#Wise Potato Chips

[petermorwood]

Crisps / Chips again

Associated with this post, here's an artefact, two anecdotes and an opinion.

The artefact is a slightly dented but still remarkably airtight "Charles Chips" tin.

It was bought, full, many years ago from the Vermont Country Store, from whom we subsequently bought reflll packs - given their size, "sacks" would be more accurate - which were shipped to Ireland in sturdy cardboard boxes.

VCS no longer carry Charles Chips in either tin or refill. I know. I checked. BUT...

The Charles Chips company, which per Wikipedia was doing just fine in 1990 then got sold and went bankrupt twice in less than three years (gosh!) is Back In Business, and note has been taken, with considerable interest - oh, you bet - that they do international shipping...

*****

Anecdote No. 1 is from when @dduane lived in Bala Cynwyd near Philadelphia, in what was known as "The House of Dangerously Single Women" (ahem). She tells me that the household used to get Charles Chips delivered to the door about twice a week, by the company's own vans.

Speaking as a long-time crisp fan, I found that both very neat and a source of mild envy. :->

Anecdote No. 2 is from 30-ish years ago, when we were in New York for something or other and, being rather jetlagged with our internal food clocks out of whack, did our usual thing and went out for a walk.

Curiously enough, this involved visiting several food stores and supermarkets where we bought a lot of Interesting Foreign or Much Missed (i.e. American, in both instances) junk food for grazing on back in our hotel room.

In one of them DD was about to lay claim to a huge bag of Wise potato chips (its bag would have been the design in the middle)...

...while nattering to one of the shop staff how much she missed them. He told her that a new delivery was expected in about 20 minutes and if she wanted to wait, she'd get much fresher chips.

And So It Came To Pass.

Well done, that guy!

*****

Finally, while Saratoga Springs may have been where potato crisps / chips were popularised, standardised, commercialised or whatever, it's definitely not where they were invented.

Even the oft-repeated "creation myth" frequently has its hard-to-please celebrity demanding to have his potatoes sliced and fried really thin "The Way I Had Them In France" - which kinda sorta suggests they were, um, being made there just like that well before the Saratoga thing happened.

Myths are okay, even marketing myths - so long as they're recognised as myths and not shilled as true by places with reputations like the Smithsonian.

*****

It's a bit like the still-current nonsense about spices being used in medieval kitchens to disguise bad meat. As far as I've been able to find out, this originated with a historian called J. C. Drummond in the late 1930s - yup, just before World War Two - simply because he didn't know his period terminology.

"Green" meant fresh - even nowadays, an inexperienced or immature person is "green" - so green cheese was newly made, and green meat was newly slaughtered, unaged and consequently tough and flavourless.

Just ask any steak fan the difference between a fresh steak and a 30-day dry aged one.

Drummond, in his overspecialised-scholarship wisdom, assumed that "green venison" meant meat which had gone off, and that a recipe to improve it with spices was to cover the bad smell and taste.

In fact it was somewhere between a marinade and a rub, meant to improve the tenderness and flavour of fresh meat as if it had aged for a while, thus shortening the waiting time between killing a beast and getting it to the table of a hungry court.

As I've said before, it's always easier for no-proofs-given pop history to dismiss medieval people as (insert derogatory observation here) than take the time needed to explain why and how they in their time were not that different to us in ours.

*****

PS: when looking for that previously posted stuff about green meat I found a post where, with even less evidence than Saratoga Springs inventing crisps, a Brit poster claimed Brits invented curry.

Snrk.

Among other more or less pertinent observations, I mentioned that what Brits invented was BRITISH curry, and anyone who has read "Nanny Ogg's Cookbook" will know what I meant by that... :->

#food and drink #snack foods #nostalgia #anecdotage #Charles Chips #Wise Potato Chips #Nanny Ogg's Cookbook #GNU Terry Pratchett

[boop-le-snoot]

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I just had this vivid scene play out in my brain. Dropped to my knees in a local chain grocery store, had to pretend I was grabbin the bootleg brand chips from the bottom shelf. I'm definitely normal about this. Yea, I'm so abso-fucking-lutely normal about this.

So what if I'm ovulatin'? It ain't me sittin' here clenching my fuckin' thighs, no ma'am, nu-uh. Even my predictive text talks like Daryl now- okay, I may have a tiny little problem. I hope I never, never ever get the chance to look Norman Reedus in the eye.

4.5k words. VERY VERY NSFW. Just sweet and a little rough monkey lovin' where Daryl enjoys something for the simple sake of it feeling good. A little undercooked plot-wise but the smut has been grilled to a perfect medium-rare, slightly juicy, collard greens and mashed potatoes on the side with the mushroom sauce. Two packs of cigarettes later (he owes my lungs an apology),

Imagine you and Daryl going out on a - run, scouting mission, whatever - and hunkering down in a secure cabin for the night. It's summer, it's hot and stuffy inside, but luckily, the cabin has running water, even if it's ice-cold. So you wash up and apply some of the essential-oils-homemade-perfume-thing that someone at the community made for you.

You change into your PJs and come downstairs to amuse yourself til the sun sets completely.

He's smoking next to a crack in the boarded up windows and you, being on friendly terms, banter a bit and bum a cigarette off him. He doesn't mind when you use one of his knees to sit down. As you two joke, you ruffle his hair slightly, not missing the way his eyes narrow in pleasure.

That sparks a conversation about letting oneself to feel good things.

You say that it's different for women because they get judged for wanting to experience pleasure just for the sake of it and Daryl says he always thought it to be stupid. You say that he's not exactly the resident expert on that, which briefly makes his natural competitiveness overshadow his shyness and self-loathing.

Petulantly, he places your hand back in his hair and stresses the purring growl of pleasure as your scratch his scalp and let his moist tresses glide through tour fingers.

You laugh and say you're gonna braid his hair one day, in jest, and he growls back "yer pushin' yer luck, pretty girl," but his smile is hidden rather badly.

In revenge, you stomp out the cigarette and straddle his lap fully, attacking his head with a massage worthy of a spa parlour professional.

He grips your waist as his head hangs forward, a low rumble coming from his mouth as his nose comes that much closer to your neck.

Daryl takes a deep breath, and sensing you unbothered by it, says "ya smell good. like apple pie."

"Oh," he doesn't miss the slight hitch in your breath, "'member when I fixed up the 'lectric in number twelve? they paid me in some essential oil perfume they made. feels nice to... not smell death all day, every day. 's a nice change."

He nods, agreeing, remembering your strong feelings about doing some things just because they feel good. Not because it's useful or to survive, but just for a surge of happy hormones in your bloodstream.

Despite his best efforts to distract his body, one wiggle from you is all it takes for his excitement to be obvious. He freezes, but you adjust simply, politely, keeping your weight off his boner. Confused by your chill attitude, he lifts his head, forcing you to brush all of his hair out of his face.

Daryl feels vulnerable and exposed.

Your eyes slide down to his lips, once, twice, but you - just as stubborn as him - pick them back up. As he parts them to run the tip of his tongue over them in hopes of finding something to say, he notices it fully.

He notices the flush of your skin. His hands move on your waist, provoking another blink-and-youll-miss-it twitch of your fingertips and toes.

Gathering his ducks in a row, Daryl leans into you - your neck, not your lips, not yet - softly running the tip of his nose along your collarbone and up to your jaw.

"That feel good?" Voice gravelly low, it sends reverb through your chest.

"Yeah," you breathe quietly, your fingers in his hair shaking slightly. You lean more into him and that is all the encouragement he needs for the time being.

"Wanna make ya feel good," he admits, dry lips and scratchy stubble gliding along the length of your jaw. His breath is hot on the shell of your ear. "Can I do that, suga'-pie?"

"Mhm," you respond, his cheek now against yours - you rub into him gently, like a cat. The affectionate headbutt makes him chuckle quietly in his throat.

He continues nosing around your neck, feeling the muscles in your back and your thighs unclench one by one. You're practically on top of him, almost right there, over the throbbing erection in his pants, and he feels your control slip away bit by bit.

The flimsy wooden chair you two are sitting on creaks; Daryl doesn't place much trust in it. Planting his feet wide, securing his position, he inadvertently lands your cunt right over his cock. Both of you shudder and hiss at the contact.

The damn chair creaks again.

He curses under his breath, hands sliding down to your ass, hoisting you up and urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he stands up, sending the raggedy chair clattering to the floor.

Your breath catches in your throat, your hands grab at his shoulders, kneading into the meat there. A few steps later, both of you land on the couch heavily; it creaks, too, but your legs have room and your body can finally relax against Daryl as you stabilise yourself on the surface.

He's panting, open-mouthed, looking at you with those stormy blue eyes, searching for something in your earnest, open face.

The corners of your mouth tug up.

He runs his palm over your back, settling on your nape to pull you into him. Your mouths connect; the kiss is slow and unhurried as you take the time to explore each other's mouths. There is no need to rush, no risk of being caught or ambushed; it really feels good. Following someone's advice for once, Daryl lets himself become utterly lost in the sweet kiss.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging softly every now and then, tipping the cup of him ever-so-slightly for short groans to spill into the kiss. Sometimes, you let your hands traverse the hills of his shoulders, the plains of his chest, fingertips poking around the collar of it.

It's overstimulating but at the same time, it's not enough. To give you a hint, Daryl timidly strokes the single bare inch of skin between your shirt and your pants, feeling the goosebumps even through the thick, calloused skin of his working hands.

The way your hips respond: restless and fluid, pressing into him just that much closer, prompts him to slide his hands further under your shirt, mapping the bony ridges of your spine. The skin along it is sensitive on any mammal, that much he knows, so he expects the twitch, expects the breathy moan leaving your lips; he revels in it, the kiss growing humid and sloppy.

Your hands slip into his shirt, finally, your warm palms on his hot skin. He's burning up inside out and you're- you're diligently adding fuel and accelerant to the fire. Blunt nails scratching over his uneven skin, you snag his bottom lip on your teeth as moisture gathers in the corners of your mouths.

The need for oxygen is strong.

Daryl inhales deep as he rests his forehead against yours.

Both of you are panting. Necking like horny teenagers, not a care in the world, no worry for tomorrow; it's near impossible to focus on anything else but the pulsating need at the spots where your bodies are pressed together.

It's all too much but neither of you want it to stop.

"Holy shit," your awed mumble causes Daryl to smirk lightly; as you shift in place, he swears he can smell how wet you are. His jeans must've gotten ruined by now, if not by you then by the weeping of his own cock.

It feels almost regretful to proceed. This exact feeling, if someone could figure out how to bottle it, would have people sellin' their soul for it, Daryl is damn sure.

It's the moment before lightning spears open the stuffy air of a muggy, stormy day. The millisecond before a heavily pregnant cloud gives birth to a solid wall of ice-cold rain; the blink of skies as they generously cool the overheated earth, filling up its parched cracks with invigorating liquid.

"Fuck," Daryl groans, tossing his head back onto the backrest of the couch, watching you through lidded eyes, "whatchu doin' to me, girl?"

You offer him a shaky, sheepish grin before your lust takes over your senses, pushing you back up to him. Your mouth connects with his neck, suckling, licking, nipping at the caramel skin there.

Daryl tastes of cheap soap and clear sweat, that musky scent of gasoline and leather unfurling into notes of pinewood and smoke as you nose deeper; right next to his ear, tickled by his hair, he smells and tastes like the best dessert at the carnival inside the town fair.

A little greasy and drenched in spices. You can't get enough of him. Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out flat and lick.

Daryl groans. It's open-mouthed and loud. His hands grab your hips firmly, dragging you over the tent in his pants.

Both of you hiss at the friction.

Your knees wobble as your stance widens in an attempt to cover more surface are, to bring the feeling closer to your clit. There's at least four layers of fabric between your skin and his and it is something that is so sweetly, arduously annoying.

He pushes down again, harder this time, offering another delicious groan that you can't help but swirl in your mouth and recreate. The noise attracts his attention; Daryl watches you, watches your face, the flush on your chest, your heaving breasts. Like many men, he licks his lips utterly unintentionally when his eyes settle on your hard nipples.

Inwardly, you find enough clarity of mind to chuckle. Men and breasts nevel fail to amuse you when placed in close proximity. You push them outwards and his mouth is immediately right there, shirt and all, rolling a stiff nipple gently between his teeth.

The soft, damp cotton adds an edge to it; you feel your underwear slide over your cunt, the fabric absolutely saturated with your arousal.

Daryl's hands knead your ass as he takes in his fill of your breasts.

"That's, fuck," you pant, needing him to know, "that's really fuckin' good."

"Yeah?" He groans wetly before taking in as much of your breast as he can fit in your mouth; there's no finesse to it, just raw, unadulterated need.

"Uh-uh," you nod: his eagerness is what takes the cake.

Daryl tugs your shirt up; up and over your head and fuck knows where it flies, forgotten the moment his lips are back on one nipple, his fingers on the other. He rolls, he bites, he sucks.

Your breasts are wet with spit and sweat.

His breath ghosts over the damp areas, pebbling the tender bud to a state almost frigid.

You moan, loudly, wetly and openly. You gasp, you squirm, anything to quell the restlessness. It's like an army of fire ants trotting their primal, tribal dance under your skin, reducing you to a disoriented mess with a one-track mind. Your fingertips are pale where you hold onto Daryl in a feeble attempt to ground yourself.

He's smirking when he surfaces up. There's spit glistening on his chin, his lips are puffy, the deepest, most delicious shade of maroon. It's obvious the state of your undress and the intensity of your want is echoed by him.

"Feel good?" He has the audacity! to ask.

"Yeah," your response is lackluster in words but the tone and the pleading expression on your face conveys it all: your desire, your desperation.

With you on top of him, the only relief to your aching cunt so far has been provided by his bulge rubbing against your clothed slit. It's not enough, it's not even nearly enough.

Daryl's biceps bulge as he effortlessly lifts you up, "c'mere," placing you back-to-his-chest.

Your legs fall open on your own accord, hanging limply over his muscular thighs. The meat of his cock digs into the cheeks of your ass; you feel it twitch along with you when Daryl's thick palm cups the mound of your pussy in a gesture both tender and possessive.

"Fuckin' shit," his low mumble travels down the shell of your ear, "this all fr'me, sugar?"

"Yes," you breathe out as he slides his middle and ring fingers up and down your slit. There is no hiding it: your cunt had soaked right through your panties and the cotton of your pajama pants.

With some more maneouvering that comes unfairly easy to him (in your opinion), your pants join your t-shirt somewhere in the deepest pits of hell (a far corner of the room). The panties stay on and for that, you're grateful - a little - as the simplest, straightest of touches on the sensitive meat of your cunt feels like clear honey being poured over a-

Daryl taps two fingers at the top of your slit, right where you outer lips part to reveal your swollen clit.

"Fuck!" You yelp.

"So responsive," he mumbles. He sounds fascinated as he spreads his fingers, the rough tips gliding along the skin and the thick meat sliding over the soaked fabric. You quiver and he can't resist running his mouth, "that feel good?" His smirk is a little mocking, a little breathless.

Your resolve hops between strangling Daryl and begging him, the rabbit of your heart leaping in your chest, doing a binky when your lover shows you mercy by moving aside the sticky fabric covering your crotch. It immediately cools and you wince as it touches the hot flesh of your thigh.

Daryl's inhale is sharp, deep and loud as he dips the same two thick fingers inside your slit.

You're swollen and so wet, its practically dripping. Your clit twtiches under his fingers.

"Jesus Christ," he exhales his disbelief, "you like that, huh? This all for me?" The question proves to be rhetoric when the arm that holds you by your waist tightens on you and Daryl grinds his hips up into the small of your back.

The pitch of his voice drops impossibly low, "bet you taste sweet," as he scoops up some of the fluid, fingers snagging on the snug ring of your entrance, before bringing them up to his lips. He noisily sucks your cunt off his fingers, slurping, "fuck yes!"

Your eyes flutter shut as you cunt pitifully clenches around nothing, no doubt making an ever bigger mess between your legs and on his jeans. Your soft whine is an earnest compliment to the man doing his best to clean up your mess.

Daryl repeats the motion several times, scooping up the sticky droplets of your cunt juice, immediately sticking his fingers in his mouth.

You feel a little sad you can't see it, but your imagination supplements that which is lacking. You imagine his brow, furrowed; his eyes, closed; the tight 'o' of his lips around his fingers. Your cunt flexes again, spasming.

Daryl's reward for it is to circle your clit with a featherlight touch of a single finger. His breath is heavy as he reaches lower, same finger sliding to your entrance: not breaching it, just circling, like a predator circles its prey. He must have the patience of a saint.

You, however, do not. Your hips have a mind of their own as they arch into him, your cunt so empty, it practically hurts.

"Tell me whatcha need," Daryl orders, the low of his voice seasoned with a pinch of pride and a pinch of desperation, "tell me, sugar."

"Inside," you keen, out of your mind, "I want you. Inside." There's drool gathering in the corners of your mouth.

Daryl obliges, but not before lubricating the entirety of his thick finger by sliding it over the outside of your cunt, causing another loud keen to fall from your lips.

When he pushes in, you swear you could cry from the sheer relief of finally getting something for your hungry cunt to wrap around.

Experimentally, he drags his finger in and out, slowly, tense as he watches your reaction, before adding in another. To say they're big would be an understatement: long and thick and textured, it's everything your cunt has craved for the past some minutes. Daryl pumps them in and out as you pant through the new sensation, acutely aware of the loud squelches coming from your hole with every plunge.

Your swollen lips and throbbing walls attempt to keep him hostage with every pull.

Daryl curses, something completely unintelligible, his rough voice completely lost to lust. "Gonna cum for me, eh?" He breathes as the contractions of your cunt become quicker, more rhythmic.

Your neglected clit pulses, your nipples are stiff as rocks, your breathing is uneven and shallow. You couldn't find your voice even if you tried; you don't try at all, letting your body do the talking. You fuck back onto his fingers to the best of your limited ability to move as short, loud, primal noises choke their way up your throat.

The throb of his cock against the small of your back is what sends you over the edge.

Daryl's panting, whimpering himself at the unabashed state of your being; you don't think he realises it, even, his eyes set on your cunt gripping onto his fingers.

When it clenches for one last time, you arch, you paint the walls of the room with curses and whimpers that would make even a prostitute blush as more sweet slick drips out your spasming hole and onto his fingers. Your legs tremble as your entire body goes limp in Daryl's hold.

Soft lips rest on the crown of your head, hot, uneven puffs of air frizz your damp hair.

As your brain does a factory reset, you become hyperaware of the hard, thick flesh pressing into you; a stark realization comes over your being, washing your body in a new layer of shivers. Your cunt still tingles, still aches for more.

"Daryl," you mumble, feeling him go stiff and hot, his name like the sweetest honey on your lips, "I want you inside me."

He shudders, he pants, his cock twitches pitifully once again in his pants. The tight denim had provided some relief, enough to focus on you, enough to stretch the time a little bit more. But now, with your body warm and lax and fucked out of your skull, how could he resist?

He didn't want to resist. He wanted to feel good.

In your dazed state, it was easy for him to pick you up, bridal-style, and carry you towards the singular bedroom in the cabin. He grinned at the clumsy way you immediately reached out to him, tangling your fingers in his hair, placing sloppy kisses on the nearest inches of skin you could reach.

The whine you let out when dropped onto the cool comforter?

Daryl's cock twitched demandingly.

The man stood at the foot of the bed, admiring the view: you, blinking up at him, breasts moving with each shallow breath, feet on the comforer and legs bent at the knee, a hint of flushed, swollen pussy peeking out from the crooked gusset of your underwear.

This may not be heaven but it was as close to it as he'll ever get.

The buckle of his belt clinked, denim shuffled as it was left somewhere behind him- Daryl wasted no time dropping to his knees, using two strong hands to bring your cunt up and into his face. The force of his inhale made your sensitive pussy quiver, it was something that made him smile against the fabric of your panties as moved it aside once more - this time with his teeth.

"Oh, fuck!" You yelped as the broad, wide, flat expanse of Daryl's tongue licked messily up your cunt, hole-to-clit.

"Mmm," he groaned, "fuckin' candy apple pussy," taking another taste. And then another, and another until your skin was raw from the stubble of his beard and you were left in a shaking, whimpering, wet mess of a human. His face was drenched. "Messy girl," he chided in a soft mock as your cunt provided him with another gush of arousal, "ya like bein' messy for me, don't cha?"

"Uh-uh," you arched, your usually concise vernacular reduced to whimpers, groans and two-syllable words that barely made any sense to your own ears, much less anyone else's.

Daryl was like a wild animal, lapping up the liquid, uncaring of the mess he made of you and of his own face.

"Please," you fought with your tongue and finally, finally won, "I wanna- uhh," well, maybe not quite.

Momentarily, he withdrew, wiping the side of his face on the inside of your thigh, "you want what? Tell me."

In your state, he could have touched you anywhere and it would have reduced you to a mindless, blabbering mess. So you settled on the next best thing. Your hand, the one that was in his hair, tugged him up - or tried to.

Daryl's responding growl, the shift of his shoulders, the absence of a single hand on your thigh - you knew the tug had him palming himself through his boxers. Another, purposeful tug was given, another growl followed as he stood up.

You weakly pushed yourself up higher on the large bed.

In the dim twilight of the bedroom, Daryl stood, shirt soaked through and through with sweat; his chest heaved as damp strands of hair fell over his face. They were unable to conceal the glistening layer of you on his chin, neither they could hide the blown pupils of his stare. There was almost no blue visible in his eyes.

You licked your dry lips, forcing them to cooperate, "c'mere," your hands stretched out towards him.

Daryl crawled on the bed and over you, sitting between your spread legs. Obedient, he leaned into you, placing sloppy, damp kisses over your face as you wound your arms around his neck. The tent in his boxers hovered less than an inch away from your bare cunt.

"I need ya'," you breathed, tasting yourself as you licked into his mouth, hoping to convey with you body what you couldn't with your words.

"Ya sure, sugar?" Ever the gentleman, Daryl pressed his clothed cock over your bare cunt, ruining his underwear even further; his muscles flexed under your palms.

"Uh-uh," the heat, the feel of his thick cock backtracked any progress you'd made on getting your vocal cords and your brain cooperate. There was nothing but lust and saliva gathered in your mouth now, something that both of you shared during another slow, wet kiss. Your teeth clashed, your tongues ran over each other, all graceless and sloppy.

With one swift, ragged motion of his hand, Daryl shoved his boxers down and over his cock, freeing it from the tight confines; that action alone was enough for him to let out a grunt as the cool air hit his leaking, flushed tip.

The same tip that slapped against your clit, jerking your body and his.

"F-f-fuck," Daryl wheezed, fisting his cock at the base, running the tip slowly over your lips, your clit and down to your hole, "m'not gunna last for shit like this."

Just get inside me!!! You wanted to scream. Instead, you wiggled your hips, you squeezed his shoulders.

The fat head of his cock slipped in, slowly, steadily. More wet, sticky noises got lost in the growl coming from Daryl's gritted teeth.

Your cunt was sucking him in, all wet and hot and snug and constantly flexing, rippling as it adjusted to his size. The roll of your hips that followed was utterly unintentional, driven by the most primitive of instincts.

"Oh, sugar," Daryl grasped your hip tightly, holding it in place, "fuckin' shit. What're you doin' to me, woman?" His speech slurred.

All you could reply was a series of small breaths, 'ah-ah-ah's' with every inch of his cock sliding into you, until you felt his heavy balls pressed against your ass.

If your eyes weren't clenched shut, you would have seen the wild look in Daryl's eyes, the way they darted between the blissed-out look on your face and the root of his cock secured against the entrance of your cunt.

Slowly, he withdrew, hissing at the smooth pleasure of your wet pussy sliding over his cock, and then he slammed back in.

Your body curled, arched; a shriek left your lips at the sudden realization. You held onto him tightly, his shoulders, his arms; the sweet feel of his skin, slick with sweat, bombarded your senses, drowning you in that natural, masculine smell of him.

You babbled some nonsense, something about how good he felt, how he fit just right and so nicely, how he was so good to you-

"You're so good to me," Daryl objected, Daryl stated, "s'fuckin' sweet. My sweet, messy girl."

The words alone brought you closer to the edge as he hammered away inside your oversensitive cunt. In fairness, he could have flicked your clit just once, or even taken his mouth to one of your hard, throbbing nipples-

Daryl's need to feel you come, to clench and gush around his rock-hard cock was at the forefront of his mind, followed closely by awe at the way your body molded perfectly against his. The way your thighs quivered as they attempted to wrap themselves around his hips, the desperation in your grip on his shoulders.

"Fuck!" He cursed, teethering at the very edge of his orgasm, "come for me, pretty girl, c'mon," he urged, swallowing his own moans and gasps.

"I- uh," you, too were almost right there. The coil in your stomach at its most tense, it sent small tremors inside your cunt, shocks of pure, hot, liquid ecstasy-

That traveled down Daryl's cock. Like damn rings during a heated game of muckers, the spasms of your cunt collected at the root of his shaft, one on top of the other, until he could do nothing else but rut roughly, sloppily into the equally sloppy mess of your cunt.

He felt it. It began somewhere at the deepest part of you, squeezin' the head of his cock firmly and traveling all the way down his shaft, until each ring of pleasure popped, releasing his seed into you-

Throbbing, your cunt pushed and gushed, a flash of lightning zapping your clit as Daryl's pubic bone ground into it with force. A hoarse scream tore from your throat, your body curling inward with the force of your orgasm. Strong, heavy spasms of his cock shooting hot ropes into you lulled you into the aftershocks.

It made both of your bodies limp with exhaustion. The cord had snapped and tension finally leaked out, dissolving like smoke and fog into the open air.

Sweaty, sticky and hot, the two of you panted your relief onto each other's cheeks.

Your lips connected with the rough stubble on Daryl's. Hair hung over his face, obscuring your smile.

"Whatchu grinnin' at?"

Boy, did he sound fucked-out. All smoke and gravel and spice and everything nice.

"Feels good."

"Heh," he chuckled, the noise coming from somewhere deep within his chest, "sure does."

#WHEW I NEED TO BE NEUTERED Y'ALL #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #twd smut #fuckin' tiktok editors wirh their fuckin sexy edits #fuckin norman reedus with his stupid fuckin face #ALL OF YOU GET OUT #of my head #please.

[cassandraclare]

hiii cassie 💛 i hope you’ve been enjoying your time away writing, your locations are always beautiful per usual and you deserve it so much, question regarding a certain tween blondie that loves potato chips (yes, tis’ kit)

i’ve found myself struggling resonate fully with kits character due to the fact that in tda it seemed he was set up as “the new jace” yet..during my current tmi re read, i’m just NOW realizing how completely (emphasis on completely) different they are from eachother. and i also find myself struggling because he’s made to seem like he has an “uncanny resemblance” to jace yet so many of us readers know they aren’t from the same line of herondales at all. i’d figure jace gets his incredibly good looks from stephen, james, cordelia, will etc. HIS ancestors. while kit has completely different ancestors, along with johnny rooks genes.

i fear that if he’s referred to anymore as a “mini jace” that i won’t ever be able to fully resonate w him due to that lack of logic taking me out of the book 🥹 sorry to point this all out i tried to ignore it but im just like “will i have to read about him being jaces twin despite the lack of genetic sense it makes all of..twp?”

Hmm. I mean, I don't think there's anything indicating he's Jace's twin — otherwise people would be constantly mixing them up and Clary, upon seeing him, would be staggered rather than curious. :)

I think you have to decide, a bit, what really bothers you re: longstanding tropes and science in fantasy — after all, the way the Herondale mark is passed down makes no sense genetically. Neither does their ability to see ghosts. None of it has anything to do with genetics, because it is about magic, and so is Jace and Kit's resemblance. The idea that people who have ancestors in common long ago have a sort of ineffable resemblance goes way back to the origins of fantasy. It's about pointing out a preternatural connection, not about common genes. It exists as a mythic trope that isn't connected to science in the same way the mythic trope exists that you can inherit not just, say, eye color, but also personality quirks like loyalty or evilness. (See: TV Tropes page "In the Blood.")

For what it's worth, I don't think of Jace and Kit as characters who are particularly similar, personality-wise or in any other way, really. They both had traumatic childhoods, and were later adopted into new families, and that makes for some points in common, but I have never thought of Kit as a new Jace (we still have the OG Jace, so he doesn't need replacing!) or a mini Jace or anything like that, so anything that seems otherwise is unintentional or open to interpretation.

#kit herondale

[lovelyhan]

— meet cute of the century (a teaser) ⟢

the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest, clumsiest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

★ FEATURING; wonwoo x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 1.7k words

★ TAGS; meet cute, strangers to lovers, pining, some angst, smut (though this teaser is completely sfw!)

★ TAGS; mentions of accidents but it's not given much detail

★ NOTES; i'm back with my low quality wonwoo bf pics for my teaser headers hehe i am soooo excited to write the rest for this! honestly didn't think the teaser would end up this long but here we are :3c little heads up that some parts of this teaser could change in the full story, but nothing major plot-wise will be taken out. hope you like it!

this is part of the doting on you! series.

There are a handful of things that a college student can do with their free time. Studying, hanging out with friends, and maybe even picking up a hobby of sorts. You, on the other hand, use up all the hours you’re not spending on your undergrad thesis or sleeping the day away at an animal shelter just a few minutes away from your apartment. 

Your friends constantly wonder how you’re still able to maintain a remarkable GPA with a part-time job that’s starting to look full-time, but you just laugh their questions off for the most part—saying that other people have got it worse than you, but can still perform leagues better academically. 

You also tell them that most of your motivation comes from all the unadopted animals from the shelter. You started as a volunteer just to kill time on weekends when you’re free, but even if you knew better than to get attached to all those adorable faces, you eventually found yourself on the part-time employee roster anyways. 

Now you’re rushing to finish your degree so you can get a neat sugar mommy job that’ll let you afford to adopt everyone that’s been stuck in the shelter for nearly a year or more.

Okay, maybe not everyone because you’re no fool with a savior complex. But just enough to give a few furry friends a new home, right?

“Don’t look now,” your coworker, Mari whispers conspiratorially while you’re in the middle of snacking in the break room, “but that cutie you’ve been crushing on just walked inside. He’s checking out the cats out in the playroom as usual.”

Right. Apart from your altruistic dream of adopting as many animals as your financial capabilities can allow, there’s another reason you’re always looking forward to your shifts at the shelter. A reason that you’re a bit too embarrassed to let your friends know about.

You nearly choke on a potato chip when Mari breaks the news and she immediately laughs in your face. Glaring at her, you compose yourself with a long gulp of water before saying, “I do not have a crush on him.”

“Sure,” she plays along. “If you consider making googly eyes at the guy every time he drops by as ‘not having a crush on him’, then I’ll concur.” 

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t, sweetheart. Now get out there and sweet talk him into take one of the kittens home! Pretty sure he wants one if he’s been showing up as much as he did for the last two months.” 

While you would’ve argued that the so-called cutie you’ve been crushing on could just like seeing the cats play around in his free time, you don’t really have much energy to play mental gymnastics with Mari. You’ve had a long day of revisions and other nonsense materials you have to submit for your majors, so you’ll let this one slide.

Your workplace is as bleak as every other shelter you’ve seen a few times in your life. Gray walls, concrete floors, and steel cages stacked on top of each other. It looks more like a prison than anything, really, but it’s the staff and those kind-hearted souls who rehome animals that have long been abandoned that give the entire place some life.

While Mister Cutie That You’ve Been Quote-Unquote Crushing On doesn’t exactly fall into either of those categories, you like to think he still leaves the building just a touch colorful once he walks out of the front door. 

Speaking of color, he’s wearing a loose, dark green shirt that falls just below his elbows. Cutie—as you’ve deigned to call him not because you think he’s cute but because you’re yet to get his name—has one palm flattened across the viewing glass of the playroom. He’s wearing his usual black face mask today, but from the way his eyes glint behind his glasses, you’re just going to assume he’s having a good time just by watching the cats frolic inside.

“You’re here pretty late,” you state nonchalantly before standing a few feet away from him. 

“Is that so strange?” he murmurs with a chuckle, surprisingly not startled with your sudden entrance before glancing your way. “I always show up here at this hour, don’t I?”

God. No matter how many times you hear his voice, you just can’t get over how deep it is. But before any of your thoughts could show on your face, you get talking.

“True. You’ve sparked a debate among the volunteers about your line of work, actually.” Not exactly. You’re not sure if any of the volunteers have even seen this guy, since they mostly work day shifts. “Anyway, are you just here to check ‘em out or am I finally going to hand you the adoption papers?”

His eyes crinkle a bit before he shifts his gaze towards the playroom again. Most of the older cats have already been put back in their respective cages. All that’s left inside are the kittens with way too much energy to spare. The director, A.K.A., your boss, believes that it’s best to tire them out first before settling them into individual enclosures for the night. Keeps the place nice and quiet for the evening shift fellows like yourself.

“Not yet, sadly,” Cutie says with a sigh before pointing at one of the kittens huddled up in a corner. “That one’s new, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve seen him around before.” 

“Her,” you correct. “Her name’s Hani. She’s a stray that someone from the university I’m attending brought in last week. It was pretty ugly, actually. Poor thing got into an accident and was bleeding everywhere. Good thing our usual vet was paying a visit when they came here.”

“Oh? That’s a relief then. No wonder she’s got a little limp every time she walks around,” he observes with a saddened tone. “But I digress. You mentioned you were attending university?”

…Okay, why’d the topic of interest suddenly shift to you? 

But since it’s a harmless enough question, you reply with, “Yeah. The one that’s just a few blocks away. It’s kinda why the person who found Hani brought her here instead of a vet clinic. The nearest one’s like half an hour away.”

“Good call, good call.” He nods with a look of understanding. “I hope someone comes and adopts her. She deserves all the love she can get. Well, everyone here does of course.” 

You flash him a conniving smile, raising your brows a few times. “You could give that to her.”

Cutie shakes his head with another low-pitched laugh. “As much as I’d love to, my…living conditions won’t be suitable for her at all. Or any of the other animals for the matter.”

“Hm?” You stare at him curiously. “Your landlord doesn’t allow pets or something?”

“Mmm… Not exactly.”

The conversation pretty much ends there. Cutie excuses himself—saying that someone is waiting for him at home. You don’t know why your heart deflates a little at the very real possibility that he has a significant other. Then again, if you’re this whipped when you haven’t even seen his face, you could only imagine how easy it would be for him to settle down with someone who has.

Either way, it’s none of your business. And correction: you’re not whipped. Just…hyper aware of his presence every time he stops by.

Despite the fact that you’re dead-set on filing away this strange fascination you have for the guy, however…

“Wait!”

Cutie turns around to face you with an inquisitive look. “Yes?”

You swallow thickly, deciding to just bite the bullet before your nerves get the best of you. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Cu—I mean, Glasses Guy in my head whenever you pay us a visit.”

He blinks for a few seconds, obviously nonplussed by your forwardness but you don’t think your pride can take it anymore if you had to refer to him as—

“You can call me Woo,” he says warmly and you can almost see the smile that stretches behind that black face mask.

Shit. Did your heart just stutter?

“Mister Woo—”

“Just Woo is fine.”

“Okay, Woo,” you start, kind of liking the way that something that’s obviously a nickname rolls off the tongue, “just let me know if you ever want to take Hani home. We’re open twenty four-seven, as you already know.”

He nods. “Sure thing. Is it okay if I can get your number for that?”

Now you have to fight the urge to scowl at him after he’s been so nice to you all night—and every other night he’s dropped by. 

This guy isn’t flirting with you. He said it himself—someone’s waiting for him at home! Plus, he’s expressed consistent interest in adopting a kitten for himself a handful of times before. Maybe he just connected with Hani on a level that’s above the others. Enough to ask for your number since the possibility of him bringing one of these angels home is becoming more and more real. 

Yeah, that’s definitely the reason!

So you give it to him—hastily scrawled behind an old flier gathering dust in one of the drawers on the front desk. It’s way too big to write just yours and the shelter’s contact details on, but the other calling cards are nowhere in sight. You’ll have to ask Mari if she’s seen them once—

“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch,” Woo tells you while folding the sheet of paper into a sleek black Louis Vuitton wallet.

Wait a minute.

Before you can even seriously ponder about what job he’s got to be able to afford that, Woo is already out of the door—heading into the evening streets without once looking back. 

“Gosh, I swear that guy’s an idol in disguise or something.”

That’s the first thing that Mari tells you when you find her doing a few rounds among the sleeping dogs in the far back. You haven’t even spoken a single word about your most recent exchange. 

“What makes you think that?” 

“He just exudes idol vibes, y’know? Shows up here when the place is deserted. Always acts subtle and inconspicuous. Oh and not to mention how hot he looks even with a face mask on! He could be that one idol your little sister is crazy about.” 

You roll your eyes at her odd ways of deduction. “Mari, I’ve seen enough of Haewon’s Mingyu merch to last a lifetime and Woo definitely does not look like him.”

“Oh?” Your coworker perks up with a mischievous smile. “You finally got his name, huh?”

God. This is going to be a long shift.

want to be included in the taglist? send me an ask!

#svthub #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan

[chefkids]

Carmy does not know how to do a chaos menu

They spent like 5 minutes working on it together. Carmy knows how to pair foods and what makes sense logically on a plate. But a chaos menu requires stepping outside of what's expected, experimenting, pairing two unlikely things together. We've seen Syd do that with the Etoufée and Coca Cola. Even her omelette had a bit of chaos with the potato chips. Carmy is used to cooking by the book. The closest thing they made to chaos was a savory cannoli and broth with grapes. Right now it's still looking very standard Italian. Sydney's touch is just waiting to be added. The thoughtfulness is not fully there yet, probably cause he had been avoiding thoughts of her. The menu is not done and is for sure going to get a revamp in Season 3. If my theory on her mom's family being from the Creole South is right, an Italian/Creole fusion chaos menu would make so much sense both for them and historically speaking as those two cuisines have already meshed. The muffuletta sandwich is famously a mix of those two and would fit perfectly for the window in the back. Also location wise, The Bear is on Orleans street and if Sydney's influence comes from New Orleans. It's just too perfect, yet thoughtfully unexpected.

#the bear #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #the bear season 3 predictions #the bear meta

[smallgodseries]

[image description: An eight-armed figure in a blue dress and shoes, a striped blue and white apron with the tine figure of Small God Hummel sewn on, feathered headdress and blue bakelite bracelets stands in front of a dark larder – in which outlines of food jars and dishes can be seen. They bear 5 glowing jars that seem to be candles in primary colors. Text reads, “50, Kitsch Annette ~ The Small God of Organized Pantries”]

If she could make people understand one thing and one thing only, it would be this: that food has no moral value, and that anyone whose pantry can be considered “full” is a virtuous person in her eyes, regardless of whether that fullness is kale chips and quinoa or Girl Scout cookies and pre-mixed buttercream frosting.  She cares about the quality of the shelves, their fullness and fineness, not their contents or what the latest diet craze has to say about those contents.

If she could make people understand two things, it would be that a well-stocked, well-indexed pantry is a palace beyond price, a lofty cathedral filled with miracles waiting to be mixed.  Cakes to be baked, potatoes to be peeled, spices and seasonings over which people have so very often gone to war, ready to be sprinkled over meat or folded into casseroles.  Holes in the shelves are not to be borne; a regularly updated shopping list is worth a thousand impulse buys or once-a-year stocking runs.  Every household should, in her eyes, be able to shut its doors and sustain itself for as long as plausible.  She understands all too well that not everyone can afford the luxury of a proper pantry, and she weeps for those outside the warmth and light of her hearth, whose stomachs are too often empty, whose soups, when they exist at all, are too often unseasoned.

She would feed the world, given rice enough and time.

If she could make people understand three things, it would be that another cup of water can always be added to the pot, that one more potato can always be diced into the hash, that one more egg is not so great a sacrifice, for look, the poorest among her following understand these things, make their offerings both wise and wide, fill the bellies of those around them.  For even the fullest shelf will be empty in a moment if placed before the starving, and so she will accept no hunger among her faithful that could be filled, will believe no table full when a single plate more could be placed upon it.  There is always room to feed your fellows.

She was a god of harvest once, and plenty.  She still is.

But seriously, replace your spices every four years, or they won’t be anything but faintly scented powder, and that is a blasphemy in her sight.

#small gods #smallgodseries #seanan mcguire #lee moyer #icons and stories

[seththemusehub]

cool news, I almost made it to the halfway point of the month before I had to do this shit again.

I'm disabled, currently on a liquids or super soft foods only diet, and basically have no money because I'm waiting on disability to pull through. I have been waiting for four years on that. it is probably going to take at least another two years. in the meantime, I basically try to scrape by by using bottle deposits, local food banks, and borrowing money from family who are just a few steps off from where I am funds-wise.

for context to the paragraph after this one, I had oral surgery done to remove the remainder of my teeth a while ago. I'm on a soft-foods-and-liquids-only diet. anything too solid or that turns into shards, like chips, tends to hurt a LOT. it doesn't help that I have eating disorders either. I can get sick of food REALLY fast and not be able to eat it anymore, I forget to eat for long periods of time, and I tend to binge on certain 'high priority' foods.

anyways, I made a mistake and tried to eat something Too Solid and am now basically struggling to even just drink anything. I will admit that I thought it would be fine, it was just a couple of oreos because I was tired of mashed potatoes and soup and applesauce, but uh. it's been like a week and I am still struggling to even just drink anything because it hurts. it's also effecting my sleep, because accidentally brushing against the spots in question hurts. I honestly thought it'd be fine, the last few times I've eaten stuff that's a little too solid I got over the whole thing within a day.

what do I need, exactly? well, funds so I can get stuff to eat that won't hurt again would be nice. also I hate to mention it, but I am quickly running out of toilet paper. struggling to eat in general isn't making my stomach very happy with me. if anyone can spare a couple bucks, I'd appreciate it.

my paypal: paypal.me/seththemuse

#please help #mutual aid #I don't know what to tag this as but goddamn I'm tired of doing this

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

mingyu angst / smut recs please 🥺🥺🥺

- 🤸🏻‍♂️

Mingyu angst anon? MINGYU ANGST!!

I'm so sorry this took so fucking long I am: [a terrible person]

My recs (sorry, there's not really any angst in these 😭):

this is kinda soft!dom but also mean!gyu by @kaespas and bro... it's so good. In my opinion no one does mean!svt (mean!txt too like??) quite like kaespas does. I eat their stuff up potato chips...

The very first night: i can’t read this yet BECAUSE IM WRITING A GYU EX FIC that i started last christmas and it’s ALSO a six month gap 😭 so I have to stay uninfluenced and away from this story until I’m done with it but I mean come on exes to lovers with kim mingyu? And let’s be so real 2k notes speaks for itself

A wolf in sheep's clothing by @rubyreduji: whatttttt is this another JJ fic rec from brie?? That’s crazzzzyyyyy I’m not a sub!svt conisseir BUT THIS WAS SO GOOD. Like. JUST GO READ IT.

The Real Thing by @gguksgalaxy: do you like somnophilia? :) I DO and this is baby somnophilia *hearts*

"is this everything you dreamed of?" by @8loveletters: look, it's pretty dubby. And I: [love dubcon] BUT ITS REALLY GOOD mutual pining type shit!

him or me? by @wwtneosay: in the wise words of Yeongtae: toxic, toxic, toxic but who doesn't want to read gyu getting jealous and fucking y/n like be so for real

to the brim by @toruro: you asked for mingyu smut. AND MIKA DELIVERED. if you want husband!mingyu with a breeding kink? Here you go 🤭

Excuse Me by @smileysuh: SOULMATE AUS ARE MY FAVORITE THINGS ON THE PLANET EARTH PLEASE GOD READ THIS IT'S SO GOOD (ITS JUST FLUFF WHICH YOU DIDN'T ASK FOR BUT STILL)

#mingyu recs #i’m sorry your honor? can you repeat the question #oh in that case yes #i did read these just for the rec #SOME OF WHICH SECONDS BEFORE POSTING THE REC #and if that is illegal? ARREST ME #i was very selective on what I read so it’s still a good rec list ✋ #I’m so sorry for that wait #like so very seriously honestly sorry it took me so long #i really hope it was worth the wait 😕 #b: 🤸‍♂️ anon #also i’m a classic self-sabator so 🫡

[mykneeshurt]

hi!! happy new year!! 💗

I love ur writing, and I was thinking to drop this request;

so may request some hc’s of cod task force 141 (+ alejandro, könig, graves and rudy) :))

feel free to skip this if youre busy, just wondering, happy new year :)

Sorry this one took me some time, I got too in my head about it. It was so hard to not be bitchy to Graves lmfao, Soap is my favourite enjoy! SFW. Let me know if you want NSFW ones

Price 🥃

He supports Liverpool FC, no I won’t hear any different

His favourite non-alcoholic drink is ‘builders tea’

Glenfiddich 18 is his Whisky of choice

Favourite colour is khaki green

Is the father figure of the group, strong, reliable, approachable (everything my dad wasn’t lmfao, I still love him)

He wears a plain t-shirt pyjamas to bed, sleeps on his side, one arm under his head, absolutely snores

His favourite breed of dog is a Collie, or any working dog he can walk for miles for in the country side

He absolutely loves Bargain Hunt on TV

His favourite smell is fresh gingerbread

He’d make an excellent grandfather tbh

Soap 🧼

Despite being Scottish he supports Blackburn FC, an underdog (I refuse to comment on the Celtic vs Rangers, far too much history there. And I’m Welsh, it ent for me to say haah)

He absolutely loves winding the boys up about being English

His text tone is SCOTLAND FOREVVAAAA *aggressive bagpipes*

Soap 100% sleeps in the buff

His favourite dog would be a Labrador, nice active family friendly dog

He’s a chatterbox but a good listener when he needs to be, will often give some surprisingly good advice

He’s an iPhone wanker

Absolutely a mummy’s boy, would do anything for her - he’d love to pay off her mortgage for her

His favourite smell is the cheesy paws of his dog for real

He’s not a morning person, he loves a lie in when he can

Ghost 💀

Ghost supports Manchester City, he just gives me those vibes ok?

His favourite weather is rain/storms

When he’s home from a mission he’s a bath guy, he showers all the time on base, so when he’s home it’s hot ass bath with an audio book and his bourbon

He has two cats that his neighbour looks after when he’s away, two British blue shorthairs. Called Foxtrot and Whiskey

He also loves rabbits

He loves helping beginners at the gym

His favourite tv show is The Simpsons, something easy and colourful to watch to distract him from what he’s seen

He smells like Dior Suvage (anything musky and heavy)

He’s ambidextrous

He loves a cooked dinner, beef, roast potatoes, all the veg, stuffing and all the Yorkshire puddings

He’s got his tongue pierced, I’ve seen the fan art. You can’t tell me other wise.

Gaz 🇬🇧

He gives me Arsenal vibes, so he supports them

But also supports Chicago Bears in American Football

He’s gentle, reserved so he’d have a rat as a pet, highly intelligent

Fish and chips with curry sauce is his favourite meal, a proper British geeza

He smells fresh, think a bright spring day, fresh linen and cut grass

He loves the sunshine

He’s a keen gardener, grows his own herbs and vegetables

His house is spotless, minimalist, but has a huge book collection

He loves caramel lattes despite the banter from the boys, he has a sweet tooth

Loves meeting the boys down the pub on a Sunday for a carvery

Alejandro 🌹

He’s an excellent cook, his favourite hobby when not on a mission is trying out new recipes for Los Vaqueros

This man sleeps in silk sheets, tell me he doesn’t?

He’s fiercely loyal his country, he loves Mexico and is passionate about it through and through

He’s got a great sense of humour, enjoys making people laugh

He runs marathons for charity in his spare time

His favourite subject in school was history

If you’re sad this man gives the best hugs, he’ll make you a strong ass coffee and give one hell of a pep talk

His favourite smell is fresh cocoa beans, always stealing the nibs to eat

Him and Rudy have film nights with their families when they’re home

He’s 100% a girl dad, teaches her how to shoot with nerf guns in the garden

Rudy ❤️

He has a German Vizsla called Pollito, because her legs look like chicken drumsticks

He 100% has an android phone

He’s an armature photographer in his spare time, he loves nature

He and Alejandro have personalised ringtones for each other

His favourite food is Seafood paella

He owns a small farm, sells the produce to the local area, he loves animals

He once won a poetry competition

His favourite colour is orange

Sorry but he wears lynx Africa (I like it sue me)

He likes to game in his spare time, anything from farm simulator to RPGs

König 👑

He loves drawing, anything creative, he’ll draw/paint the Austrian countryside to de-stress

He grew up on a small farm in the Austrian mountains, he has a very close family

He doesn’t like large crowds, worried people stare at him because of his height, feels claustrophobic sometimes

He bites his nails when his hands aren’t busy or covered by gloves

He’s a cat guy 100%

He’s left handed, 100% a lefty but holds his gun right handed (its a struggle, I’m left handed)

He’d like a family one day, he’s got a lot of love to give

He smells like leather, sandalwood and vanilla

He loves eating raw cookie dough, vanilla and chocolate chip

He holds the record for the hardest punch in his home town

Graves 🇺🇸

His favourite holiday is July 4th, he does a huge fireworks display whenever he’s home

His favourite food is Gumbo

He smells like Paco Rabane Invictus

He’s got 3 Dobermans, whom he loves with all his heart. Ben, Jacob and Molly

He has a white picket fence - obviously

He doesn’t have a good relationship with his father, daddy forced him into the army to gain approval

He sleeps in red plaid pyjamas and has matching slippers

He’s fluent in French, he learnt it to pick up girls

He loves hiking in his spare time, with his 3 dogs

He runs support groups for veterans on a Thursday a local library

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #john soap mactavish #soap mctavish #phillip graves #alejandro vargas #Alejandro #rudy mw2 #rudolfo parra #könig modern warfare #könig #könig cod #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #captain price #captain john price #john price #headcanon #call of duty ghost simon riley #modern warefare 2 #simon riley

[petermorwood]

Potato Crisps / Chips on Tasting History

So we've just watched Max's latest...

...and I was grinning a bit because I posted about Dr Kitchiner's 1817 (non-US, definitely non-Saratoga) crisps / chips recipe a month ago.

That image was from an American edition of his book; I've found a pic from the original - NB that these slices are floured before frying.

For reference, here's a two-penny piece from about 1797; the coin would still be current 20 years later:

...and here's how thick the potatoes should be sliced. That's 4mm, which is 2mm less than "a quarter of an inch" (6.25mm).

The slices will get even thinner as their moisture evaporates during frying, and, given the nature of recipes, potatoes cooked this way are probably even older than 1817 and Kitchiner's is just the first appearance found so far in print.

*****

The first recipe for "Game Chips" (an accompaniment to grouse, pheasant etc.) appeared, per the Wikipedia link, in a 1903 book published by famous chef Auguste Escoffier (1846-1935):

"Chip potatoes - these are potatoes cut into thin slices; this is usually done with a special plane. (A mandoline.) They are put in cold water for 10 minutes; then drained, dried in a cloth and fried until very crunchy. They are served hot or cold and generally accompany game roasted in the English style."

However, per Escoffier's Wikipedia page, much of his work was based on that of Anton Carême (1783-1833), whose dates are squarely coincident with Dr Kitchiner's Potato Slices.

Given the amount of cookery to-and-fro between England and France after the Napoleonic wars were over, it's impossible to say who first came up with the idea of potato crisps.

The French loved dainties - "un petit quelquechose", a little something - which the English pronounced and dismissed as "kickshaws", something over-fussy yet insubstantial. Yet those same English also loved roasting things with their appropriate accompaniments.

(I'm writing this just over a week after Christmas, and have been well reminded that the phrase "Roast (turkey / goose / beef) With All The Trimmings" is still in common 21st-century use.)

If those roasted things were game birds, only those above a certain level in society would be eating them, so it's not unreasonable to assume a rich-person game bird would attract fussy, time-consuming rich-person trimmings like, okay, Game Chips.

One thing's for sure, Potato Crisps - and Game Chips too, so hard luck, Escoffier - are almost certainly older than even Tasting History could prove.

*****

BTW, they also existed at a time when "English Food Was Bland" is more fake history.

Sauces put out on the table in fancy bottles had fancy labels ("bottle tickets") showing what was in them, and the contents were often far from bland.

Quin sauce was anchovy-based, hot and pungent.

Harvey's was a spicy sauce similar to Worcestershire, ketchup was probably mushroom and also spicy; the other two need no elaboration.

AFAIK the two crescent-shaped ones in the next pics are deliberate imitations of an officer's rank-gorget.

Finally a generic Not-Bland label that would go on any number of modern bottles (antique silver, yours for £250)...

*****

And after all of the above, I could do Very Bad Things to a packet of Tayto Cheese 'n' Onion. A packet?

Why stop at a packet when A Pack takes less time to say?

After all, It Is Written that:

"Reading One Book Is Like Eating One Potato Crisp Chip."

And also that Nothing Exceeds Like Excess...

#food and drink #potato crisps #game chips #Tasting History with Max Miller #Diane Duane #Reading one book is like... #...like eating one potato chip #wise words maxims and apothegms #Youtube

[creepycrawliesanonymous]

The call couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time.

You had just sat down for an episode of Community. Not even 3 minutes in, hand resting on top of an almost full bowl of potato chips, your phone lit up.

Lemon: pick us up

Lemon: now

Lemon: please

Lemon: <3 or whatever the fuck

If the other cars on the road could see smoke coming out of your ears, they wisely didn’t say anything. You pulled over in front of what was probably the grossest (yet cheapest) dive bar in all of London, which had recently gotten a new makeover to the tune of a smashed window and several broken seats both inside and outside the bar. And most notably, the two headaches that you call your roommates.

Lemon stuck his elbow into Tangerine’s ribs at the sight of your beat up Toyota Camry. With a certain amount of wincing from Tangerine, and sheepish-yet-still-angry glances from Lemon, they started to walk over to you. This was not the first time this had happened. The bar owner (a pre-calc classmate of yours from school that was held back a couple times, but that barely matters here) had stopped calling the police, knowing that the pair would be back the next day to put things in order for him. They may be heathens but they didn’t completely disregard the service industry.

Lemon opened the back door of your car and loaded up his companion into the seats, swiping away the various candy wrappers and assorted animal figurines you had floating around back there. Tangerine let out a low grumble, bringing a hand up to gingerly massage at his rib cage.

“Fucker threw me through a window.”

“I can fucking see that.”

Lemon climbed into the seat next to you, and you swiftly, while also obeying traffic laws, pulled away from the wreckage and started home.

“Honestly don’t know what he was thinking. He was being a prick the whole night. Would’ve thrown him out the window myself, to be honest.” Lemon was desperately trying to get into your good graces, but you kept your eyes focused squarely on the road in front of you.

“I can’t believe you two,” you huffed out. “Honestly, what the fuck.” You snuck a glance at Tangerine out of the rear view mirror, who was looking notably morose, yet still clearly a bit fired up from the whole ordeal. “Are you okay? You fucking idiot, don’t even think about lying to me.”

“Ribs.”

“I’ll look at them when we get home.”

Lemon moved to change the music playing, but you slapped his hand away.

“George Harrison stays on.”

He quieted down after that, seemingly content to listen to you quietly seethe. The track switched to “Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.” while Tangerine poked at his abdomen and quietly groaned. You knew in your heart of hearts that you were unequipped to properly treat whatever he had gone and done to himself. Tomorrow you would call your friend in med school to walk you through the motions, but tonight it was bandages and pain killers for him. Maybe an ice pack or two.

“I’ll get him inside,” Lemon nudged your forearm before leaving from beside you, hoisting his brother out of the car amidst various British-sounding curses (let’s be clear, from both of them, how typical). Giving them a moment, or more accurately giving yourself a moment, you leaned your forehead against the steering wheel and took some measured breaths. You knew once you properly cooled off, you’d be left with a rather embarrassing nervous vulnerability. Not to say you’d never gotten emotional in front of them, they saw you when you were a scraggly awkward teen and by some miracle that didn’t put them off, but now that you were all older you couldn’t help but become hyper aware of the growing differences between you and the two of them. You were wary with how you were finding scarier weapons in Tangerine’s room, or how Lemon started talking about gory ways to make extra money. You weren’t going to stop them, but goddamn it you were allowed to worry.

A rapping at your window knocked you out of you spiraling. “You comin’ out?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scrubbed at your cheeks and stepped out of the car. “He still cogent?”

Lemon huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, for now.” He paused, before pulling you into a hug. “Listen. I know shit’s difficult right now, and we’re both fucking idiots. We don’t like making you worry.”

You tucked your face into his shoulder, letting yourself be held for at least this small moment.

“I just need you two to be okay.”

You leaned back, swiping at any stray moisture that may or may not have collected under your eyes. He swung his arm around your shoulders, rubbing his knuckles into the top of your head, just like when you were 10. For now, that would be enough.

#bullet train #bullet train x reader #tangerine x reader #lemon x reader #tangerine bullet train #lemon bullet train #nobody comment on which brother I’m biased towards #I mean uhhhh #I love both of my sons equally

[pyraelia]

February 19, 2024 Daily Writing Challenge Day 2 Suppress/Pastel

Pyraelia frowned a bit as she considered the final piece of the care package puzzle. 

It had been easy enough to fill little airtight containers with hot broth, pork belly, cooked noodles, chili crisp and various toppings from the ramen cart Aerden liked in Silvermoon. Her delicate scrawl covered the outside of them, an enchantment she’d crafted herself locked the internal contents in time at the moment the lids had closed. When opened again it would be like no time had passed at all. 

She’d been clever enough to patent that spell, and wise enough to market it to the Horde military as a crucial, “inexpensive” component of keeping the troops fed. They’d bought in, and luckily, so had the Alliance military — alongside many other individual shipping companies. It was nice to not need the Sunmote inheritance, and her pride swelled a little as she taped pretty, iridescent paper around that part of the package to keep it safe and together. 

Next up had been another container full of two dozen “kitchen sink” cookies — the kind they’d occasionally gotten up and made together after a bit too much thistle on a hang out night. Some were chocolate chips, pretzels and peanut butter bits, others were potato chips, sea salt and caramel. Whatever was on hand to throw in and make a treat with. That box she wrapped up in a paper the color of a soft blue eggshell. 

The third was full of a mix of wrapped candies and chocolate bars from the shop near his apartment, all traditional Silvermooon staples — enough to share, just in case. That one was just a bag, but she was still able to wrap it up in a rosy quartz colored paper and stack on top. 

But the LAST piece, that was the trouble. 

She huffed, knowing she was overthinking the whole thing. He’d been out on duty for so long, it was hard to know where he’d had to pause his Captain Azeroth reading. Did they ship out to the troops? Surely they did, if requested. It was Captain Azeroth. What if he already had a bunch and was up to date? Ugh. 

Still, the man at the comics shop had been quite helpful and had pointed her toward a storyline that was being printed adjacently from the main comics. Some time loop shenanigan that had started to spiral off too much into its own, separate enough entity that the creator was pursuing it through a new run. 

That seemed safer. But what if he DID want the regular run? 

It didn’t matter. He’d be happy that she’d thought about it at all, probably. 

She’d bought the limited run, and even with all the other parts of the care package ready to go still waffled about it. Pyraelia steeled her resolve and carefully tucked the brown paper bag the comics had been put in when they sold them to her in between some of the other treat boxes. 

Then came the note. She’d already sent a card of thanks for the flowers he’d sent her for her birthday, but this felt like it maybe needed to be a bit more than that. Sana had asked her a few nights previous why she hadn’t said anything yet; did she need to? There wasn’t anything to really confess, not here on ink and paper. Of course he knew, didn’t he? 

She squashed down some of her more intrusive thoughts before putting her pen to paper. 

“Dear Aerden, 

It can be hard being so far away from home and all your favorites for such a long time. I’m sure you’re doing amazing. I sincerely hope everything included after this card will brighten your day up a little! 

There’s SO much to catch you up on when you’re given shore leave. Or whatever they call it. A break? That seems too normal. 

Anyway, enjoy and know that you are missed! 

With love,

Pyra” 

She shoved the card into a lavender envelope and boxed everything up together in a simple white box that she took to the shipping mailmentals as soon as she'd sealed it all shut. Better to get it out the door now before she could change her mind!

@daily-writing-challenge @aerdendios

[echo-stimmingrose]

Big Three Cousins Movie Night

(and nicknames)

Nico: *arriving* Hey, Pine Cone.

Thalia: Sup ghostie boy.

Nico: Where's Percy?

Thalia: Not here yet. Did you bring snacks?

Nico: Of course.

Thalia: Please tell me you brought more than just fruit snacks.

Nico: Oh please like I'd share my fruit snacks with you. I brought popcorn, M&Ms for you and blue gummy worms for Ocean Boy.

Thalia: Good then, I brought the sleeping bags and pillows.

Nico: The good ones?

Thalia: Of course! The hunters of Artemis only carry the best of sleeping equipment!

Nico: *mumbles* Only good thing about them.

Thalia: What was that, Death Boy?

Nico: Nothing.

Thalia: That's what I thought.

Nico: *growing impatient* Where is, Corn chip?

Thalia: I'm sorry.... Are you referring to Percy?

Nico: Yes. All he's been eating are fucking corn chips!

Thalia: Are they blue corn chips?

Nico: What kind of question is that?

Thalia: Yeah that was dumb. Of course they're blue!

Nico: Duh!

Thalia: But uh... Why are you so mad about his blue corn chips.

Nico: Because he's a fucking hypocrite! He told on me to Will when I was only eating fruit snacks but now he won't eat anything except the corn chips!

Thalia: *trying not to laugh* Okay then....

Nico: *rambling* and corn chips aren't even that good! Potato chips are so much better! At least they have flavor! He doesn't even dip them in anything he just eats them plain!

Thalia: Yes that is absolutely despicable of him. I mean, the nerve of some people!

Nico: Shut up, Birds Nest.

Thalia: Hey I was the whole tree, not just a birds nest.

Nico: I was referring to your hair.

Thalia: Wow, you're almost as much of a bitch as Sea Horse is.

Nico: Please, no one can compete with him on the bitchiest. Speaking of, where is Surfer Dude. He wants us to spend time together and then he's late!

Percy: *walks in*

Thalia: There's The Walking Wet Floor Sign!

Nico: *snorts* That's a new one.

Thalia: I know, it's great isn't it?

Nico: I still like "fish face"

Percy: Really guys? I just got here and you're already insulting me.

Nico: No that's wrong, we were insulting you before you got here.

Thalia: Are all fish this late to their own movie night?

Percy: At least I'm not a flightless bird.

Nico: A flightless bird and the nest all in one!

Thalia: Okay we better get the movie started before I commit two first degree murders!

Nico: Actually it would be second degree. For first degree you'd have to have premeditated, meaning you planned it. Second degree would apply here since you're doing it out of anger and in the heat of the moment.

Thalia and Percy: *no words*

Nico: *casual as can be* Also if you kill me my glow stick boyfriend will kill you so make your next move wisely.

Percy: Do I wanna ask....?

Thalia: Probably not.

Nico: I've met a lot of serial killers.

Percy: You were right, I shouldn't have asked.

Thalia: Uh huh... Moving right along! What movies did you bring, Whale Man?

Percy: Well Sparky, I brought a few I thought we could agree on.

Nico: Okay but no zombie movies!!!

Thalia: Why the fuck not? Those are the best?

Percy: Are you scared of zombie movies?

Nico: No, they're just so unrealistic it pisses me off. And no slashers either!

Thalia: Oh I am with you on that one! It's always some girl who always runs towards the killer!

Nico: Right! And it's always so predictable who the killer is.

Percy: Okay..... I've got some comedies.

Nico: No, I never understand like half of the jokes.

Thalia: You think that's cause of the Autism or the 70 years in the casino thing?

Nico: Not sure.

Thalia: You got any Romance?

Percy:.... You hate romance movies.....

Thalia: Yes but I do enjoy making fun of them.

Nico: I agree, that's a comedy I can enjoy.

Percy: No we are not watching a movie just to make fun of it.

Thalia: Why not? That's why we watched The Bee Movie.

Nico: He doesn't want to cause he enjoys cheesy romance movies.

Percy: How about a Sci-Fi movie?

Nico: Sure.

Thalia: No.

Percy: Okay... Apocalyptic?

Nico: No.

Percy: We could watch an ocean documentary.

Thalia: Only you would enjoy that.

Percy: Hey, I can understand what all of the sea creatures say, it's like an underwater soap opera.

Nico: But only you can understand.

Percy: Fine.. what about-?

Thalia: It's useless, were never going to agree.

Nico: Wanna watch the usual?

Thalia and Percy: *nods*

Percy: *puts on Ice Age Dawn of the Dinosaurs*

#multiple popcorn fights happen by the end of the night #big three kids #big three chaos #chaos cousins #movie night #percy jackson #thalia grace #nico di angelo #percy jackson and the olympians #heros of olympus #trials of apollo #pjo hoo toa #ice age #dawn of the dinosaurs

[jordie-gvf]

the christmas song, josh kiszka

warnings : fluff, domestic josh, baby wearing, holiday dinners

word count : 1.3k+

You and Josh were hosting Christmas this year. Except, this year, there was an addition to 634 Grover Lane, and that would be Ivy and Chloe.

As soon as they were born, Josh ordered an “Our First Christmas” ornament with their names on it  from the Bronners website. 

You got Christmas cards and glued the Christmas menu on the back. You mailed them out to his family in Michigan. When you were younger, all you ever dreamed of was, hosting Christmas dinner, and now you got to do that, with three other people, and a dog. 

You and Josh had sat down and planned everything you were making for dinner. You guys had approximately 7 people plus their guests. You were making a ham and a turkey, sweet potato casserole, twice baked potatoes, asparagus, brussel sprouts, and green beans for the entree. As far as appetizers, you were making homemade tomato soup with fresh croutons. Dessert wise, you had already made candied pecans, cherry pie, and apple pie. You two always planned months in advance, to get your finances together to buy all of the food. 

The themes for dinner were comfy cozy, so when you sent the invites out you made sure to specify that they could dress comfortably if they chose to.

When you woke up Christmas morning, you felt around for Josh. He wasn't in the bed next to you. You went into the girls room to see if they were in there, no babies. You heard Josh talking downstairs. 

You walked down the stairs and heard baby babbles. “Yeah? Did that really happen? That's crazy!” Josh was talking to them. You walked into the kitchen to see Josh, wearing both babies and cooking at the same time. He turned to you and you saw your babies eyes light up at the sight of you. Ivy had her head on Josh’s bare chest and Chloe had her hands stuck out towards you. You grabbed Chloe out of his hands and held onto her for a few minutes.

“Chocolate chip pancakes coming up, Mama.” Josh told you. You made your iced coffee and put Chloe and Ivy in their respective high chairs. You helped Josh carry the food over to the table. You made formula and cut their fruit real small for them. Josh put two pancakes on a plate for you and handed it to you. He grabbed some for himself and started eating.

He grabbed your hand and asked you, “How’d you sleep, Mama?” 

“Good, what about you?” you responded

“I fell asleep on you, of course I slept well.” 

You laughed at him and smiled. 

You showered and got dressed in your attire for the night and went downstairs to get started. You saw Josh on the floor with Ivy and Chloe. He was rolling around with them while they were playing. The laughter of your children made you smile.

You went into the kitchen and made some coffee. Josh came over to you and said, “I'll put them down for a nap?” You nodded and he walked away to put them to sleep. He grabbed two bottles from the fridge to give to them. He put them in the warmer and put the ring sling on. One thing Josh loved about having twins was holding them to his chest. 

He put them both in and got their bottles and gave them to them. They were able to hold them at their age. He came over to you when they were done and said, “Give kisses to Mama.”

You gave them kisses and Josh took them upstairs. You put the brined turkey and  ham in the oven to start cooking. 

Josh came back down to see you starting on the tomato soup. He asked if he could help with anything and you gave him a cutting board, a few pots, some baking pans, a knife, and the other vegetables. He caught what you were laying down and started cutting the vegetables. He put the cut sweet potatoes in a pot with boiling water and put the whole white potatoes in the oven. 

Sam had shown up first. He brought Rosie with him, her and Two Socks were siblings. Two Socks was named Two Socks because he had two white paws. They gravitated towards each other and started playing together. First thing Sam said was, “Where are my nieces?” 

Josh said, “They’re upstairs, sleeping. Leave them alone Samuel.” 

You laughed and said, “When they wake up you can go get them, Sam.” 

The food had been cooked and left out to cool off for a few minutes. You called out to Sam, “Sammy, they're awake.” 

“How do you know that?” he asked you, intrigued.

“I'm their mother, I always know.” you said to him. Karen laughed and said, “She's right Sam, a mother always knows.” Sam walked upstairs and you got them bottles ready. Jake followed Sam upstairs, racing to get to them first. 

They both came down, each with a baby in their hand. You handed them burp cloths and bottles. They sat on the couch with Ivy and Chloe, feeding them. Josh came up behind them and said, “The both of them are going to be so protected. I know it.” Jake leaned back and said, “It's crazy how much they look like you, both of them.” 

Sam piped up and said, “Unfortunately for them.” Josh hit him on the back of the head and Chloe finished her bottle. Josh grabbed the bottle from Sam and walked away to wash it. You called the three Kiszka boys over and grabbed Chloe from Sam. Jake handed you the bottle and gave Ivy to Josh. Chloe had fallen asleep on you, so you put her on the large ottoman in the living room and put a soft blanket over her. 

You walked back over and saw Ivy asleep on Karen. You offered to take her so that Karen could eat, but she said it was fine. As soon as you sat down to eat, you heard Chloe crying. You sighed and Josh stood up and said, “Eat. I've got her.” 

He tended to the oldest and took her upstairs. When he came back down, he said, “She fell asleep on the way up the stairs.” He kissed the side of your head and sat back down to eat. 

The entire Kiszka family had a wonderful Christmas dinner, Nat King Cole playing softly in the background.

You had all finished eating and Sam said, “Wait! I never come empty handed.” He got up and went to his car. He came back inside with a few large pink bags in his hand. He had them labeled, “Coco” and “Ivster”

He sat them under the tree and said, “It's clothes and a few toys.” You hugged him and said, “Thank you, Sam.” 

Ronnie and his parents were the first to leave. Then Jake and Deanna, who was one of your best friends. Sam stuck around, helping with the dishes and the overall clean up. You heard Chloe crying from their room and you went to see what was wrong. 

You saw her in her crib, arms held out. You grabbed her and changed her, then went to your bedroom. You had already been in comfy clothes, so you just grabbed a wrap to put her in. You walked back downstairs and overheard Sam and Josh. “Do you want any more?” Sam had asked him.

You heard Josh say, “God, I'd love more. But that's not up to me. I don't have to carry that weight around for 9 months and then deliver. I want a boy.” 

“You want a boy? I always saw you with girls. You're definitely a girl dad.” Sam said. 

You came up behind them as they were washing the dishes and rested your head on Josh’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, he is a girl dad.” 

#josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka fluff #josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka one shot #greta van fluff #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #gvf fic

[dreamsy990]

kingdom hearts characters as chips

me and @whole-bilk-milk have used our incredible scientific technique for character to chip analysis, and here we present the data for your viewing pleasure

sora - lays wavy original OR sunchips roxas - lays barbecue xion - lays salt and vinegar ventus - lays sour cream and onion vanitas - lays dill pickle. because theres something wrong with him

jiminy - bug chips mickey - cheddar ruffles donald - cheddar cheese quackers goofy - scooby snacks

ansem the wise - unsalted saltines ansem seeker of darkness - slutty vegan maple bbq kettle chips xemnas - unsalted baked kettle chips xehanort - kettle lightly salted chips

kairi - cape cod sea salt and cracked pepper, because it sounds interesting and then you realize its not actually as flavorful as you expected. namine - cape cod sweet mesquite barbecue OR sour cream and onion

riku - ranch pringles. i refuse to explain this. repliku - suspicious stew minecraft pringles OR onion and cream prongles

aqua - takis blue heat. because she is blue, and she is not a corn chip. terra - terra sweet potato. self explanatory terranort - terra bloody mary. more self explanatory

cloud - chex mix, because you dont think that combination of flavors should work but it really does. aerith - cape cod pink himalayan salt and red wine vinegar

axel - takis fuego demyx - funyuns and a bottle of sprite. larxene - tangy pickle doritos marluxia - sal de ibiza la vie en rose (they had roses on the packaging and sound pretentious) vexen - a couple of ice cubes and some salt in a ziplock bag xigbar - krinkle cut salt and pepper chips luxord - a poker chip saix - fun keen moon chips

#if we missed your favorite its because they arent cool (joke) #kingdom hearts #shitpost

[resi4skz]

Is it that time again? Yes it is. Here's another drabble I wrote. Lemme know if you want a part 2 :p

Pairing: ChanxReader

Title: Miroh Club

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we should," he takes a deep breath before looking in my eyes, "break up."

I blink at my boyfriend, Ben. "Where is this coming from?"

"Y/N, I can't keep doing this anymore."

"Do what exactly?"

"This!" He gestures between us two. "I can't keep on pretending that there is anything between us anymore. It's getting too tiring. I can't deal with you and your friends anymore."

So this was about him. This was always about him, my best friend since we were in diapers. Chan was the one person I won't let go, regardless of who I dated. "Okay."

Ben links in surprise. "Okay?"

"Yeah." I start to gather my things to put in my bag.

"So that's it?"

I look at him, zipping my bag. "Yup." I sling the bag over my shoulder.

"You're not even going to fight for us?"

I laugh. "You're funny, Ben. The minute my friends or anyone I care for came between us, it was always you that wanted me to leave them. It was always YOU." I point to him and walk to his apartment door. "I can't believe I wasted a year on you."

As the door closes, I half expected him to come running after me but that moment never came. I shoot a quick text to Chan.

Y/n: Where are you?

C: just finished gym so heading home, whats up?

Y/n: Can i come over?

C: yeah. Everything okay?

I don't even bother replying to him. I quickly reach my car, start the ignition and drive. I don't know why I was a crying mess by the time I parked in his driveway. And as I stood in front of the door, I rang the doorbell. But it wasn't who I was expecting to be standing behind it.

"Oh, hey!" Han, one of the roomates and very close friend of Chan. "I was just leaving to spend the weekend at Luna's."

Oh did I mention he's also dating my other best friend/roommate?

"Hannie, you know she loves coffee right?"

"Yeah?" He blinks at me, confused.

"And you know she loves sweet treats, right?"

"Are you saying I should stop by a bakery on the way?" He asks.

"That would be a wise choice," I give him a small smile as he grabs his keys and sprints to his car. I hear the engine revving as I see Chan walking towards me.

"Did Han leave?"

"Yeah."

He then looks at me, his eyes softening. "Babygirl, come here." He holds out his arms, and fresh tears fall down my cheeks as I wrap my arms around his back, sobbing into his chest. "It's okay. Let it out."

"I don't even know why I'm crying."

"Your feelings are valid," he gently pats my back. "Tell me all about it."

So I do. I tell him how Ben broke up with me for having friends that are boys. And how he was jealous of Chan. "Me?" Chan asks, munching on potato chips as we sat in the living room watching Harry Potter.

"Yeah," I scoff, reaching for a can of soda. "It's not like I'm not the only woman in the world to have so many guy friends. He didn't like how I always shared everything with you. I can't help it that we've been friends since we were in diapers."

"Where do you even find this dude?"

"Ugh," I groan. "I deleted tinder. No more dating apps."

He laughs. "Hey, in all fairness, it's his loss."

"Meh, he wasn't really my type anyway," I stated.

"And yet you dated him for 1 whole year." He laughs when I playfully hit his arm. "Hey, would you wanna hang out with the boys and I tonight? We're going to Miroh club."

I gasp. "How on earth did you manage to get in? It's impossible to even get in line."

He chuckles, as Harry finally spits out the golden snitch on the screen. "I have my ways."

----------------------------------------------------------

"Holy shit," I stare in awe as Chan and I walk inside Miroh club. It's already getting filled with people, and with the music echoing inside, there's a reason why this club is so popular. A lot of famous artists are known to visit it but tonight it's just the boys, who I see from afar and wave at Luna, who's currently sitting on Han's lap. That woman is whipped and Han is no better. But I'm happy for them.

"I'll grab you a drink and meet you there," Chan states and disappears in the crowd as I walk over to the VIP lounge. Jesus, how did Chan do this? "Hey," I say to Luna and the boys.

"Hey, you," Luna says, hopping off of Han's lap and sitting beside me. "I heard about you and Ben."

I wave my hand. "He's not important."

"Well, how about him?" She asks, gesturing towards Chan.

I whip my head towards him, chatting with someone. "Girl, be for real. He's my best friend."

"So? He's had a thing for you all these years."

"Wait, what?" I snap my head at her.

"Oh," she laughs, covering her mouth. "You didn't know? Why do you think he took his morning classes and studied his ass off so he could hang out with you at night? Why do you think you're the only one that knows the password to his laptop? And why do you think that girl is about to give him his number?"

I snap my back towards him again. The girl that Luna was talking was currently leaning against the bar, touching his arm. Sudden fury and rage flowed through my veins and I didn't know why. "And by the looks of it, I'd say you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"Mmhmm, sure you're not." She elbows me. "Tell me, are you thinking about punching that girl?"

"No." Lie.

"Okay. Are you thinking about what if he takes her number and they start dating, he wouldn't have time for you like he does now?"

"No." More lies.

"Are you thinking of stomping your way there and.....kissing him?"

"What? No!" But every fibre of my being, I wanted to walk over to him and drag him out the bar and.....

"Girl, stop denying your feelings and go get him before it's too late."

I wasn't going to lie to myself. I did have a tiny crush in high school but it soon died when we became college students. Then once we graduated and landed pretty nice jobs, I made myself busy running my bakery with Luna. "Oh, there they go on the dance floor."

I blink back to reality and watch as Chan and girl he was talking to make their way to the dance floor. The girl immediately starts dancing really close to him, seductively as he reciprocates the moves. Closing my eyes, I try to control the jealousy I was feeling but open them again to see her grinding her hips against him.

Marching my way to them, my heels clicking against the floor. My mission was to rip her hands off him. "Get your hands off him." The music was too loud for them to even acknowledge me.

Okay. This is how she wants to play? Fine. I can play that game too. I grab her arm and pry it off him. She staggers back, looking at me. "What the fuck?!"

"Back off," I yell and I grab his hand, making our way through the crowd towards the exit. I caught a glimpse of Luna swaying her hips against Han. Okay that's an image I won't be able to forget for a long time.

Once outside, the cool crisp night air feels refreshing as he yanks his arm back when we're about half a block away. "Y/N, what the fuck?"

"Did you really have to pick her?"

"Y/N, she came on to me!"

I scoff. "Didn't look like it from where I was standing."

He blinks before laughing. "By any chance," he takes a step closer to me, "are you jealous?"

My cheeks heat and scoff. "In your dreams, pal."

He laughs as he takes another step forward till we're face to face. "It's okay to be jealous sometimes."

"I told you," I snarled through my teeth as I glanced up at him. "I'm not jealous."

Then he cups my cheeks and leans in, glancing up to my eyes. "Not even now?" He whispers.

From being this close to him, I could smell his vanilla scent, going up my nostrils and igniting a fire within me. "No."

He then leans much closer till our lips are almost touching. "Now?"

My body acts faster than my mind. "Shut up and kiss me." I wrap my arms around his neck, bring him down on my lips as his arms slide around my waist. Fuck me, he even tastes divine. Why I never told him about my feelings back then is beyond me. He turns my whole body and backs me up till my back hits a brick wall. He moans into the kiss, his hands cupping my ass cheeks and giving them a tight squeeze.

"Fuck, Y/N. What took you so long?" He breathes against my mouth.

I giggle, threading my hand through his black hair. "Is it wrong to say that I want to ditch the party and have a party of our own at your place?"

He growls at my request and attacks my jaw and neck with butterflies kisses. "Chan, please. There are people around."

"I don't give a fuck."

I gasp at his choice of words coming out of his mouth. "Then," I groan as he sucked and licked at a certain spot on my neck, which would turn into purple soon. "Take me home. Because I want you, Chan."

He slowly back up, his lips swollen and his eyes filled with lust. "Fuck. We're going home."

"Which one?"

"Mine," he growls the word as his brown eyes stared into mine, the heat travelling between my legs. "Because when you scream my name, it's going to be on my bed."

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