#mikes pizza and pasta

[margariandmikespizza]

Slice of Heaven: Exploring the Delicious Offerings at Mike's Pizza and Catering

When it comes to satisfying cravings and delighting taste buds, few things compare to the comfort and joy of a delicious slice of pizza. And if you're lucky enough to find yourself in the vicinity of Mike's Pizza and Catering, you're in for a real treat. Nestled in the heart of town, Mike's is more than just a pizza joint—it's a culinary destination where every bite is a journey to flavor paradise.

A Brief Introduction to Mike's Pizza and Catering

Established over a decade ago, Mike's Pizza and Catering has become a beloved fixture in the community, known for its commitment to quality, freshness, and above all, flavor. What started as a humble pizzeria has since evolved into a full-fledged catering service, offering a diverse range of culinary delights for events of all sizes and occasions.

The Pizza Experience: Where It All Begins

At the heart of Mike's culinary empire lies its iconic pizzas—handcrafted masterpieces that have earned a reputation for excellence far and wide. From classic Margheritas to innovative specialty pies, each pizza is a labor of love, prepared with the finest ingredients and baked to perfection in a traditional brick oven.

The Classics:

For purists and traditionalists, Mike's offers an array of classic pizzas that never fail to satisfy. The Margherita, with its simple yet sublime combination of fresh mozzarella, tangy tomato sauce, and fragrant basil, is a perennial favorite. Then there's the Meat Lover's, a carnivore's delight piled high with pepperoni, sausage, bacon, and ham—guaranteed to satisfy even the heartiest appetites.

The Specialties:

For those craving a culinary adventure, Mike's specialty pizzas are sure to impress. The BBQ Chicken Deluxe, with its tantalizing blend of tender chicken, tangy BBQ sauce, and caramelized onions, is a symphony of flavors that dance on the palate. And let's not forget the Spicy Hawaiian, a fiery twist on a tropical classic, featuring jalapeños, pineapple, and ham for a flavor explosion that's sure to leave you wanting more.

Build Your Own:

Of course, for the adventurous souls and creative minds, Mike's offers a build-your-own option, allowing customers to customize their pizzas to their heart's content. Choose from a variety of crusts, sauces, cheeses, meats, and veggies to create a culinary masterpiece that's uniquely yours.

Beyond Pizza: Exploring the Catering Experience

While pizza may be the star of the show at Mike's, the culinary offerings don't end there. With its comprehensive catering services, Mike's has become the go-to choice for events of all kinds, from intimate family gatherings to large corporate functions.

The Menu:

From delectable appetizers and mouthwatering entrees to irresistible desserts and refreshing beverages, Mike's catering menu is a testament to culinary creativity and versatility. Whether you're planning a casual backyard barbecue or an elegant wedding reception, you'll find a wide range of options to suit your tastes and preferences.

The Service:

But it's not just the food that sets Mike's catering apart—it's the service. From initial consultation to final cleanup, the team at Mike's goes above and beyond to ensure that every aspect of your event is handled with care and attention to detail. With a focus on professionalism, reliability, and customer satisfaction, they strive to make your event not just a success, but a memorable experience for all involved.

The Feedback:

And the feedback speaks for itself. Countless satisfied customers have praised Mike's catering for its exceptional food, impeccable service, and unparalleled attention to detail. Whether it's a wedding, a corporate event, or a birthday party, Mike's has earned a reputation for excellence that is second to none.

Conclusion: A Culinary Adventure Awaits

In conclusion, if you're in search of culinary excellence, look no further than Mike's Pizza and Catering. With its mouthwatering pizzas, diverse catering options, and unwavering commitment to customer satisfaction, Mike's is more than just a restaurant—it's a destination for food lovers everywhere. So why wait? Come on down to Mike's and experience a slice of heaven for yourself.

[greattigerssimp]

My punchy-punch out tier list! 🥊✨️

[janitorhutcherson]

Need more stoner mike content. Ily and thank you 💞😚❤️😚💞💖💞😘

stoner!mike headcanons bc why not i’m in the mood :p nsfw warning for the last one

stoner!mike would be so silly. he’d be the type of guy to have everything under the sun, bongs, edibles, pipes, rolls… you name it. he had it. he was always so excited to show you something new he had for his collection. if you’re a baby stoner, there’s nothing he loved more than teaching you about the different strains, the different ways to get high. he loved nothing more than holding a pipe to your lips, helping you light the front since he was afraid you’d burn yourself. he was always so careful. he loved holding a joint in his hands for you to hit or to blow smoke into your mouth, tilting your head back.

stoner!mike was also extremely careful since abby lived with him. he had a safe in his room protected by a code (your birthday, actually) that only you two could get into you. he typically only smoked late at night, when abby’s eyes were tightly closed. he’d sit outside on the back porch with you, careful not to let any smoke or smell into the house. his favorite were the weekends when abby was away. you two would hot box the fuck out of his bathroom, closing the door and stuffing towels underneath the crack in between the bottom and the floor. you’d both sit on the floor that had been cleaned for the occasion, the entire room covered in pillows, blankets, pizza boxes, and other goodies, taking rips and hits.

stoner!mike gets the munchies, since we’re on the topic of food. he LOVES to eat as is, but especially when he’s high. the two of you would either order a shit ton of chinese or a shit ton of pizza. there would be wings, breadsticks, garlic knots, cheesy bread, different kinds of pizzas, pastas. he’s also a sandwich guy, always making of intricate sandwiches with you, much like shaggy and scooby. all while munchin’ and smokin’ with you, he’d love to have the TV on in the background, playing vibrate horror movies with gory scenes. sometimes he’d opt for the sound of heavy music in the background, enjoying the vibrations in his body.

stoner!mike would be extremely touchy while high. he’s the type of guy to get all cuddly, his entire body buzzing with desperation, wanting to feel your touch. he’d rub up against you like a cat, hold you in his arms, even stroke your cheek. he’d take advantage of every moment he could with you, touching your thighs softly or hand feeding you chips, holding your drink up to your lips. things you were perfectly capable of doing yourself, but you loved when he did them for you. he loved nothing more than pressing his nose against yours, both of your eyes glazed and bloodshot as the earthy smell filled the room. he’d press a soft kiss to your lips, which on occasion would leave to something different.

**NSFW WARNING**

stoner!mike is so incredibly horny. he turns into a hormone monster once his brain gets all fuzzy. his handsy, cuddly attitude turns into one much different. suddenly he’s got you on his thigh, guiding your hips back and forth against his, using your leg that’s tucked between his own legs to grind against. he’s kissing your neck, tugging at your underwear, biting every inch of skin he can get to. he’ll take hits from off your chest, kiss you after taking a hit, put a joint in your mouth while you ride him. he loves a good lazy fuck when you’re both stoned out of your mind. there’s certainly nothing he loves more than filling you up, keeping himself tucked deep inside of you as the two of you cuddle up, finishing the last of the joint.

[scoops-aboy86]

We see a lot of chubby Steve/weight gain post-high school but I think it would be interesting to see some fics where he’s still in school. Maybe he has to give up sports due to the concussions or something?

You're right and you should say it!! I have a bit of that in my love spell no go AU, before Starcourt happens and Steve goes full trauma-fueled must be able to protect everyone I know mode. 

So... might not be what you were hoping for but I wrote an almost 3k addition to that fic, during the part where Steve is still at Hawkins High. Swim is over for the year (and Steve avoids his pool now), and while he's still on the basketball team he's also smoking weed (helps with the nightmares, getting enough sleep, better mood, etc.) and snacking more. He's in the starter belly stage but has no complaints.

Part 1, (YOU ARE HERE), part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11 of the love spell no go au

The weed he bought from Munson is a godsend, and Steve wonders why he hadn’t thought of it before… only to remember that Nancy wouldn’t have approved. (Although she’s not a priss, exactly, she had barely even touched alcohol since the night Barb died. Until Halloween.) But he can sleep through the lonely nights now, which is worth even that hurtful pang of realization—that maybe, Nancy hadn’t been very good for him. 

(Sure, she had helped him study. And his grades had improved. But sometimes, too, she would smile and say, “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” It had been cute at first, before Barb, when the smile had still been real.)

Whenever he thinks about that, or feels particularly lonely, he digs into his stash for a quick smoke out his bedroom window—never by the pool, not anymore. He gets into the habit of snacking after, even if it’s while doing his homework, because even when he’s a little bit stoned it’s somehow easier to focus on shit when he’s doing something else at the same time, and chewing works. 

(Nancy hadn’t liked it when he’d fiddled with his pencil or a rubber band or a Rubix cube or anything while she’d quizzed him with flashcards, even though he’d tried to tell her it helped. She’d fussed at him about it until he’d just… stopped.)

Other times, he zones out in front of the tv while working his way through a sandwich or a bag of chips or a sleeve of Oreos. Or takeout, a lot of the time, because his culinary skills pretty much stop at sandwiches, up to and including scrambling an egg for a breakfast sandwich. But a man cannot live on scrambled eggs alone, he’s learned that the hard way, so pizza or burgers or pasta in cardboard containers it is. 

It’s not just the munchies. After a while Steve gets into the habit of just… eating. It's not like his parents are around to notice, and Dustin and the other kids he babysits sometimes (for all that Mike protests that they aren’t babies and don’t need a sitter; what they do consistently need, however, is rides) don't care as long as he springs for enough that they can have some too. No one at school would dare say it to his face, and somehow it still doesn't manage to fully tank his slightly flagging reputation, but Steve is definitely starting to put on weight. He doesn’t care. 

He starts going to parties again half for a change of scenery, half for a change of food options. Pizza still makes a frequent appearance, but there’s popcorn and flavors of chips that he doesn’t usually buy and various kinds of snack mixes. (His favorites are anything that include M&Ms.) Sometimes, there are even cupcakes or cookies. He doesn’t dance, doesn’t even drink all that much and sticks to just beer when he does, never the punch. Most of the kids who come to these parties are there for the booze and the makeout opportunities, but he turns up to people-watch, bopping his head in time with the music if it's a song he likes, and park himself by whatever food the party has to offer. Sometimes Steve buys from Eddie if he's there, offers to share joints with him that Eddie, still wary, turns down. When the food runs out, Steve leaves.

Tonight, though, Tammy Thompson just will not leave him alone and he’s at a loss for what to do about it. She’s been talking his ear off about wanting to move to Nashville and become a country singer the entire time he’s been working on this extra large pepperoni and sausage with black olives—not his first choice, but it’s still hot enough for the cheese to stretch whenever he picks up the next slice, warm tomato sauce and grease dripping down the front of his polo more often than he can always catch with a napkin. 

“Did you want some?” he asks at some point, to be polite and hopefully indicate that he doesn’t care that she’s trying to tell him something. 

He can tell immediately that it doesn’t work, because Tammy lights up from simply being addressed, even though her answer is, “Oh, no thank you, I’m a vegetarian.”

“Right,” Steve mumbles, and crams nearly half of his next slice of meat-laden pizza in his mouth. Maybe if he talks with his mouth full. “More for me, then.”

The words come out muffled, but she still beams and offers to grab him something to drink, jumping up and scampering off before Steve even has a chance to respond. He sighs, downs the rest of the beer he’s been nursing, and takes the new one she brings him without saying thank you. Between the next pieces of pizza he pops it open, chugs it, and belches; she puts a hand on his arm. 

For a moment, at that, Steve feels a faint stirring of interest. He likes his food, did even before dropping swimming and picking up weed, and well before it started to show. Now that it has, he feels comfortable in his softer body. Good. And maybe… maybe he could handle dating someone who doesn’t mind how much he likes it. He imagines Tammy running her immaculately painted nails over his skin, places he’s noticed have been getting more sensitive lately, and suppresses a shiver. 

“Could you pass me that bowl of M&Ms over there?” he asks, testing the waters. Yeah, he could probably reach it if he stretched, but he’s starting to fill up and doesn’t feel like putting the extra pressure on his stomach. He sits back a little in his chair instead, shifting to get comfortable and laying a hand on his belly where it bows out over the waistband of his jeans. “Sorry, just, you know. Big appetite lately.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t mind,” Tammy says with a giggle as she fetches the bowl for him. “Besides, you’re an athlete! I’m sure you’ll work it off in no time on the court.”

And yeah, no, that vague interest curdles immediately. As far as Steve is concerned, the only parts of himself he wants to get rid of are all in his head—the heartbroken parts, the nightmare and trauma parts, the desperately lonely and needy parts. But he’s not so lonely that he’ll hook up with a girl who’s willing in spite of how he looks, because what else could she possibly be interested in? His personality?

He barely even has one. King Steve has always been bullshit, Nancy was right about that much. 

Through the crowd, he spots curly hair and a flash of dark leather—Eddie. Good, he’d been hoping to buy more tonight, and this is as good an excuse to exit this conversation as any. 

Steve grabs a handful of M&Ms to shove in his mouth and flips the lid of the pizza box closed, handing the bowl back to Tammy and taking the box with him when he stands. “Well, enjoy the rest of the party,” he blurts. “I’ve gotta go see a guy about some drugs. Bye!”

As he makes his escape, some girl that he thinks he might have class with or something just about shoulder-checks him, but he’s solid enough that she ends up stumbling from the impact instead. The glare she gives him could peel paint… which is actually kind of refreshing, after enduring Tammy’s simpering for the better part of an hour. 

To Eddie’s perpetual frustration, now that Steve Harrington has started buying weed from him he can never seem to be free of the guy. Case in point: the “Hey, Munson, wait up!” that follows him to the backyard of tonight’s house party slash business venture. 

He waits until he’s down the patio steps before whipping around, prepared to glare and snap an impatient what do you want, Harrington, but ends up staring at a pizza box that’s being shoved in his face. 

“Pizza?” Steve says. 

Eddie blinks at the box, then at the boy holding it. “This isn’t your party. Doesn’t that mean it’s not your pizza to offer?”

“It might as well be, I’ve eaten most of it,” Steve replies. “No one seemed to notice, that makes it fair game.” 

Once, Eddie had been selling at a party and been bitched out for touching a single cookie, because those were for guests. He wants to scowl, but then his gaze flicks down to the partly open box and sees that there aren’t many slices left, eyes fixing on the evidence dripped down the front of Steve’s shirt and the way it’s… tight, across his middle. “You ate all but three slices of an entire extra large?”

He’s not sure what answer he expects to get. Maybe something like Of course not, dickhead, or maybe just, What, like it’s hard? But all Steve says is, “Yep.” And keeps looking at him with those sweet hazel eyes that seem bight and not too clouded by alcohol. 

Still, Eddie is wary. “Okay… You first.” 

Steve just shrugs and pulls out a slice, taking a bite before Eddie snatches it out of his hand. “Hey!”

“Just making sure it wasn’t poisoned first, sweetheart,” Eddie retorts, sneering for the excuse to call a pretty boy sweetheart in semi-public, butterflies stirring in his stomach at getting away with it. “Don’t worry, the rest is all yours.”

“Who’s tried to poison you?” Steve asks in a perplexed tone, folding the last two slices together to make a pizza sandwich and tossing the empty box onto the deck. Still following Eddie, because of course this is Eddie’s life. Love spell was a spectacular failure, but he’s still got the boy of his dreams following him around like a lost duckling because he’s got drugs. Fucking fantastic. 

And Eddie doesn’t want to get into the whole thing—those rumors from when Eddie had been in seventh grade and Steve had been in sixth, for all that they’re both in the same grade now, about some kid who’d been sent to the ER from a bad reaction to itching powder. There were variations where it had gotten in his eyes and nearly blinded him, or on his food and made his throat swell shut, or in his underwear and turned his dick so red his balls fell off. In reality, he had only gone to the nurse with a bad rash and hadn’t even been allowed to go home, but it left a goddamn impression. 

He doesn’t want to get into it, not if Steve either doesn’t remember the rumors or hasn’t connected them to his present day self, so he just rolls his eyes and says, “Are you looking to buy or what?”

Steve immediately brightens a bit, like a golden retriever spotting someone holding a tennis ball. “Yeah, I smoked the last I had before coming here but it’s already worn off I think.” And takes a big bite of his two pizza slices. 

So Eddie leads him to a darker nook around the side of the house for the deal, trying not to stare at the way Steve’s cheeks bow out while he chews, like a damn chipmunk. It’s cute. He’s kind of angry that it’s cute, that there’s still a part of him that lights up when Steve looks happy, satisfied, content—and right now all of those boxes are checked. 

“Want to smoke a little now?” Steve offers, once he’s paid and taken the baggie one handed, popped the rest of the food in his mouth, licked his fingers clean, and pulled out a pack of rolling papers. And Eddie pauses too long before answering, long enough that Steve takes the lack of refusal as a yes. 

Which Eddie should correct, because he usually says no to that sort of thing, especially when he’s at parties specifically to sell. He’s turned Steve down before, even; it’s like the guy has a whole thing about offering whenever he plans on lighting up asap. Eddie knows better to fall into that trap. 

But it’s a nice night. The weather is mild for spring, business has been good, and Steve licks his lips to get the last traces of pizza sauce before his tongue darts out to wet the paper and finish rolling the joint. Nice and tight, like the denim hugging Steve’s ass and thighs tighter recently. So Eddie sticks around, breaks his rule and tries to keep his face clear of any evidence that he is fixated on the few degrees of separation between smoking and kissing, heart hammering the entire time. He tells himself it’s a one time only thing, but knows he might be lying. Recognizes how addictive this could be. 

“Thanks for being here,” Steve says after passing the joint back and forth a few times, his eyes glazed and drooping. “Really needed this tonight.”

“That’s what I’m here for, man,” Eddie replies. He’s leaning against the side of the house practically shoulder to shoulder with his crush, and the high washing over him is really taking the edge off the jagged yearning in his chest. Like, he still wants, but he’s happy just floating in the present moment, content with the indirect sharing of spit. And this is… This is okay. 

Surprisingly okay. 

It throws Eddie for a loop because it’s at odds with the whole King Steve image. The whole puppet master persona that isn’t a bully, but can with a few words cut someone down socially to where the bullies could reach them, if they so wish. Popular kids at Hawkins High walk around with their noses in the air like they’ve never smelled a fart and refuse to start now, but this is the guy they turn around and start brown-nosing. King Steve isn’t nice, he’s used to being waited on. Kings do not say thank you to the court jester for simply carrying out his profession. 

Just Steve, though, is different. Just Steve is chill and finished most of an entire huge pizza while mostly sober, is filling out his clothes even better these days in Eddie’s opinion, and currently looks the most at peace he’s ever seen a person. No walls, no guard… Just Steve. 

Okay, that one split joint had gone straight to his head, god damn. 

“Well, I’m gonna take off,” Eddie announces, and can’t tell if he’s said it too loud or not. He pushes off the wall with a shake of his head. “You snagged pretty much the last of my inventory, so I’ll just get out of here before someone starts handing out the torches and pitchforks.”

Steve chuckles. “Like any of those guys in there know how to make a torch,” he scoffs. He manages to say it in a way that almost makes Eddie lean in. Makes him feel like he’s been let in on some sort of inside joke, like they could but those losers couldn’t. 

Which is—Okay, so Eddie does in theory know how to make a torch, he’d looked into it for one of his earliest homebrew campaigns, but Steve Harringnton? The very idea of Steve whipping off his shirt, tying it to a branch, soaking the end in something flammable, and lighting it up is something out of fantasy. Out of specific fantasies that he has had. It snaps Eddie out of the hazy bubble of they that Steve had somehow created with just a few words, and holy shit. Was that one of the side effects of his wonky spell, or was that Just Steve?

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie scoffs back, putting more distance between them even though he does want to lean in, dammit, but he wants Steve to want it too. Even though it’s on the tip of his tongue to ask the guy if he has a ride home, or if he wants to swing by the mom and pop ice cream place on Main for desert or something; Eddie has been practicing swallowing down urges like that since he’d hit adolescence. “Find me next time you need to top up your stash, Harrington.”

He walks away fast enough that if Steve responds he doesn’t hear it, heading for the back gate that he’d left the house for in the first place. His van is parked strategically nearby for a quick getaway, just in case the party got out of hand and a neighbor called the cops. 

And if his dreams that night feature a completely relaxed Steve Harrington chewing on never ending slices of pizza and that blissful look of peace on his face, his lips shiny with spit and grease, it’s not like Eddie is ever going to tell anyone.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

[sam-loves-seb]

the fruity four but make it hollywood au (3/x)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

so, nancy moves into steve's old room and completely rearranges the furniture--much to robin's dismay--and paints the walls a different color. she doesn't touch the rest of the apartment, save for putting her shampoo in the shower and her toothbrush in the same holder as robin's.

they don't talk much. at first, they don't even really talk at all. but one night, after nancy comes home half an hour into a date with a takeout box filled with pizza, robin emerges from her bedroom and tentatively asks what happened.

"He didn't really want to know me," nancy shrugs, handing robin a slice. "He just wanted to be my date to my movie premiere next month."

"He said that?"

"He didn't have to."

robin rolls her eys. "Guys suck."

nancy taps her pizza against robin's, like a toast. "Guys suck."

and thus, a friendship was born, over battered hearts and cold pizza. they start talking more, start getting to know each other over late night dinners and early morning call times. they talk, and they laugh, and they have fun in their big apartment just the two of them.

robin thinks it's nice to have another friend, a female friend, a friend who is a girl, and definitely not a girlfriend. just a friend. just--friendly.

until one weekend when nancy's little brother (her real brother, mike, not her on-screen-brother, dustin, who she's still close with today after growing up together on the same show) and little sister fly in to LA to visit some family and they end up staying at nancy and robin's place place. robin doesn't mind, especially with how big nancy smiles when she brings them home from the airport, and mike and holly seem like good kids.

it's all fine until that night, when nancy puts mike in the guest room and holly in her room, that robin starts to feel the vibe shift.

nancy grabs a spare pillow and blanket from the closet and lays them down on their couch, but robin stops her, tells her they can share her bed. tells her no one should have to sleep on the couch.

(even if it is an expensive, ultra comfy couch that both of them fall asleep on regularly. though this point does not get brought up when nancy follows robin to her bedroom wordlessly.)

they stay up for maybe an hour, talking about everything and nothing and staring at the ceiling while they giggle. the clock reads 1am before robin's eyes start to close on their own, and nancy falls asleep in the middle of her sentence.

robin watches her for a while, noting the rise and fall of her chest, the slope of her nose, the way her eyelashes twitch just slightly in her sleep. robin falls asleep watching nancy breathe.

in the morning, when she wakes up and finds the other half of the bed empty, with nancy and holly already up and in the kitchen, robin feels a pang of sadness running through her chest.

then panic.

she shoves those feelings way down deep and blames it on the wine they had with dinner (they had one glass each) and the late hour (they've been on sets later than that) and the whirlwind of a night (they ate pasta and watched a movie with nancy's siblings).

things go back to normal--mostly--and robin and nancy's budding friendship continues to bloom as the weeks go on. nancy finishes shooting a movie--her return to mainstream american media--and robin lands a new contract--a twenty episode horror series that reads good enough to go for two or three seasons, at least--and things are good. great, even.

so why is it that robin feels an overwhelming amount of joy when nancy asks her to do her makeup for her red carpet premiere? like, a truly staggering amount of happiness from something she usually gets paid to do. she doesn't think about it too hard.

"Nancy are you ready yet?" steve yells as he walks into their apartment, his hair perfectly floppy and his tux neatly pressed.

"Almost!" nancy yells back from the bathroom, where robin is putting the finishing touches on her mascara.

nancy's agent told her she needed to find a date for the red carpet, and rather than trying to find someone new to accompany her, nancy asked steve if he'd go with her as friends. her agent was more than happy with that--television's princess showing up on the arm of hollywood's latest heartthrob, hello--and steve agreed, roping nancy into doing the same thing with his movie premiere next month.

(steve and eddie have been living together for three months now, and the tabloids still haven't caught on. once a week their names pop up in an 'unlikely friends' article or an instagram series of hollywood's closest 'bros', whatever the fuck that means. steve and eddie are fine with that for now, keeping their privacy for as long as they can even if half of all sets and stages in hollywood know their a couple by now.)

"Perfect," robin tells her, capping the mascara and setting it to the side with an almost sad smile. she tries to make it meet her eyes

nancy thanks her profusely, even stopping to give her a long, lingering hug--which is unprecedented, for fear of wrinkling her gown, but nancy doesn't seem to care--before grabbing her jacket and meeting steve by the door.

steve kisses robin on the cheek, tells her that eddie's coming over after rehearsal and he's bringing booze. robin makes him promise to bring Chinese food--and nancy--back by midnight. steve laughs, but he says okay.

so, that's how robin ends up on her couch, watching the live stream of the red carpet on her tv, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth with eddie. they drink every time they see steve, or nancy, or steve and nancy, with his hand on her hip and her head on his shoulder.

it's all fake, robin knows it's all fake. well, the romantic undertones are, at least, she knows nancy and steve love each other the way robin loves eddie, or the way robin loves steve--platonic, with a capital P.

so why does it still hurt to watch them walk into the theater hand in hand?

"It sucks," eddie says unprompted, practically reading her mind. "it's not... It doesn't ever really get easier, watching him like that with someone else. Even if it isn't real."

robin swallows thickly, trying to hold back the tears in her eyes. "How can you stand it?"

"I don't," eddie tells her, a little bit drunk. he takes another sip of the whiskey. "I just wait for him to come home, wait for him to hold me through the night. He'll tell me that he's mine and no one else's--and I believe him. Every time."

robin falls sideways on the couch, letting her head drop on to eddie's shoulder. he pats her knee in an unspoken understanding.

they stare at the tv until the live stream fades to black, and then for a little while after. they're well and truly drunk by the time steve and nancy get back with Chinese food, and robin goes to bed without taking a single bite.

nancy brings her coffee in bed the next morning, and robin wishes she was just a little less perfect. maybe then, this would be easier.

~~~

("Nancy, you gotta tell her."

"Eddie. No."

"Nancy--"

"Shhh," she shushes him over the fried rice. "She'll hear you."

"She's asleep!"

"I'm with Eddie on this one," steve says around a mouthful of food.

"Stay out of this," nancy tells him, pointing a chopstick at his face.

"Nance," eddie brings his hands together quietly. "I'm like, ninety-five percent sure she feels the same way."

nancy shakes her head at her food, not looking at either of the boys. "I--I can't. I can't risk it, she's..." she laughs sadly at the realization that just dawned on her. "She's my best friend."

steve and eddie share a look over the kung pao chicken, but neither of them says another word.)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | ko-fi

[darthpastry]

please share your head canons about ness and vanessa being siblings

Mainly centered around Ness, but oh well.

Ness is actually Vanessa’s older brother, got disowned by William because he pretended to be a complete airhead and William fell for it. In reality, it was his plan to get disowned because investigating the MCI was a lot safer, albeit harder, when he wasn’t so close to William. Either that or he ran away.

If he ran away, he and Vanessa ended up meeting at the diner and ended up arguing about Ness running away, but eventually they both just pushed that whole thing to the side because they knew it would never get resolved and didn't want to be bitter. Vanessa is still bitter, of course, but she's mainly happy to be in contact with her brother again and glad he didn't have to live with William for as long.

He works as a waiter to make ends meet, but also has a tumblr blog full of conspiracies on the franchise. Both William and Vanessa know about the blog. William is enraged and has Vanessa keep tabs on the blog and the accounts engaging with it but has no idea who runs it.

Vanessa knows it’s her brother and occasionally had to pull Looney Tunes style stunts to keep William from finding that out. She’s tried to get Ness to stop, but he just went on a passionate ramble about “spreading the truth” and she gave up.

He also just lurks around Freddy's night; he memorized where all the cameras are when he was a kid, so he knows how to avoid them. Vanessa regularly comes to Freddy's, not just because she's supposed to keep an eye on the night guards, but also to drag Ness out of there and keep him from stealing a pizza oven or something. Of course, Vanessa never mentions this to Mike because who knows who know who he'll tell?

She comes to Sparky's at least once a week to give Ness a new spiel about how dangerous this whole thing is (because that's better than giving up like I originally said). One time she said everyone thought he was insane, making it pointless. He threw diet coke at her and immediately apologized before saying "but the sentiment behind it still stands."

At some point, despite being smug about still sneaking in, he starts bringing her dinner because "he's worried about his little sister" and in between night guards they'll sometimes sit and chat because Vanessa knows it's the one way to stop him from sneaking around. Ness knows that it's the one way he's guaranteed to stay inside.

He comes up with overcomplicated plans to get in and out of the pizzeria, staying safe while being able to look for clues. He swears he saw an animatronic move, but Vanessa gaslighted him until he became convinced the pizza ovens were the key to solving everything.

They do both care about each other but have a hard time communicating that due to William's a+ parenting and all. Vanessa mainly shows it by trying to steer Ness away from the pizzeria and Ness mainly shows it by making sure Vanessa has food since she often forgets to eat dinner. He'll either bring it to the pizzeria or leave it at the police supply station (the one where Vanessa treated Mike's injury).

It's generally a sandwich because, while he has mastered the art of sandwiches, Ness can't cook to save his life. He once almost burned down the house trying to boil water for pasta because he heard that putting oil in the water was a good idea, they still have no idea how that resulted in such a large fire. Also, sandwiches are simply easier for both of them.

He did end up traumatizing Vanessa at a fairly young age when he figured out that most of her toys belonged to dead children and she found his "evidence notebooks".

Ness also dropped out of drama club after deciding to investigate the MCI. Hardest decision he ever made, and he still has some regrets about it to this day. Fortunately, he still spreads theater kid energy in every way he can.

Someone sent in an ask with the blurriest photo ever and he had an absolute field day and ended up talking about "this random blog he came across" to every guest at the diner for weeks. Only reason he keeps his identity private is because that's why he wanted to get away from William in the first place and he does have some self-preservation instincts. Everyone thinks he’s a little crazy, but in an affectionate way. A lot of people see his blog as a joke, but still enjoy it.

He traumatizes anyone visiting the town of new to the diner at all by rambling about the pizzeria, but everyone who knows him is just like “oh, haha, classic Ness.”

I'll probably have more headcanons later, I'm actually working on a fic about this concept lol.

[tonitheloftwing]

Punch-Out!! Characters: Youngest to Oldest

This is intended as a resource, not strict guidelines that must be followed :p

If characters have different ages across games, their most recent appearance with a labeled age will take priority! For example, Mr. Sandman was 28/30 in SPO, but is 31 in Wii, so I’m going with his age in Wii.

Little Mac: 17

Heike Kagero: 19

Kid Quick*, Disco Kid, Narcis Prince: 20

Mike Tyson (in Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!!): 21

Dragon Chan: 22

Aran Ryan, Don Flamenco: 23

Mario*: 24

Piston Hurricane: 25

Donkey Kong*: ~25

Bob Charlie: 26

Mad Clown, Super Macho Man: 27

Piston Hondo: 28

Great Tiger, Masked Muscle: 29

Mr. Sandman: 31

Bear Hugger: 32

Soda Popinski: 35

Bald Bull: 36

Glass Joe: 38

Von Kaiser: 42

Gabby Jay: 56

Mike Tyson (as of today - June 23rd, 2024): 57

Doc Louis*: 58

Hoy Quarlow: 78

Alice, Ape III, the arcade/Arm Wrestling Challenger, Carmen, Frank Jr, Kabuki, King Hippo, the Super Punch-Out Challenger, Money Holder, Mr. Dream, Nick & Rick Bruiser, Pizza Pasta, Wii’s referee, Bear Hugger’s squirrel, and Texas Mac all do not have any references to their age.

*Ambiguously Canon:

Kid Quick’s age comes directly from Disco Kid’s age. While there is no canon information on Kid Quick’s age, or a potential connection to Disco, we know from external factors - like Disco’s data being labeled “kidquick” in Wii, and the fact they’re from the same location and weigh the same amount - that they’re pretty much intended to be identical. Therefore, I believe that their age would be the same, too.

Mario’s age comes from a 2005 interview with Shigeru Miyamoto.

Donkey Kong’s age can be guesstimated around 25 years old, since in Yoshi’s Island DS, Mario & Donkey Kong are babies at the same time, although DK is delivered by the storks slightly before Mario. However, we don’t know if Punch-Out’s DK is the same as that DK, and DK has never had a canon age confirmed, period. So this is guesswork.

Doc Louis’s age comes from a Japanese translation of some Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!! merchandise, which you can find here. However, his age is never mentioned in any of the games.

[sonnet-of-anarchy]

Ghosts’ Greggs order???

Captain: vegetable & beef pasty with a cup of tea (no milk) - perhaps a jam donut, as a treat. 🫖

Lady B: also black tea, maybe a cheese sandwich if she’s feeling adventurous or a vanilla slice. 🍰

Thomas: pumpkin spice/ vanilla latte or just some horrifically sweet, artsy coffee. Also a pain au chocolat or feta & tomato pasta. 🥐

Humphrey: chicken bake or tandoori chicken baguette with salt & vinegar crisps to put inside - probably a cappuccino too with extra chocolate sprinkles. ☕️

Mike: pepperoni pizza or cheese & onion bake - also a melon/grapefruit pot when he’s on a ‘health kick’ & a mocha. 🍈

Alison: latte, either an egg mayo sandwich or tuna crunch pasta. She also likes the hash browns they do at breakfast & an eclair. 🥪

Kitty: pink sugar donut/ triple choc cookie & hot chocolate. Hot ham and cheese baguette because the others had ‘too much other stuff in them’. 🍪

Mary: tomato soup & sausage, bean & cheese melt. Tried a latte but didn’t like it so just got bottled water. 🥫

Pat: bacon & omlette baguette or a ham & egg roll. Either is accompanied with a sausage roll & milky tea (possibly also a custard donut) 🥓

Julian: americano, large, with a Mexican chicken flatbread. Also a donut purely to put his finger through the hole. 🍩

Robin: like 5 steak bakes and a star-shaped cookie. Was once a novelty bun but they had to cut him off after he ate the plastic ring. 🧁

🩵 Reblog with other food chains if you wish!!!!

[re-bec-ca-ann]

New Year's Eve, 1986

Summary: Steve cooks dinner for The Party on New Year's Eve while wearing his mother's old "Kiss The Cook" apron.

Read on AO3.

Artwork by the talented @yendts​!

The apron isn’t even his. His dad had given it to Steve’s mom when he was in grade school as a joke. Cooking was a rare affair in the Harrington household, but when the nanny was out sick or unavailable due to prior commitments, Mrs. Harrington would muster the will to prepare a bowl of cereal or a plate of scrambled eggs and toast for her son before he ran out the door to catch the bus. Regardless of the dish's simplicity, she was adamant about wearing an apron to avoid staining her fancy silk shirts or lace-adorned blouses. Up until a certain point, before Steve was deemed old enough to use a stove or face a full day of school on a single granola bar, she would entertain his insistence at planting a boyish peck on the apple of her cheek when she hooked the apron on her neck and secured the strings around her fine waist. As Steve grew in age, height, and ability, those light and heartwarming moments between mother and son became less and less frequent. By high school, he was relying on chalky protein bars in the morning, school lunches, and cold pizza or TV dinners that required a microwave and a quick stir. 

Things are different now. Hawkins is different. Steve is different. 

The town, while no longer the gateway to hell, borders on desolation. Those wealthy enough to vacate put their houses on the market or took the hit and fled within days and even hours of the supposed earthquake—including Steve’s parents. He came home one day following a shift at Family Video to find a FOR SALE sign pitched in the front yard without a word from his parents. Robin helped him box his belongings and Eddie offered the wide belly of his van to transport his belongings to a two-bedroom apartment in his price range. 

So while many have retreated to supposed greener pastures, The Party remains. Steve’s not certain Hawkins will be his home forever, but for now, it’s where he needs and wants to be. The determination to see Dustin, Max, Lucas, and even Mike fucking Wheeler survive high school and live out their weird, awkward, and nerdy teenage years with some semblance of peace keeps him steady and focused. And the distraction of caring keeps the pain that nips at his heels from rising any higher. 

That’s why tonight, on New Year’s Eve, he isn’t getting blasted at a bar or cozying up with some stranger at a house party. Instead, he’s in his cramped apartment kitchen managing a nearly full stove and a blistering oven while “Manic Monday” by The Bangles plays on the radio. Sweat is beading at his temples along his hairline from the forced warmth the appliances are emitting. He uses the tea towel draped across his broad shoulder to dab the moisture up before snatching the wooden spoon that’s laying across the bubbling water to stir the softening pasta. He’s not sure if everyone even likes chicken alfredo or what teen will stomach a side of roasted broccoli, but he knows Max is hardpressed for a homecooked meal, Robin likes to consider herself cultured and will force down anything, and there’s nothing a quick swat to the side of Dustin’s big head can’t cure. As for Eddie, he seems content to scarf down whatever he happens upon—dry cereal, lukewarm beer, a gourmet meal, a can of cold beans. The guy eats like he’s not sure when the opportunity will present itself again—and doesn’t that make Steve’s insides twist and his heart clench. 

They arrive in a flurry. Cold air from the hallway rushes into the kitchen every time the door is shoved open without a knock. At this point, they all have keys, Steve both desperate to avoid silence and eager to give them all a getaway when needed. Sure, he regrets the decision on the occasion that Dustin uses it to host a game of Dungeons and Dragons without warning, but he doesn’t mind when those impromptu game nights lead to Eddie playing a new record for Steve in the living room after the campaign comes to a close. In those instances, it’s common for Steve and Eddie to doze off on the blue plaid couch given to him by Robin’s parents until one of them jerks awake from a nightmare or a neighbor slamming a door shut. More often than not, Steve is the one to wake, and after he chugs a glass of water in hopes of settling his nerves, he grabs the sherpa blanket from the hall closet and drapes it across Eddie’s prone form.

He doesn’t know who will stay tonight, but he used what was left of his last paycheck to buy a few more blankets and pillows just in case he has a full house of drowsy kids and friends. 

They all greet Steve in their own unique and annoying ways. 

“Is that broccoli I smell? Steve, my mom feeds me enough vegetables, dude.” Dustin complains with a whiny tone. 

Lucas tells him about what basketball skill he’s on the verge of mastering; Erica rolls her eyes with so much piss and vinegar that it has him questioning how she hasn’t lost an eyeball yet. 

Max grunts out a “hey” as she uses a cane to maneuver the small space. 

The carpool crowd of the Wheeler siblings, Byers siblings, El, and Argyle patter in with such a subdued and quiet energy that he barely notices until Jonathan’s pat on the back causes him to crane his neck around. 

Before he can turn back to the simmering alfredo sauce, Robin is lifting herself onto the only space of open, clean countertop next to him. She gives his shoulder a flick, sticks a finger in the sauce, offers a nod of approval, and starts yammering about her day with more details than his brain can compute. Regardless, he does his best to keep up and nods when he loses track of the narrative. 

Eddie is the last to arrive, and Steve certainly notices enough to turn around and away from the steaming stove. The metalhead shoots through the door like a loose canon, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he kicks off his weathered sneakers. They land half on the mat and half on the tiled floor as he announces his presence with an abundance of zest and enthusiasm. Nancy catches sight and bends down to shift them over. Steve laughs and turns back to the sink where he needs to drain the industrial-size amount of fettuccine. 

“Hold up,” Robin quips, voice a whisper but tone alarmed. Against his better judgment, Steve freezes when he realizes that what he’s wearing is the catalyst for her surprise. When he has anyone over for dinner, he typically finishes cooking prior to them entering the apartment. 

Shit, he thinks, glancing down at the apron with a grimace. 

Everyone erupts into either howls of laughter or fake gags. He flicks Dustin’s hat off of his head and scowls at Mike. His middle finger is raising on its own accord, but El shifts into his line of vision and pushes onto her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. His hand drops and he smiles at the genuine sweetness he discovers on El’s face. 

“Thank you for cooking for us, Steve,” she says without preamble. 

“Yeah, my perfect-haired dude,” comes Argyle’s deep, drawn-out voice as he steps forward and into Steve’s space. “Many thanks for opening your humble abode up to us.” The kiss lacks the gentleness of El’s, but it’s full of unhindered appreciation. The shock of it brings a warmth to the apples of Steve’s cheeks. 

No one else seems to be getting in line so Steve coughs to clear his head and the air. “Right, uh,” he mumbles out. “Food should be done shortly, so grab a drink and sit the hell down—and try not to break anything,” he finishes with a pointed look at Mike and Dustin.

Before he can spin on his heels and hide his face from view, Eddie’s doe eyes latch on to his. His usual pale skin has a dusting of color that mirrors the blush wine Nancy is uncorking and he’s tugging at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves. The thing that really makes Steve’s stomach swoop, however, is the intensity that’s swirling in the metalhead’s brown irises. They both swallow and drop one another’s gazes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Robin’s mouth is slightly ajar. “Jeez, Steve,” she grits out, this time actually in a whisper just for their ears. “Here I am still working on getting my first kiss from a girl, and you’ve got a freakin’ queue going. Step right up! Take your pick! Come one, come all! The boy wonder is awaiting with his pouty lips and brooding stare.”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head at her antics but his face turns a little sour after a moment. “There’s only one person I’m hoping will be in that line at midnight, Robs.” 

“I know, I know,” she acknowledges. “Don’t play dumb though. Did you see his face? I’m surprised he didn’t lunge like a rabid dog or melt into the floor and become a permanent fixture," she comments. “By the way, very tactile selection of cooking attire.”

Steve scoffs in disbelief. “I didn’t wear this on purpose!”

“Sure, you didn’t,” she quips with an exasperated eye roll. “I believe you.”

“Screw you, Robs!”

Before sitting down at the table, Steve makes sure to shuck off the apron and hang it on the handle of the oven. 

Dinner involves a cacophony of slurping, happy hums of contentment, and the boys discussing what movies they want to see next year and complaining about their fast-approaching return to the halls of Hawkins High with irritated digs from Max and Erica sprinkled in. Throughout most of it, Steve finds himself observing. Robin talks between bites of food to a smirking Nancy. Jonathan and Argyle are looking longingly at the food and savoring each bite—a telling glaze clouding their respective eyes. Eddie seems to be doing the same as Steve. Taking it all in. He knows the metalhead has his bandmates, but this mismatched, makeshift gang takes the cake. Steve doesn’t try to even understand it. He doesn’t know why but it works. They work. 

From across the table, their eyes cross paths once again and pause. It’s always hard to peel his gaze away from Eddie—especially as of late. They’ve grown closer. Spending more and more time in each other’s atmospheres. Sometimes with no real reason aside from having nowhere else to go or not wanting to be anywhere else. Steve’s had friends, mates he’d throw parties with, toss a football around with, grab a burger and fries with. But this is something all its own. 

Robin is his best friend. Someone he spills his guts to on the daily. Eddie is on the cusp of that, but there’s another layer there that Steve is working through at a rate and ease he never expected. He hates Eddie’s taste in music. He hates the volume at which he listens to it. He hates how much his energy never seems to wane. But he also likes Eddie. A lot.

When the realization made itself known, it slammed into his chest and clobbered him upside the head. Another theoretical concussion to really scramble his brain and tear through every belief he had about himself. Robin was there to help him through it. Determined to convince Steve that the same instant acceptance he offered her was what he deserved too. The uncertainty still appears from time to time, but he’s proud of himself. He feels as though the hard edges crafted by his parents and his former coaches and the Country Club of Hawkins have been all but chipped away to reveal someone he recognizes and wants to get to know better. And that someone appreciates and longs for the companionship of a woman or a guy—or at least Eddie Munson.

He knows he’s about to trip face-first over the line between what’s an OK amount of time to hold someone’s stare, but Eddie has resorted to sticking his tongue out in a messy attempt to catch a noodle that’s dangling from his fork. Steve decides it's gross and endearing. He keeps his responding smile small and feels child-like joy blossom in his chest. It begs him to snatch a piece of broccoli from his plate and throw it at the other man. Against his well-trained judgment, he does just that. The floret gets caught in a frizzy curl and hangs mid-air. The look of feigned offense that blooms on the metalhead’s face ignites a chocked-out laugh in Steve’s throat. It’s loud enough to catch the attention of everyone at the table. Moments later, broccoli is catapulting in all directions. It lands on plates, in the sink, down shirts, and on the floor. Steve puts a stop to the chaos when he spots Mike grabbing for a noodle coated in alfredo sauce.

During clean-up efforts, Eddie saddles up behind a kneeling Steve to pluck a piece of food from his chestnut mane and popping it in his mouth. “I’ll give it to you, Harrington,” he comments with a playful husk to his voice, “you make food that’s good enough to eat and wear.” 

“Gross, Eddie!” hollers Mike at the interaction. “You probably just consumed at least half of a can of hairspray!”

Eddie shrugs and says, “I’ve eaten worse,” and saunters into the living room. 

They’ve been doing this for a few months now. Engaging in exchanges that border on innocent and flirtatious. Eddie gives just as good as Steve, if not better if the former jock tallies the number of times he’s left sputtering or with a warmth seeping across the surface of his skin. Steve knows Eddie is gay. Eddie is smart about not letting that flag fly in the “real” world—he has to be in Hawkins—but in the safe confines of The Party or even at The Hideout, Eddie allows it to wave with ease. 

At first, Steve suspected that the metalhead was just a flirt or found joy in making other people squirm. But Robin was quick to correct his thinking. Noting how there was a clear difference. While Argyle loved up on each and every person willing to receive his affections, Eddie reserved his heated lines, looks, and touches for Steve and Steve only. After a while, the former jock couldn’t deny Robin’s observations. And yet, there’s still a doubtful piece of him that wonders if it’s all a joke. A means to an easy laugh at the expense of Steve’s forgotten macho persona. And the thing is, Steve wouldn’t blame Eddie. He gets that he was an entitled, hotshot asshole. But the hurt and disappointment that bubble beneath the surface at the possibility are so very real. 

For the remainder of the night, the group plays board games in the living room, using the wobbly coffee table to roll dice and move pawns. There isn’t enough space for everyone to gather around it, so they team up and take turns. Eventually, Steve exits to the kitchen with Robin and Nancy. They sit at the table, Nancy telling Robin about what classes she’s taking next term at Emerson. Steve tries to listen, but he notices the pile of dirty plates in the sink and the urge to not wake up to them in the morning is enough to pull him away from the conversation. He lets the water heat up and reaches for the apron. He’s taking a chance at being the butt of another joke, but he’s ruined one too many shirts to questionable stains at this point for his minimum wage job to handle. He’s halfway through the stack of dishes when the music sounding from the radio comes to a halt and he hears a cassette being clicked into the tape player. The chords, the bass, the beat—everything is heavy from the start. Steve guesses it’s Metallica, but he knows it’s Eddie at the helm. 

He wants to yell at him to turn it down, fearful of his ancient neighbors, but Dustin’s joyous hoot at the song choice drags the demand back down his throat. It’s New Year’s Eve, he thinks—they can suffer for one night. 

He imagines the pair thrashing around the space, throwing their bodies onto the couch. As they get older, Steve feels more and more like a parent to Dustin. Not a babysitter. They joke about him being the “mom” of the group and to be honest, Steve has stopped fighting the label. He kinda is. He’s not sure where that leaves Eddie. Ever wild and whimsical. He supposes he’s the fun guardian. Who keeps watch but not in a meddling manner or worrying way. They’re a good team when he thinks about it. 

He must get so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize someone is next to him drying the clean but dripping plates until an elbow is poking into his side. 

Eddie grins at him.

“Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Steve rolls his eyes and lets a smirk tug at his lips. “Never.”

They finish the dishes in somewhat silence, Eddie bobbing his head to whatever hellish tune comes on next and flicking drops of water at Steve. The former jock is seconds away from spraying the water flow into his face when Mike’s voice screeches, “Ten minutes and counting! Get in here or you’re gonna miss it, losers.”

El shushes him, and Robin and Nancy grab their glasses of either wine or champagne from the table and head to where the group is quieting down to listen to the news broadcast live from Times Square in New York City. Steve from three years ago might have convinced himself that he liked the noise and the crowds and the flashy outfits and expensive liquor, but now, between his abused skull and his cracked-open heart, he’s confident in his whereabouts. 

While Eddie tosses the plates with a carelessness that threatens to make Steve’s eye twitch into the cupboard, Steve dries off his hands and moves to remove the apron. The metalhead reaches out to stop him halfway through, the back undone, but the apron still hanging loosely from his neck. Steve looks down. The hand sprawled out on the center of his chest is adorned with chipped black nail polish and clunky sterling silver rings. The one on his middle finger is of a bat that Dustin and Steve chipped in to get him for a graduation present.

Steve pulls his gaze up to search Eddie’s face for an explanation. The same heat he witnessed in the other’s expression earlier in the evening is back. 

“I never got a chance,” Eddie says softly between them. 

A chance? A chance to what? To kiss the him? 

Steve worries that his own silence is the reason for the hesitation that’s mixing with the heat in Eddie’s eyes now. But what if he’s reading it wrong? The possibility tightens his throat with building pressure. Still, seeing the other man uncertain and unsure reminds him too much of the terrified version he first tangled with in the boat house—so much so that he pushes past it and takes a leap. 

“You don’t need the apron’s permission.”

Eddie blinks, the fearful fog lifting from his eyes. “No?”

Steve’s bravery bounds. “I want you to kiss me, Munson.”

Eddie nods as if to confirm he’s gathering and comprehending what’s being communicated. The metalhead’s hand is still on his chest, and Steve feels the need to ground himself, so he grips the edge of the counter with his left hand and wraps the fingers of his right around the other man’s wrist. Eddie bunches the material of the apron at the touch. 

“Midnight is,” Eddie breathes out, glancing at the clock on the wall, “eight minutes away. We could wait.”

Steve shakes his head, somewhat disbelieving at his own transparency when he replies, “Don’t want to.” 

Their lips meet like a wave crashing along the unsuspecting shore. They move with and against one another, pushing and pulling, trying to claim and be claimed. The heat originally reserved for their gazes has transferred to their mouths and tongues and teeth and hands. Steve releases his hold on the sink and the metalhead's wrist to instead grip Eddie’s hips. Eddie slides his palms and fingers to hook around Steve’s neck and tug at the loop of the apron. 

Without much thought, Steve turns and lifts the metalhead up onto the wet counter. Eddie gasps and scowls before diving back in to reconnect their lips. Steve gets a nip to his bottom lip that he suspects is payback. Payback he’s willing and grateful to endure.

By the time they truly separate and break for intakes of air that are longer than two or three seconds, Dustin announces the start of the countdown. 

“Eddie! Steve! Get in here!”

Eddie hops down from his perch and grabs Steve’s hand and tugs him to follow.

The kiss that stems from the clock striking twelve is gentle in comparison to their first. It happens on the outskirts of the living room, where the kitchen tile transitions starkly into the plush carpet. Those who aren’t cheering, shaking noise makers, or exchanging platonic embraces or romantic pecks, take note of the two men with squeals of surprise and yips of amusement.

When they pull away from each other, they’re both red in the face and laughing. 

“Happy New Year’s, Ed.” 

“Happy New Year’s, big boy,” the metalhead replies, grin broad as ever. “Guess ‘86 really was my year.”

It’s Max who gets the last word in though, gritting out a disgruntled “gross.”

[androcola]

whats the boyses favorite food (alltogether or separate). pizza preferences.

YAAY

I think Micky has a million favorite foods, but his top favorites are mikes chili, mikes meatloaf, mikes egg salad, pretty much all of what mike cooks. he also LOVES mexican food!! and PASTA PASTA PASTA PASTA!!!!

mike is very particular. he has ARFID so any food deemed his Favorite food is lucky. he likes grits! it's a real comfort food for him, easy on the gut and always tasty 😋

peter really likes baked fish with lemon 😋😋😋 he really loves some good smoked salmon too😋

davys british so... who knows. I think he loves a good classic authentic fish and chip plate. he also loves some good curry !

as for pizza preferences, due to peters gluten intolerance idk if he can eat pizza. idk if there were any gluten free options for anything back in the 60s/70s/80s/90s etc etc but if he could eat pizza he'd love a nice veggie pizza

mikes not a huge pizza fan, but classic pepperoni is good enough for him 😋😋 anytime micky gets pizza mike will always be like "no no I don't want any it's all yours guys" but then a few minutes later he'll be seen wandering into the kitchen to grab some from the box,😋

Micky LOVES super mega supreme pizzas, he'd put every single topping imaginable if he could. INCLUDING pineapple. and when he gets the pizza, he'll cover it all over in hot red pepper flakes and just DIG IN!!!!!

Davy also enjoys supreme pizza :) but he refuses pineapple. he really enjoys extra bell pepper and black olives 🤤🤤he tries to have some of the supreme pizza Micky gets, but its so full of pepper flakes he can't stand it 😭😭

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

BBQ crackfic submission: OK, so Jonique's back, with her sister Courtney.

Mike is doing whatever Macaroni Phil said, and also glaring at everyone who thinks of putting ketchup on the pasta salad. Jonny is strumming a guitar while Layne sings. Colin is competently grilling burgers (not a Radiohead fan, don't really know anything about him, but from the pics here Colin just looks like *quiet competence*). Sister Courtney is offering grenadine vodka shots spiked with tabasco to anyone stopping by.

Jerry Cantrell and Kim Gordon show up on a horse.

Billie Joe who was only there to deliver pizza starts challenging Jerry and Kim to a duel

[dudeshusband]

i cannot decide helppp

[lavena]

Guess who unlocked a new trauma during the move in to college ✌ twas me your right. Anyway I figured this out cause I was brainstorming 07 Mikey and Don angst cause I need more of that in my life apparently and after working through it I had a moment of "wait that line I just made him say kind of resembled what I was thinking when x happened" and the the moment of realization... any way I decided why not write the fic.

Here we go, dont mind the trash story line there is a reason I don't write much, I can't get the idea on to paper before I changes in my head again.

A light knock was heard outside the lab,

"Hey Dee, I- I have to leave"

Donatello, fully invested in the toaster Leo had managed to break in the less than 3 months he's been back.

"What do you mean Mikey, your birthday gigs don't start till next week, unless Jessie decides Michael really needs a-"

As he turned around removing his glasses he noticed the duffle slung over his only little brothers shoulder.

"Oh you mean- I though we were done" he says, a sad look ghosting over his features.

"I did too, but-" Michelangelo says, a slight hitch in his throat as he look down to the left, biting his lower lip as his eyes become glassy, fingers clenching against the worn soft strap of the duffle.

"Okay" Donnie takes a breath as the word catches in his throat. He forces a swallow before continuing,

"Okay, how long do you think?"

"Shouldn't be more than an hour, two tops," he says shrugging, shoulders remaining by his ears, " It hasn't left my mind since Thursday, its all planned out"

God, Donnie was gonna bang his big brothers skulls together, but that wouldn't help anything.

Taking a deep breath Don placed a small smile on his face, nowhere near reaching his eyes like when Mikey would come home and sneak him a piece of carrot cake back when Leo and Raph would still get on his shell for messing up his eating habits.

"Okay, I'll pop up in about an hour and join you. I'll bring some Antonio's with me, just for me and you, those bozos can have cold pasta,"

Michael's eyes rose again to meet his, a small smile spreading, "and you'll have Woody make it?"

Rolling his eyes Donnie responds, " yes, yes of course just the way you like it, too much cheese for any sane person and a bad of skittles"

A fond look comes over Mikeys features before fading again as a thought crosses his mind.

" I'll- I'll see you then, I love you Donnie,"

Turning on his heel and speeding away Mikey leaves for either of their big brothers can come and ask where he is going.

" I love you too Mike" Donnie says quietly, concern spreading deep into his bones.

Shaking out his suddenly cold fingers, Don turns to finish fixing the damn toaster, quicker this time, like shell was mike gonna be alone for an hour, give him fourty and he'll be out there with his little brother figuring out where the hell his mind was going.

Donnie Slipped out of the layer forty-five minutes later, not noticing the two shadows following him as he called Antonio's and asked for Woodys, Mikey style pizza, a box of garlic bread sticks, and a whole container fit for a family of 6 worth of cinnamon bites because fuck it if his little wasn't going to have a good rest of his night. Mikey deserved so much more than what he could provide, but Donnie was more than ready to compensate in any way he could.

Reaching the manhole cover, he pushed himself out, taking a deep breath of that sweet sweet New York air, pollution and all. Slipping into an alley and beginning his trek to the warehouse district where he knew his little brother would be. Once more unaware of the shadows following after from the rooftop above.

As he stepped closer and closer to his brothers secret spot he could hear faintly Modern Day Cain playing out, most certainly damaging his little brothers ears given he could hear it from down the alley, a spray can on its last dredges, like spray nothing more than aerosol at this point.

Michelangelo stands stalk still as he presses his finger so hard against nozzle that his arm shakes, staring at the point where the deep green should be coming from, as of willing it to refill and let him continue. The sing switched to Until I end Up Dead and he threw against the wall across from him by the time kick drum was hit a third time, managing to hit off the wall and into a bag strategically placed with the rest of the empty cans.

Reaching down Mikey grabbed the same color from his bag of full cans, spraying the spot he was so focused on before just standing there, staring past the wall 5 inches from the tip of his beak, getting lost in his mind again.

By the time the song ran its course and switch to another, Mikey had dropped the can, taking four paces back and letting his shell thump harshly against the neighboring wall and sliding down, dragging his headphones off and letting the clatter to the ground.

"Hey don" mikey says quietly, leaving his head to hang between where he rested his arms and his knees.

"Hey Mike" Donnie said sliding down next to his brother and bumping shells with him.

"Whats eating at you today bud? I though it was better now that they're back"

Mikey looked up into Donnies eyes, water filling them as he stood up with a hurt laugh.

"They might be back, but they're not here Donnie"

Don looks up at his brother a little confused.

" They're here, but they're not with us Don, they're leaving, pulling away, and I-" his voice finally broke as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I don't think we are enough to make them stay Don,"

Even quiter this time

"I don't think I'm enough to make you stay" as Michelangelo turned around to look at his newest project.

A mural to Donnie, standing in his lab doors, looking past the viewer, as though longing for something far out of reach.

"Its all I can think about Don, they don't want to be here and neither do you"

"Mikey what, no I-"

"No Donnie, No, you don't, you're not meant to be stuck in that stupid lab with those stupid computers and those stupid phone calls,"

"No, I love the lab, Mikey I could never-"

"You used to love the lab, you loved it before it become a chore, before being in that lab meant you had to try to keep this family from falling apart, before when you could make things and fix things because you had the time, not because it was written into your schedule. Donnie you don't deserve that, you should be taking your classes at NYCU and correcting the teacher when they get details about particle fission wrong and you should be happy, but I'm making you stay cause I can't grow up, cause I can't handle when they yell at eachother, and you get this look in your eye sometimes Don, and I know you just want to be anywhere but here, and I can't-"

"Michael! Stop! Breathe please."

Mikey didn't even realize it but he'd brought his shaking hands to his chest as he sobbed, falling into his brothers embrace, sliding to the hard gravel as his knees have out.

" Donnie I can't do it, I can't be alone, I just can't"

Donnie had came to the back of mikeys shell, grabbing it by lip, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes.

"And you never will, Michael No matter what I will always be here, I am not leaving you ever."

Don hiccuped as tears streamed down his cheeks

"Mikey I could never leave you, never, you are my only little brother otouto, you've been with me since the start of all this stupid shit and never once have I though it would be better to leave you, Mikey I could never"

Anyway I haven't a clue how to end this, and as I said before, I have no clue how to write down whats in my head, so this came out so much different than what originally made me figure out I have another note to add to my eventual therapy list.

Anyway my whole thought process came from me being a Kinship foster kid, meaning I was fostered by a family member, in my case My Great Aunt, I was later adopted by her when I was about 7(I think) so I obviously have some emotional problems regarding family leaving me and I just move into college, my guardian got upset at me and treated to leave even though we had this whole trip planned for her birthday and everything. Anyway this happened 3 time over 2 days and on the third time I begged her to stay, saying I really wanted this trip to go smoothly and for her to enjoy her birthday, or was a whole crying fest for me while her daughter didn't really help the situation by mentioning how she is kind of emotionally abusive. Ended with her leaving for an hour leaving me under the assumption she wasn't coming back, but she did because she forgot her sleeping machine (cpap). In the end while I was thinking out fanfic scenarios in my head I kind of had what the beginning of this story had, up to mikey telling Don that he doesn't think he is enough to make don stay. It kind of hit me I was modeling his feelings after my new found fear that even If I was sobbing and begging her to stay, she wouldnt.

Anywhoodle hope you enjoyed my attempt at a fic

Much love 💘

[charlestonbusinessdirectory]

Foodie Paradise: Where to Dine in Charleston, SC Shop Local Charleston, SC Businesses [ad_1] Charleston, South Carolina is a city known for its rich history, stunning architecture, and vibrant culture. But one of the main reasons visitors flock to this charming seaside town is for its exceptional dining scene. From Southern classics to innovative fine dining, Charleston has something to offer every type of foodie. If you're planning a trip to Charleston and want to indulge in some of the best cuisine the city has to offer, here are some top recommendations for where to dine. 1. Husk Located in a charming historic home in downtown Charleston, Husk is a must-visit for anyone looking to experience traditional Southern cuisine with a modern twist. Executive Chef Sean Brock is a James Beard Award winner known for his innovative take on classic Lowcountry dishes. Be sure to try the restaurant's famous shrimp and grits, made with locally-sourced ingredients and bursting with flavor. 2. FIG For a more upscale dining experience, head to FIG, a renowned restaurant located in the heart of Charleston's historic district. Chef Mike Lata is a James Beard Award winner known for his focus on sustainable seafood and locally-sourced ingredients. The menu at FIG changes daily based on what's fresh and in season, so you can be sure you're getting the best of the best. 3. The Obstinate Daughter If you find yourself on nearby Sullivan's Island, be sure to check out The Obstinate Daughter, a popular restaurant with a laid-back atmosphere and a menu inspired by the flavors of Italy and the Lowcountry. The wood-fired pizzas and handmade pastas are not to be missed, and the restaurant's oceanfront location makes it the perfect spot for a romantic dinner or a leisurely lunch. 4. Xiao Bao Biscuit If you're in the mood for something a little different, make a reservation at Xiao Bao Biscuit, a hip Asian fusion restaurant located in downtown Charleston. The menu at Xiao Bao Biscuit features a mix of Chinese, Vietnamese, and Thai dishes made with locally-sourced ingredients and bold flavors. Be sure to try the Okonomiyaki, a savory Japanese pancake topped with a delicious blend of ingredients. 5. Hominy Grill For a true taste of classic Southern comfort food, head to Hominy Grill, a beloved Charleston institution located in a restored historic house. The menu at Hominy Grill features all of the Southern classics you could ever want, from fried green tomatoes to shrimp and grits to fried chicken. Be sure to save room for dessert, as the restaurant's famous coconut cake is not to be missed. Conclusion Charleston, South Carolina is a foodie paradise with a dining scene that is as rich and diverse as the city's history and culture. Whether you're in the mood for traditional Southern cuisine, innovative fine dining, or international flavors, Charleston has something to offer every type of food lover. The next time you're planning a trip to Charleston, be sure to check out some of these top restaurants for a culinary experience you won't soon forget. [ad_2] EXPLORE MORE: Places to eat in Charleston SC FIND: Things to do in Charleston SC CHARLESTON BUSINESS OWNERS: Get a Free Business Profile FIND BUSINESSES: Charleston Business Directory BE SEEN: Advertise Your Business Here #PLACES_TO_EAT

[chsthrive]

Foodie Paradise: Where to Dine in Charleston, SC Shop Local Charleston, SC Businesses [ad_1] Charleston, South Carolina is a city known for its rich history, stunning architecture, and vibrant culture. But one of the main reasons visitors flock to this charming seaside town is for its exceptional dining scene. From Southern classics to innovative fine dining, Charleston has something to offer every type of foodie. If you're planning a trip to Charleston and want to indulge in some of the best cuisine the city has to offer, here are some top recommendations for where to dine. 1. Husk Located in a charming historic home in downtown Charleston, Husk is a must-visit for anyone looking to experience traditional Southern cuisine with a modern twist. Executive Chef Sean Brock is a James Beard Award winner known for his innovative take on classic Lowcountry dishes. Be sure to try the restaurant's famous shrimp and grits, made with locally-sourced ingredients and bursting with flavor. 2. FIG For a more upscale dining experience, head to FIG, a renowned restaurant located in the heart of Charleston's historic district. Chef Mike Lata is a James Beard Award winner known for his focus on sustainable seafood and locally-sourced ingredients. The menu at FIG changes daily based on what's fresh and in season, so you can be sure you're getting the best of the best. 3. The Obstinate Daughter If you find yourself on nearby Sullivan's Island, be sure to check out The Obstinate Daughter, a popular restaurant with a laid-back atmosphere and a menu inspired by the flavors of Italy and the Lowcountry. The wood-fired pizzas and handmade pastas are not to be missed, and the restaurant's oceanfront location makes it the perfect spot for a romantic dinner or a leisurely lunch. 4. Xiao Bao Biscuit If you're in the mood for something a little different, make a reservation at Xiao Bao Biscuit, a hip Asian fusion restaurant located in downtown Charleston. The menu at Xiao Bao Biscuit features a mix of Chinese, Vietnamese, and Thai dishes made with locally-sourced ingredients and bold flavors. Be sure to try the Okonomiyaki, a savory Japanese pancake topped with a delicious blend of ingredients. 5. Hominy Grill For a true taste of classic Southern comfort food, head to Hominy Grill, a beloved Charleston institution located in a restored historic house. The menu at Hominy Grill features all of the Southern classics you could ever want, from fried green tomatoes to shrimp and grits to fried chicken. Be sure to save room for dessert, as the restaurant's famous coconut cake is not to be missed. Conclusion Charleston, South Carolina is a foodie paradise with a dining scene that is as rich and diverse as the city's history and culture. Whether you're in the mood for traditional Southern cuisine, innovative fine dining, or international flavors, Charleston has something to offer every type of food lover. The next time you're planning a trip to Charleston, be sure to check out some of these top restaurants for a culinary experience you won't soon forget. [ad_2] EXPLORE MORE: Places to eat in Charleston SC FIND: Things to do in Charleston SC CHARLESTON BUSINESS OWNERS: Get a Free Business Profile FIND BUSINESSES: Charleston Business Directory BE SEEN: Advertise Your Business Here #PLACES_TO_EAT

[bigcirclenews]

Between the Stork and Mortimer’s, Baby Café Society Packs Serafina

Mike Ghadamian is a regular at Serafina, an Italian restaurant on Madison Avenue at 79th Street. Sitting at a candlelit

Mike Ghadamian is a regular at Serafina, an Italian restaurant on Madison Avenue at 79th Street. Sitting at a candlelit table on a recent Friday evening, he took a sip of his complimentary drink and pointed to the table behind him.

“See that table?” he said in a raspy voice. “That’s table No. 50. That’s our table.” A waiter stopped to pat his back. “They know me very well here,” Mr. Ghadamian told a guest. He ordered “the usual,” penne alla vodka. “I haven’t changed my dish in months,” he said.

He smiled, revealing a mouth full of braces. Mike Ghadamian is 15. His complimentary drink: a Diet Coke.

Over the past two years, Serafina has served as a kind of dining club for the youth of the Upper East Side. On weekend nights between 7 and 10 p.m., the top floor of the bi-level restaurant–a pretty room with a brick floor, wicker chairs and a canvas roof that can be removed in the summer–fills up with pink-cheeked teenage Manhattanites chowing down on chicken paillard and $15 brick-oven pizzas as they make their plans for the latter part of the evening. Unlike their suburban counterparts, who make do with burgers and fries at McDonald’s, they aren’t fazed by Serafina’s $15 minimum food charge. “They all have mom and dad’s gold card,” said the restaurant’s general manager.

“It’s probably one of the more expensive places I go,” said Alison Goldfrank, a freshly scrubbed blond freshman at the Spence School. “But the food is amazing, so the prices are reasonable for food that great.”

“It’s a social place, and it’s nice,” said Jessica Haber, a freshman at Horace Mann School, who said she eats at Serafina almost every weekend. “It’s a bit pricey, but the food is really good,”

“The inside is cool and the food is awesome,” said Olivia Palermo, a freshman at St. Luke’s who used to go to Nightingale. “I go there maybe three times a month, and I usually see like five people I know.”

As he tucked into his penne, Mike Ghadamian looked happy. He’d had to go to a Shabbat family dinner at his grandmother’s house before he was released to go to his favorite restaurant.

At about 7:15 p.m., a redheaded 15-year-old boy, dressed in a baggy sweater and loose jeans, sat down with his older sister, a strawberry blonde wearing a gray shirt tucked into slim-fitting jeans. She looked at the menu while he talked on his cell phone. A few minutes later, two 16-year-old boys wearing baggy jeans and large sweatshirts arrived, high-fived the redheaded kid, then sat at their own table nearby. Three young women with long, straight hair came in and began self-consciously smoking cigarettes. By 8 p.m., two thirds of the room was filled with Upper East Side teens.

“Here’s how it works,” said one sophomore from Collegiate School. “We go with a big group of friends, everybody takes out their cell phones and puts them on the table, then we get a phone book and figure out where we’re going that night.”

“I always go with big groups,” said a blond, ponytailed freshman from the Dalton School. “And they yell at us because we all share plates and it’s really confusing.”

“You can always tell the high-schoolers because they travel in packs,” said Shalonda Harris, one of Serafina’s night managers. She said that nine times out of 10, she directs the teenagers to the top floor.

“I’m pretty sure they reserve the top floor for teens,” said Ms. Goldfrank, “because whenever I go with my dad, we sit on the first floor.”

The favorite menu item of most of the teens is Penne Alla Stolichnaya. Which brings up the question: If they like vodka in their pasta, are they getting away with ordering it in their drinks?

The general manager said the restaurant is strict about making sure that they only serve those with proper identification.

“They do ask for ID, but a lot of my friends have fake ones and they get served all the time,” claimed one freshman.

“Oh, they never serve us alcohol,” said Mr. Ghadamian.

“Of course not,” added his friend Steven Chase, a sophomore at the Horace Mann School.

The staff doesn’t seem to mind the teen explosion.

“So far they have never been a problem,” said Abul Waliullah, who has been waiting tables at Serafina for four years. “They’re really nice and they tip O.K.”

Mike Ghadamian finished his penne and wiped his mouth. “I get treated like a king here,” he said. “I didn’t even order these Cokes.”

N.Y.’s

Manhattan’s pampered young males are in a panic. They may have money, they may have love, but they have no Kiehl’s.

For several weeks now, well-scrubbed young men in New York City have been cursing the mysterious disappearance of Kiehl’s Ultimate Men’s After Shave Moisturizer, the cultishly popular yellow, odorless facial lotion made by the venerable cosmetics manufacturer (established 1851).

“Of course I know about it [the Kiehl’s shortage]!” said a 32-year-old Manhattan attorney who, after confessing to keeping an “arsenal” of Kiehl’s products, asked that his name not be used. “It kills me!”

A Kiehl’s spokesperson confirmed the after-shave shortage, describing it as national. “We’ve been out of stock for six weeks,” she said. “We have requests daily for it.”

Face-Men Frenzy

Manhattan’s pampered young males are in a panic. They may have money, they may have love, but they have no Kiehl’s.

For several weeks now, well-scrubbed young men in New York City have been cursing the mysterious disappearance of Kiehl’s Ultimate Men’s After Shave Moisturizer, the cultishly popular yellow, odorless facial lotion made by the venerable cosmetics manufacturer (established 1851).

“Of course I know about it [the Kiehl’s shortage]!” said a 32-year-old Manhattan attorney who, after confessing to keeping an “arsenal” of Kiehl’s products, asked that his name not be used. “It kills me!”

A Kiehl’s spokesperson confirmed the after-shave shortage, describing it as national. “We’ve been out of stock for six weeks,” she said. “We have requests daily for it.”

The spokesperson said the shortage was the result of the demand for the after-shave outstripping its production. She estimated that it would be back on shelves in New York by March 1.

But that is small consolation for the legions of New York men who–following years of post-pubescent, Aqua Velva agony–had finally settled upon a lotion for life.

“I love it!” publicist Jake Spitz, 26, said of the after-shave, which retails at $13.50 for four ounces and $20.50 for eight ounces. “It’s the first product I put on my face that worked.”

Mr. Spitz said he had recently tried to pick up some Kiehl’s after-shave as a 26th-birthday gift for his friend, the restaurant-guide scion Ted Zagat, but couldn’t find it anywhere. (Kiehl’s rations out its products to its own shop on Third Avenue and 13th Street, and to department stores like Barneys, Saks and Nieman Marcus.) He was forced to settle for other Kiehlsphernalia.

But other Kiehl’s after-shave devotees refused to take no for an answer. “I heard rumors that there was some being held under the counter at Barneys–if you know the right people,” said Boykin Curry, a 35-year-old investor. Alas, a reporter who checked that story out the next day was told firmly that no, the store had no more Kiehl’s.

–Deborah Schoeneman

Flash Fame

My girlfriend Rachel is one of those people who reads magazine listings, even though, to be honest, we hardly ever go anywhere. That explains how she found our photograph one night while flipping through the front pages of the Feb. 5 issue of The New Yorker .

We were on page 17. The photograph, by a man named Gus Powell, captured a crowded midday scene in front of the Amoco gas station at the busy northwest corner of Broadway and Houston Street. At the center was a lanky young black man surveying the intersection from his perch atop of a pair of pay telephones. Above him, on a billboard to his right, was a giant, shirtless, hairless Calvin Klein model.

I appeared in the foreground of the picture’s left side, looking upward with my left hand cupped over my eyes. Unshaven and wearing a hat advertising the then-hip, now-defunct Internet company Pseudo.com, I looked a tad haggard. Rachel, clad in overalls, was walking to my left, looking off in another direction.

“At first I just thought, ‘Hey, that blond woman looks a lot like me,'” Rachel said, “‘but she’s way too skinny.’ Then I thought, ‘That is me.’ A while later, I noticed you.”

“We’re famous,” I said.

“No,” Rachel replied. “We’re art.”

Everyone had their own take on the photograph. Rachel’s boss wanted to know what she was doing downtown at lunch. Rachel’s aunt, from Utah, had a practical take: “Wow–look at those gas prices!” she said. My dad e-mailed, comparing my physique unfavorably to the Calvin Klein model’s. (“Maybe the photographer was going for a

juxtaposition,” another person offered.)

These reconstructions were as good as ours: Try as we might, neither Rachel nor I could remember the moment at all.

When I met Gus Powell at the Ariel Meyerowitz Gallery in Soho, he understood our confusion immediately. “Kind of a Rashomon thing?” he said.

Mr. Powell was 6 feet 5 inches tall, lanky and 26, the same age as me. He looked like Milhouse van Houten from The Simpsons grown up: floppy hair, round glasses and a cashmere V-neck sweater-vest.

He grew up on East 58th Street and works as a freelance photo editor at The New Yorker (a -ha !). He said he takes most of his photographs while wandering around the city on his lunch break. (Hence the title of his series, “Lunch Pictures.”)

“You always find something that’s this ridiculous New York thing,” Mr. Powell explained. This time he was attracted to the man perched on the phone booths. Mr. Powell said he stood on the curb and began snapping pictures. “The thing that I always love is, some people check him out and some people don’t. Like, your girlfriend is checking him out.”

Mr. Powell continued: “For me the payoff is, when I’m walking and I see something remarkable, I don’t want to just nail the remarkable thing. I want to keep it in context … so then you become just as interesting. Because you help. You made the picture much better.”

I looked down at my shoes. “Well, thank you very much.”

On the way in, I had noticed that someone had already bought the photograph for $600. Apparently, that’s what being published in a major magazine can do.

This weekend, Rachel and I have a project: We’re cutting out page 17, framing it and hanging it in our bathroom.