Only one dish that was presented in the form of French fries left out judge sighing and not in a good way.

Eliminated: Jason Todd.

Week 6 - Bake Off Part 1: Cookies

Baking is the most difficult part of being a chef. And the contestants found out the hard way.

Barbara delivered some ginger cookies she used to bake every Christmas at home, putting her at the top of this week’s challenge.

Kate and Dick barely handled their cookies not crumbling all over the place. But our two last competitors lost track of time: one got the cookies in too early and the other got them out too late. Raw or burnt?

Eliminated: Duke Thomas.

Week 7 - Bake Off Part 2: Dessert

In this week’s challenge, freedom to choose was once again granted. The only condition was to prepare a dessert that needed baking.

Dick’s strawberry cheesecake won over the judge’s palate since this recipe is something he seems to prepare quite often for his partner at home.

Damian had a good week with an Arab recipe for a Harissa, while Barbara’s brownies were out of this world. Kate however, seemed to made the mistake of using salt instead of sugar.

Eliminated: Kate Kane.

Week 8 - Bake Off Part 3: Pastries

Remaining top three in this competition and the first of the last two challenges is here. One of the most if not the biggest challenge for a baker: pastries.

This challenge was met with the best results of the contest so far. All three pastries were made almost to perfection.

Damian decided to go for something simple but effective, a cream puff. While Dick chose a chocolate croissant and Barbara Classic Éclairs.

A minor technicality should about all of this should decide the final two. And that is, the croissant was not bathed with egg wash and therefore lacked glaze.

Eliminated: Dick Grayson.

FINAL WEEK - Worthy of a Gala Dinner

As our two finalists enter the final round of the competition, our judge congratulates all the past participants for their ability to NOT burn his kitchen in the process.

This week’s challenge is meant to be the most exciting and stressful of them all. Our two finalists have to prepare an entree, main course and dessert worthy of a Gala for the Wayne Foundation.

All these weeks have been a preparation for this.

Damian and Barbara went their different directions to get this done. Barbara going for a classic approach and Damian having to adjust his dishes to his vegetarian style.

Here are the final dishes prepared by each participant:

Damian Barbara

Entree Tabbouleh Antipasto platter.

(Middle Eastern salad)

Main Meat-free Moussaka. Creamy salmon with

(Middle Eastern dish) roasted potatoes.

Dessert Lemon Carlota. Tiramisu with ice cream.

Damian’s dishes are a clear result of his heritage, the love he has for it, and discipline to learn new abilities and skills like he was always taught. His start in this competition was bumpy, but after assessing his mistakes he knew what he needed in order to succeed.

Barbara’s dishes are the result of years of helping out around the house when his father had to stay extra hours helping Gotham and learning how to do things on her own. She maintained her top profile throughout the competition, defining how a good and deserving competitor looks like.

Both of them clearly deserve the title.

So, for this time, and this time only, the winner of MasterChef: Batfamily Edition is…