#MICROWAVING FRIENDLY PLASTICS

[bioleaderpack]

From Takeout Waste to Compost-Ready: How Biodegradable Clamshell Containers Are Changing the Game

1. Why Packaging Matters More Than Ever in the Takeout Era

With the rise of food delivery, grab-and-go dining, and prepared meal kits, packaging has moved from back-of-house afterthought to center stage. Customers are not only evaluating what’s in the box—but the box itself.

Clamshell packaging has long been popular for its convenient, one-piece design. It keeps food secure, stacks neatly, and is easy to carry. But traditional plastic clamshells come with a massive problem: they rarely get recycled and often persist in landfills for decades.

This is where biodegradable clamshell containers step in—offering the same functionality, but made from renewable materials like sugarcane bagasse, bamboo pulp, and wheat straw fiber. These plant-based containers decompose within 60–90 days in composting conditions and don’t require plastic linings, PFAS, or synthetic adhesives.

Businesses and municipalities are now recognizing them not as a niche eco-option, but as the new standard for food packaging.

2. What Makes Biodegradable Clamshells Different—and Better

Unlike plastic containers, biodegradable clamshell containers are designed to perform under heat, grease, and moisture—without leaving behind toxic residues or long-term waste.

High-performance models offer:

Heat resistance up to 200°F, suitable for curries, pasta, and grilled dishes

Grease resistance without synthetic coatings, holding up to sauces and oils

Microwave and freezer compatibility, supporting versatile meal prep and reheating

Snap-fit or tab-lock closure, ensuring spill-free transport and delivery

Multiple compartment designs, perfect for balanced meals or portion control

They’re also compatible with compostable lids and utensils, enabling a full-service, zero-waste dining experience—whether on-site or in delivery packaging.

In practical tests, restaurants using sugarcane-based containers reported a 40–60% decrease in packaging complaints compared to traditional plastic clamshells, with customers praising both the natural aesthetic and the no-guilt disposal.

3. Why Biodegradable Clamshell Containers Are Smart Business

Going green isn’t just about values—it’s about operational benefits. Businesses adopting biodegradable containers are seeing measurable improvements in brand perception, waste handling efficiency, and customer loyalty.

Key Business Benefits:

Reduced landfill waste and contamination fees

Eligibility for composting programs and tax incentives

Positive customer response—especially among Gen Z and millennial audiences

Alignment with ESG and zero-waste commitments

Simplified logistics—stackable, lightweight, and often compatible with existing food lines

Even in cost-sensitive industries, bulk sourcing and local manufacturing have narrowed the price gap between plant-based and plastic packaging. In fact, many operators find that the long-term savings—fewer reorders, less spoilage, better reviews—more than make up for the slight unit price difference.

And as bans on plastic food containers grow globally, switching early to biodegradable clamshell containers reduces risk and ensures regulatory compliance.

Conclusion: The New Standard in Takeout Packaging Is Compostable

As foodservice evolves, so must the containers that support it. Customers are more aware, waste systems are more advanced, and climate concerns are no longer abstract. Choosing biodegradable clamshell containers is no longer a fringe decision—it’s a forward-thinking move that protects food, brand integrity, and the environment.

From street food vendors to high-end meal kit services, businesses of all sizes are realizing that packaging isn’t just something you hand out—it’s something you stand behind.

[panchhistore]

Master Your Kitchen: Essential Tools for Organization, Storage & Serving from Panchhi Store

A well-organized kitchen is the heart of every home. From meal preparation to serving guests, having the right kitchen essentials makes all the difference. At Panchhi Store, we bring you a premium range of high-quality kitchen products designed for efficiency, convenience, and style. Whether you're looking for Storage & Containers, Metal Racks, Serveware, Kitchen Tools, Plastic Racks, Lunch Boxes, or Kitchen Appliances, we have everything to make your cooking space functional and elegant.

1. Storage & Containers – Keep Your Kitchen Clutter-Free

Maintaining freshness and organization in your kitchen is essential. Our Containers come in various sizes and materials, including glass, plastic, and stainless steel, to suit your needs.

Key Features:

✅ Airtight Storage – Keeps food fresh for longer. ✅ Space Optimization – Stackable designs maximize cabinet space. ✅ Easy Accessibility – Transparent options help identify items instantly. ✅ Versatility – Ideal for storing grains, pulses, spices, and snacks. ✅ Microwave & Freezer Safe – Hassle-free reheating and storage.

2. Metal Racks – Optimize Your Kitchen Space

If you want to maximize storage while keeping your kitchen tidy, Metal Racks are a must-have. These racks help organize kitchen essentials, offering durability and efficient space utilization.

Why Choose Our Metal Racks?

✔ Sturdy & Long-Lasting – High-quality steel construction. ✔ Multipurpose Storage – Ideal for spices, utensils, and cookware. ✔ Space-Saving Design – Frees up counter space and cabinets. ✔ Rust-Resistant Coating – Ensures durability in humid environments. ✔ Adjustable & Foldable Options – Customizable to fit your storage needs.

3. Serveware – Elevate Your Dining Experience

Make every meal a luxurious experience with our elegant Serveware collection. Whether you're hosting a dinner party or serving everyday meals, our stylish options will enhance your table setting.

Our Serveware Collection Includes:

🍽 Elegant Bowls & Plates – Available in ceramic, glass, and stainless steel. 🛎 Serving Trays & Platters – Perfect for snacks, appetizers, and desserts. 🍴 Premium Cutlery Sets – Add sophistication to your dining experience. 🔥 Insulated Casseroles – Keep food warm and fresh for hours. ☕ Tea & Coffee Sets – Perfect for entertaining guests.

4. Kitchen Tools – Hassle-Free Cooking Essentials

Cooking becomes effortless with the right Kitchen Tools. Our extensive collection helps in chopping, peeling, grating, and measuring with precision.

Must-Have Kitchen Tools:

🔪 Chopping Boards & Knives – For precise and safe food preparation. 🥔 Peelers, Graters & Mashers – Make cooking quick and easy. ⚖ Measuring Cups & Spoons – Ensure accurate ingredient measurement. 🥄 Silicone Spatulas & Tongs – Heat-resistant and perfect for non-stick cookware. 🍜 Whisks, Ladles & Skimmers – Essential for daily cooking tasks.

5. Plastic Racks – Affordable & Lightweight Storage Solutions

For budget-friendly and lightweight organization, Plastic Racks are a perfect choice. These racks help declutter and arrange kitchen essentials effortlessly.

Why Choose Plastic Racks?

✔ Water-Resistant & Easy to Clean – Ideal for kitchens and pantries. ✔ Stackable & Modular – Customizable for various storage needs. ✔ Multi-Purpose Use – Store vegetables, fruits, and kitchen essentials. ✔ Lightweight & Portable – Easy to move and reorganize. ✔ Eco-Friendly Options – Made from recycled plastic for sustainability.

6. Lunch Boxes – Fresh & Healthy Meals On-the-Go

Enjoy homemade meals anywhere with our premium Lunch Boxes collection. Designed for convenience, durability, and freshness, these lunch boxes are ideal for school, work, and travel.

Key Features:

🥡 Insulated Designs – Keeps food warm for hours. 🔒 Leak-Proof & BPA-Free Materials – Safe for daily use. 📏 Various Sizes & Compartments – Perfect for different meal portions. 🎛 Microwave & Dishwasher Safe – Easy reheating and cleaning. 💼 Compact & Stylish Designs – Ideal for both kids and adults.

7. Kitchen Appliances – Smart Solutions for Easy Cooking

Upgrade your kitchen with modern Kitchen Appliances that simplify meal preparation. Our range includes energy-efficient and user-friendly appliances for everyday cooking.

Must-Have Appliances:

☕ Electric Kettles & Blenders – Quick and efficient beverage preparation. 🍞 Toasters & Sandwich Makers – Ideal for fast breakfasts. 🍰 Food Processors & Mixers – Perfect for baking and meal prep. 🔥 Induction Cooktops & Air Fryers – Energy-efficient cooking solutions. 🍚 Rice Cookers & Pressure Cookers – Effortless meal preparation.

Tips for an Organized and Functional Kitchen

✅ Declutter Regularly – Dispose of unused or expired items. ✅ Use Storage Solutions Wisely – Optimize space with stackable containers and racks. ✅ Categorize Items – Keep frequently used items within easy reach. ✅ Label Everything – Helps in quick identification. ✅ Invest in Quality Tools – Durable and ergonomic kitchen tools enhance efficiency.

Why Choose Panchhi Store?

⭐ Premium Quality – Durable and stylish kitchen essentials. 💰 Affordable Prices – Best value for money. 📦 Convenience – Easy online shopping with doorstep delivery. 📚 Wide Range of Options – From basic tools to advanced appliances. 😊 Customer Satisfaction Guarantee – Quality and customer happiness are our priorities.

Shop Now & Upgrade Your Kitchen!

At Panchhi Store, we make cooking and organizing effortless with our thoughtfully curated kitchen essentials. Explore our exclusive collection and transform your kitchen into an efficient, stylish, and clutter-free space!

🛒 Visit Panchhi Store Now and shop the best kitchen products today!

[trickphotography2]

Rooster wasn't for you. You were opposites in so many ways - he was an extrovert to your introvert. The center of attention to your wallflower. You weren't interested in a one night stand, and he couldn't offer more. So his volunteering to help with Friendsgiving was just a friendly gesture after you returned from a deployment...right?

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“Just a minute!” you called, swiping a strand of hair from your face. The knocking stopped, and you quickly washed the flour from your hands, drying them on the towel thrown over your shoulder while heading to the door.

And there, standing on your front step as the sun started to rise, was Bradley. His normally styled curls were sleep-mussed, his grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and untucked from his Navy PT sweatpants. The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”

“You’re late.” Laughing, he held up a bag of microwavable frozen corn.

“Had to turn around when I forgot my contribution.” Rolling your eyes, you stepped back to let him in, watching to ensure he removed his shoes before following you into the kitchen.

“The turkey’s already thawed and in the sink. I just need you to clean it out, and I can take it from there.” Bradley nodded, tossing you the corn before going to the kitchen. You put it in the freezer and walked to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands before resuming your spot at the counter, picking up your bread lame and staring at the unbaked loaf. A part of you wanted to do a simple score, knowing that it would just be eaten, but the hostess in you demanded a more intricate design. The indecision tore at you. To buy time, you sprinkled the top with more rice flour. 

“Can you get me the trashcan?” Bradley asked, and you nodded, quickly abandoning your project. After you set it beside him and pulled off the cover, he tossed the netting and plastic. You couldn’t help but notice his biceps flex as he shifted the turkey. But you shrunk back when he reached into the cavity and pulled out the giblets and gravy package, shaking your head at his raised eyebrow. He discarded them as you braced yourself, nose scrunching when he removed the neck. “You alright there, Duch?” he teased. 

“Gross.” 

“It’s just a turkey neck,” he said, holding it closer to you. You jumped back.

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” He laughed, edging it closer, and you raised a fist. There was a reason a condition of you hosting everyone for Friendsgiving was someone else cleaning the turkey.

“Didn’t take you for being squeamish.” 

“You would be, too, if your grandpa chased you around the house with it when you were a kid, and you had to lock yourself in a bathroom to escape.” At his barked laugh, you shook your head. “I told that to my ex, and he thought it was funny to put it in his zipper and chase me around the house with it. If floppy dick isn’t attractive, a turkey neck sure as shit isn’t.” 

Bradley choked on a laugh. For as prim and proper as you were at times - hence the callsign Duchess - you sometimes reminded everyone that you also had a military sense of humor. “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right ‘floppy dick,’” he smirked, dropping the neck into the trash. 

Shrugging, you glanced away from him when the oven beeped, alerting that it was preheated. “You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.” A rosy flush crept up his cheeks as he turned back to the turkey and forced a laugh. Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick. “Put it in this afterward, and I’ll dry it.” After dropping the roasting pan beside him, you rewashed your hands.

Standing in front of your bread, you bit your lip to keep from giggling as you contemplated scoring a dick into the dough but decided to go with a traditional wheat stalk. To your surprise, he grabbed the roll of paper towels by the sink and patted the turkey dry, even the cavity. As you removed the Dutch oven from the preheated oven, he tied up the trash bag and took it out. After putting the bread into the oven, you set the timer and moved to the sink, glancing at Bradley when he came back in. Standing beside you, he reached for the soap and lowered the water temperature before scrubbing his hands. Removing the hand towel from your shoulder, you draped it over his after drying your hands. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Thanks for taking care of the turkey.” Standing by the island, you crouched to retrieve a cutting board. The sound of other cabinets closing made you peek over the countertop to see him rooting through the overhead storage. “Are you looking for something?” 

“Coffee mugs.” Biting back a retort about making himself comfortable, you pointed to the right of the stove. You bit your tongue when he grabbed two mugs - including your favorite - and went to the wet bar where the full pot was finished brewing. Placing the cutting board on the counter, you grabbed a knife from the block and were surprised to see a mug of coffee beside your workstation. Murmuring your thanks, you grabbed the creamer from the fridge along with packages of herbs and butter. “What are you making?” Bradley asked.

“A marinade since I didn’t brine the turkey.” 

“You want a hand?” 

“I’ve got it,” you said automatically. “I’ve got a schedule.” He didn’t need to know that you were already behind after falling asleep on the couch early last night and forgetting to set your alarm. And he definitely didn’t need to know that you’d only been awake for 20 minutes before he arrived. If you put your head down and focused, everything would still be ready to eat at the agreed-upon 3:00 PM. Some of your time to get yourself ready would just have to be sacrificed. For some reason, you’d insisted that everyone dress nicely for Friendsgiving. Wearing a uniform almost every day didn’t give you any opportunities to dress up, and sometimes it felt nice to wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt. 

Setting your tablet up, you navigated through the bookmarked recipes and rinsed the herbs before pulling them from the stems. Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest. 

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”

That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” It had taken months to get your home exactly how you wanted it. After twelve years in the Navy, you were ready to put down some roots, and buying a home had seemed like the smart thing to do. Living in a construction zone for the last year hadn’t been fun, but a well-timed deployment meant you weren’t there for the worst of it. The results were worth the pain, and you’d jumped at the chance to host when you got back and realized most of the squad had no plans for Thanksgiving. You couldn’t wait for them to see the changes in the Craftsman that had been a definite fixer-upper when you purchased it. The kitchen had been completely gutted and replaced with double ovens and quartz countertops, and the smaller kitchen island had been moved and changed to a wet bar with a wine fridge, replaced with an oversized one. The popcorn texture was scraped from the ceiling throughout the house, the floors redone, and the walls painted. The primary bath had been updated with a large soaker tub and walk-in shower, and you loved the giant closet. The guest bathrooms still needed work, as did the yard, but those were projects for later. 

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board. Bradley wasn’t for you. You were too different - he enjoyed nights out at the bar, while you liked to spend time at home. He liked being the center of attention while you preferred to blend into the background. Besides, he didn’t seem much like a relationship guy, given the number of flings he had at the Hard Deck, while the idea of casual dating gave you hives. Pushing away from the counter, Bradley reached under the sink for a trashbag, putting it into the can before washing his hands. He moved closer, nose twitching slightly at the scent of rosemary, and braced his big hands on the countertop beside you. “Alright, what can I do?” 

“You don’t - ”

“Lemme help.” His eyes met yours, smiling when you sighed. 

“Fine. The meat injector is in here,” you said, bumping one of the drawer handles with your hip. “And I’ll need the chicken stock from the pantry.” Pouring the stock, herbs, and a couple of sticks of butter into a stockpan, you handed Bradley a silicone spatula and told him to stir. You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it. Reluctantly, you agreed. Once the marinade had cooled, the bird was given a second drying, you had finished the coffee, and Bradley had rewatched the video three times, it was time. He studied the turkey through narrowed eyes as you tried not to laugh. “You want to - ”

“Ah!”

“The breast and thighs - ”

“I’m doing it, Duch,” he cut you off. 

“Well, remember that if it turns out dry.” The unimpressed look Bradley shot you made you grin as you put your chin in your hand and motioned for him to proceed. The tip of his tongue poked through his lips as he filled the injector and hovered the needle over the turkey. His eyes darted to you, and you raised an eyebrow. “You can tap out at any time, Rooster.” Instead of replying, he pierced the meat and pushed down on the plunger. You couldn’t help but laugh when he yelped, marinade spraying in his face after pushing too hard. But when he reached to wipe it away, you caught his hands. “Don’t put turkey germs all over your face,” you scoffed, towing him toward the sink. You held his chin while cleaning his face with wet paper towels. 

“Now you’re just messing with me,” he chuckled when you scrubbed his mustache, but he didn’t pull away. His breath was hot on your hand, and his smile soft when you reached up to dab away a speck of garlic in his eyebrow. Balling up the paper towel, you shook your head. 

“Wash your face with soap to make sure you don’t get salmonella. Cyclone’ll kill me if you’re out with food poisoning.” Turning on the water, you ensured it was warm before getting a clean washcloth. The oven timer beeped as you dug through the linen closet, and you hurried back into the kitchen, throwing the towel on the sink beside him and grabbing the pot holders to take out your bread. Once it was on the wire rack to cool, you moved to the turkey. 

“What’re you doing?” Bradley demanded, turning while drying his face. 

“Taking over.” You gasped when he closed the space between you in a few strides, wrapped his arm around your waist, and lifted you away from the counter. “Bradshaw! What the hell?”

“Told you I’m doing it,” he chuckled in your ear. Once back on your feet, you spun in his hold and stared at him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his cocky smirk. 

“Fine, but if you waste more of my marinade, you’re out of my kitchen.”

“Deal.” 

Thankfully, there were no further incidents, but you kept a close eye on him while slicing up a loaf of bread you’d baked two days before and let go stale for stuffing. After covering the roasting tray with tin foil, the bird went back into the fridge to rest for a few hours. “Thanks, Rooster. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“What else can I do?” 

“You don’t - ” 

“I want to help. I haven’t…” his eyes dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.” 

Everyone on the squad knew that Bradley’s parents had passed when he was young. He didn’t mention them often, but you noticed he’d get quiet sometimes when people talked about their families. So his volunteering the information felt important, and glancing at the clock showed that you were still behind schedule. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes. 

“Don’t look so happy - you’re doing prep work. You can peel potatoes, assemble the veggie tray, and roast the garlic. I need to work on sides and desserts.” 

And he did. Bradley followed your instructions, grimacing while peeling potatoes over the trash can until you took out a plastic bag and put it in the sink for him to do it there. You kept an eye on him as he cut the spuds into uniform pieces after explaining that they wouldn’t cook evenly for the mashed potatoes, somewhat worried that he would cut himself. Rather than deal with the onions, you delegated the task and tried not to laugh at his near-constant sniffles and swipes at his watery eyes as you diced peppers. Once you dug out the hand-me-down crystal platters, he arranged the veggies you’d prepped the night before while making pies. Dips were mixed, and cans of olives and bottles of pickles were opened and drained before being plated.

Other than bumping into one another when going for the fridge at the same time, it wasn’t too bad sharing the kitchen. The coffee pot was quickly emptied, and Bradley brewed another between shredding blocks of cheese. You sang along with your playlists, his deep voice joining on a few songs while teasing you about others. When you sang about karma being a kink, he watched your hips sway at the sink, clenching his jaw when you sang a breathy ‘oh god.’ 

He slid the roasting tray into the oven when the turkey was rested and ready to cook. “Now what?” he asked, turning to look at you. 

“Now we keep an eye on it for about four hours. Baste and re-inject it every hour or so,” you shrugged. A glance at his watch showed it would be almost 2:00 PM by the time it was ready. As though realizing it would still be hours before eating, his stomach grumbled its discontent. He blushed when you smirked. “I guess the least I can do is make my sous chef breakfast. Get the muffins and butter from the fridge for me.”  

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.

“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by sizzling butter. His gaze met yours when you glanced up at him, and a smile tugged at his mouth. 

An image of reaching up to bury your fingers in his messy curls and tugging his mouth down to meet yours flashed through your mind. Your fingers twitched with the urge to do it, eyes drifting to his mouth and lingering there for a moment too long. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you forced yourself to look away, heat creeping into your face. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached up to shift a strand of hair that had fallen from your messy bun. “I’m glad you're back, Duch,” he said, voice slightly raspy. 

Forcing a laugh, you plated two muffins and handed them to him. “Everyone misses the mom friend of the group when she’s deployed.” Your eyes darted to his stomach when it growled again, just in time to see the front of his sweats twitch. Pretending you didn’t see it, you nodded to the living room. “The parade is recording if you want to watch it.” 

Bradley opened his mouth as though he would say something before taking the apparent dismissal. Alone in the kitchen, you touched your cheek and felt warm skin. With a deep breath, you grilled yourself a muffin as the sound of the broadcasters came from the living room. After topping up your coffee, you joined him. He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. Sitting on the opposite side, you crossed your legs and let out a soft groan. Only a couple of hours standing in the kitchen and your back was already starting to protest. “What else do you have to do this morning?” he asked after a moment.

Mentally running through your list, you sighed. “I need to do some cleaning and get into the attic. I’ll start cooking a bit closer to noon, so things just have to be warmed up.”

“What do you need from the attic?” 

“My nice china. My parents bought my sister and I sets for our hope chests when we were kids.”

“What’s a hope chest?”

“You know, stuff you’d need once you get married?” When his eyebrows shot up, you shrugged. “They weren’t really serious about it - it was more of a joke. But, every once in a while, they’d buy something for us and put it away for when we were older and say it was for our hope chest.” Taking a bite of muffin, you gave him a sad smile, “Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.” Something passed over Bradley’s face but disappeared in an instant. Wanting to change the subject, you asked, “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing. It’s just another Thursday.” When you frowned, he lifted a shoulder. “A couple of times, I went to the Officer’s Club, or someone would invite me over. But most of the time, I just make myself a turkey sandwich and catch up on sleep. What about you?”

“If I’m not with my family, then this. When I first commissioned, I went to the O-Club with some friends but missed cooking and hanging out. And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. “So I invited a couple of people from my squad over, and that was that.” 

“It’s a lot of work.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But it’s worth it.” Bradley’s fingers curled around his plate and in his sweatpants, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. When he shifted forward, you quickly stood and reached out your hand for his empty plate. “Do you want another one?” Shaking his head, he stood and took your plate. 

“Do you?” Swallowing hard, you shook your head and watched him walk back into the kitchen. Biting back a groan, you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself. Things had been…different… since you’d gotten home. And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. He was still there, partnering for foosball in the Ready Room and coaxing you to go to the Hard Deck. Making sure that you sat next to him in briefings. Offering to look at your car when it made a noise.

Friends. That’s what friends do for each other. After all, he did the same for Nat. 

Collecting the empty coffee mugs, you followed him to the kitchen and watched as Bradley cleaned up the mess and set it in the sink. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around, Rooster. I can handle getting everything ready.” 

“I’m happy to help if you want me here. I’d just sit at my house watching TV and wait to come back if I went home.” 

Chewing the inside of your lip, you bit back a wave of want. “Don’t think this gets you out of the dress code,” you replied, forcing your voice to be cool while allowing your eyes to run the length of him. “I’m serious - slacks and button-downs, not sweats.” 

Laughing, he snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure I run home and change to pass your inspection.” 

The rest of the morning was a blur, punctuated by moments of stark clarity. 

Bradley’s hands on your waist as you climbed down the attic stairs. 

Biceps flexing as he carried your Christmas tree to a spare bedroom to set up tomorrow.

His elbow bumping yours as he dried the china and set it aside.  

The look of concentration on his face when he basted and injected the turkey again.

His body passing close to yours as he emptied the dishwasher and you assembled dishes.

Just after noon, he went home to get ready while you showered. People were due to arrive around 1:30 PM, and you were back on schedule with your unexpected assistant. 

Sooner than you expected, there was a knock at the door. Groaning, you capped your mascara, shimmied into your black sheath cocktail dress, and went to answer it. Bradley stood on the porch, having changed into a pair of slacks and one of his nicer Hawaiian shirts, hands in his pockets. Folded over his arm was a coat, and he grinned at you when he caught you looking at it. “Wasn’t sure if I would pass inspection without a sports coat,” he chuckled, allowing his gaze to rake over you. A flush rose on your cheeks as you reached behind yourself to pull up the dress zipper. It caught just above the top of your thong.  “You look… you’re fine.” Chuckling, he shook his head. 

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.

“There’s a hook and eye at the top,” you said and inhaled sharply when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne enveloped you, and you bit back a moan when his hand moved to your lower back and tugged the zipper up. After a beat, you turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at you, hand resting on your waist. 

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. Your hands itched to move to his chest. Bradley’s eyes drifted to your lips, and your breath caught as his fingers flexed around you. If asked, you would have sworn you felt the lightest pressure pulling you closer - but then someone knocked on the door. Stepping out of his hold, you smoothed your hair down and ignored the brief moment his hands hung in suspension before being shoved back into his pockets. 

“I came early to see if you needed a hand,” Phoenix said when you opened the door. In her hands was a tray, and she’d also chosen a cocktail dress for the occasion. Her normally tied-back hair was loose around her shoulders. 

“Hey,” you smiled, hoping that you weren’t blushing. Nat’s eyes shifted over your shoulders and narrowed slightly. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you - seeing of Duch needed help.”

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.” 

“The guy who hates cooking is in charge of the main dish?” Nat smirked. “Probably would have been better letting Hangman fry it.”

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. Stepping back to let Nat into the house, you accidentally bumped into Bradley, who held your hips to steady you. Quickly moving away from his touch, you took the tray from her and motioned for them to follow you into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to put any drinks out, but there’s some coffee left and wine chilling. I still need to make the cocktails, but there’s also soda and flavored water.” The two followed you, exchanging a look that you missed.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Bradley tossed his coat onto the wet bar and moved to the oven, flipping on the light to check the turkey before glancing at his watch. “I need to do the last basting, right?” 

“It’s about that time,” you agreed, glancing at the clock. Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. 

You could feel Nat watching as you worked together to remove the turkey and then return it to the oven, popping olives into her mouth and smirking. “Looks like you guys have it down,” she said. “Don’t need my help at all.”

“Nope,” Bradley said, drowning out your, “You can feel free to relax.” 

“Might as well do something since I’m here,” she shrugged, pushing off her elbows. “What can I do?” 

And so, with a third set of hands, you set them to making large batches of seasonal cocktails while you cut the bread you’d made that morning, covering it with slices of brie and dried cranberries before drizzling it with honey. A quick scroll through your schedule gave you the times to start cooking, and you preheated the second oven.

The house slowly filled as more of the squad arrived. Countertops were quickly covered with their contributions - thankfully, more than beer and wine, and only a few sides repeated -  and you mentally shifted your schedule to accommodate the additional dishes.

Mav, Penny, and Amelia were the last to arrive, with her new bartender, Georgia, in tow. Penny had asked you if she could invite her, given that the woman was new to the area and didn’t have anywhere else to spend the holiday. You’d replied with, “The more, the merrier,” just like you had for everyone else’s requests to bring a guest. 

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. And, while she’d adhered to the dress code, you weren’t exactly thrilled to see that her breasts were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress. 

“You need anything, Duchess?” Payback asked, setting down the pitcher of spiced ginger pear and bourbon. 

“I’m good,” you replied, wiping your hands on the dish rag thrown over your shoulder and blowing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Turkey should be done in a few minutes; once it rests, we can eat.” 

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, glancing over at your full house. Aviators were sprawled across your living room and spilled out into the backyard. It was exactly what you’d hoped for when redesigning the house - plenty of space to comfortably entertain. 

“I’m happy to, Payback,” you smiled, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. “Beats having a quiet house for the holidays.” 

“Want me to get the turkey out for you?” 

“I’ve got it covered,” a voice said behind you, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Bradley's slightly sharp tone as you pulled away from the hug. 

“Got it,” Payback replied, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Duch.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned to face the man behind you and forced a smile. 

“I’ll clear off a spot on the stove for you to put the pan, and then we’ll let it sit for half an hour.” 

“Then it’ll be done?”

“Then you’ll have officially made your first turkey,” you nodded. When the timer went off, Bradley quickly pulled the bird from the oven and set it on the stove, closely inspecting his work. 

“Does it look right?”

“Yes, relax.”

“Did you make it?” a smokey voice asked, and you felt your shoulders rise. Glancing at Georgia, you saw Bradley’s eyes dart between you.

“He did,” you answered, smiling at the woman. 

“I just followed her directions,” he replied. 

“It looks great!” Georgia giggled. Forcing a smile, you undid the apron strings and pulled it off before excusing yourself. You could feel eyes on you as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom and shut the door, retreating to your en suite.

After washing your hands for the millionth time, you quickly applied lotion while examining your appearance in the mirror. Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing. 

Not that you were trying to grab anyone’s attention.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you, and you peeked out to call, “Who is it?”

“Rooster.” Glancing back in the mirror, you saw your cheeks were slightly pink and scowled at your reflection.

“Get it together,” you hissed before turning off the light and going to open the door. And there he was, smiling down at you.

“Your phone was going off,” he said, holding up your cell. When your eyes flitted toward it, the device unlocked to show your family group chat was going off. Taking it from him, you swiped up to see videos and pictures. A smile crept onto your mouth as you clicked the first and heard your older sister’s voice.

“Guess what?” she said before tossing a card down and throwing her hands up. Cheers and laughs broke out, and you could hear your nephew complaining as your grandmother said, “Looks like Mom won!”

The camera panned to show your other nephew licking whipped cream off his pie, utterly unfazed by the family now pounding on the table in a drumroll. Catching Bradley’s interested expression, you moved so he could see the screen. Scrolling through the other videos, you watched your mom roll down a hill with the boys and your dad holding a glass of wine with your brother-in-law. The sight made your heart clench, and you sighed. Being away from family on the holidays was the worst. Thankfully, they all understood that your job didn’t always give you the flexibility to be with them.

“Looks like a fun group.”

“They are. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with them.” He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something else in his eyes. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mav’s already told me I’m spending it with him and Penny.”

“Sounds like fun.” You knew a complicated dynamic existed there but didn’t want to pry. His shoulder lifted, eyes drifting to your now dark phone. And that’s when you recognized the look on his face - longing. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” When he saw your unconvinced expression, he sighed. “Holidays kind of suck when you don’t have family.” 

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Something in his expression changed when you said his name and reached out to touch his arm. His eyes darted from your hand to your face, and you quickly pulled away. But he was faster, catching your fingers and holding tightly. Your breath caught with the intensity of his gaze, and he stepped into your room. His breath was warm on your face when you refused to retreat. Lifting your chin, you saw his throat bob when he swallowed.  

“Hey, there’s a timer going off,” Bob called down the hall. 

“Be right there,” you yelled back, pushing lightly against Bradley’s chest and forcing space between you. But when you tried to shake off his hand, he held fast. “I need to go, or something will burn,” you breathed. Reluctantly, he nodded and released you. 

You’d already removed the green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese from the oven when Bradley reappeared. Unsurprisingly, Georgia glued herself to his side as he sipped his drink. Though you could feel him looking at you, you refused to meet his gaze. 

When everything was ready, you looked over your kitchen and nodded approvingly. When the guys offered to carve the turkey, you turned them all down and delegated that task to Bradley.  “He earned it,” you said, glancing at him before busying yourself with opening another bottle of wine. With Coyote and Fanboy at his elbows critiquing his cuts, you steered clear of that part of the kitchen and chatted with Penny while pulling out silverware. 

Hangman refused to let you go around the room and tell people that food was ready, instead pulling out a chair and helping you stand on it before whistling loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s served!” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, his arm around your hips to keep you steady. “Thank you for bringing something, and please help yourself. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone - I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” Lifting your wine glass, you took a quick sip and laughed when Hangman lifted you off the chair to set you back on the floor. 

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, so the group spread into the living room. You took a few pictures and sent them to your family. 

Someone stepped in front of you, pulling your attention from your phone. “You’re not gonna eat?” Bradley asked. 

“Just waiting for the line to clear,” you replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head. 

“Come on, Duch.” His fingers curled around yours, drawing you from the counter and into the line. Grabbing one of the smaller salad plates, you let him push you in front of him, taking small amounts of almost every dish while he served himself larger portions. After topping up your wine, you walked to the living room and felt him behind you, ignoring Georgia's attempt to get his attention. He motioned for you to take the last spot on the couch and sat on the floor. “Jesus,” he moaned after taking the first bite of turkey.

“Mmmm,” you agreed. “You did a good job.”

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face. 

Dessert was eaten, and the last bottle of wine finished before 7:00 PM. The house felt quiet as it slowly emptied, and you hugged everyone goodbye. Already, tentative plans for a Christmas party formed even as you fought off a yawn. After assuring Penny that you were fine cleaning up, she left with Mav and Amelia in tow. 

Which left only Bradley. 

The sound of running water drew you back into the kitchen, and you paused in the doorway at the sight of him rinsing silverware and loading the dishwasher, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “I can take care of that,” you said quickly. Bradley glanced at you and shook his head.

“Relax, I’ve got it. Can the plates go in here, or do they need to be hand-washed?”

“They can go in there.” Ignoring the order, you walked around the house, picked up empty glasses and forgotten dishes, and set them by the sink. Donning your apron, you surveyed the leftovers, “Did you want any of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a plate.” Nodding, you started to put the food away. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot left. Everyone had been happy to take leftovers, and you were glad you’d had the forethought to buy containers for them to keep. 

The silence was comfortable, and you were stifling yawns with the back of your hand. Between the turkey, wine, and lack of sleep the night before, you were ready to change back into comfy clothes and pass out. Without prompting, Bradley started to cut up what was left of the turkey, placing some in the containers you’d portioned for him before putting the rest in the fridge. You started the dishwasher when it was full and wiped down counters. After tossing the rest of the turkey, he took the trash out.

When the door swung shut, you took the opportunity to stretch, moaning when your back popped before bending at the waist and letting your arms dangle. As much as you enjoyed hosting, your body took a beating, being on your feet all day. You would definitely need to invest in some mats to make the kitchen floor more comfortable before your next full day of cooking. 

Even when the door opened, you felt too good stretching to stand up straight. You heard Bradley chuckle and then the sound of water running, followed by the snap of a trashbag being shaken out. Finally, you stood and threw out a hand to steady yourself when the world spun. Hands wrapped around your hips and drew you closer. “You okay, honey?” 

The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.

“Duchess,” he corrected. 

“Rooster.” Your hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers clenched around your hips. Taking a deep breath, you felt your chest brush his. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “What?” 

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.” 

“What?” you breathed, shock written across your face. 

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.” 

“T-the Hard Deck?”

“Yup. Before you deployed.” Heat rushed to your face at the memory - or lack thereof - of your going away party. There had been one too many shots, and you had a vague recollection of Bradley driving the Bronco. Of him telling you not to throw up while he helped Nat into her apartment before taking you home. Half carrying you to bed and making sure you had water and medicine - warm hands on your face and a raspy laugh.  

“When I was drunk?”

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” 

“Roo - ”

“I am. A relationship guy,” he clarified, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “For the right woman.” Your mouth was dry, unable to force out a single word. “I was gonna say something before you left, but you avoided me. And then you were gone for three months.”

“I… you messaged me.” 

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to say over email,” Bradley chuckled. “I like you too.” 

“What about Georgia?”

That drew him up short, and a confused look crossed his face. “The bartender?” 

“Yeah. She… I mean, she’s clearly interested. And more your type.” Groaning, he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” That drew a snort from you, and Bradley pulled away to smile at you bashfully. “Gimme a chance, Duch.” 

Hesitating a moment, you took another deep breath and gave the butterflies in your stomach free rein. Hands shaking, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded, unable to keep from matching his smile. 

Moving slowly, as though afraid to spook you, Bradley leaned down and brushed his nose to yours. “As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” Biting your lip, you could only nod, leaning away as he tugged it over your head, balled the apron up, and tossed it behind you. With his hands back on your hips, he walked you backward and lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your knees. “This alright?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. His breath ghosted over your lips and - 

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned when his phone started to buzz. You jumped, feeling the vibration against your shin, and laughed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, feeling his lips on your throat. When he reached into his pocket and scowled down at the screen, you saw Nat’s name before he sent the call to voicemail. 

Leaving the phone on the counter, he smirked and guided your legs around his waist as your arms went around his neck. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you. In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused long enough for you to slap the walls until the lights turned off before walking toward the couch and lowering himself onto it. Your knees dug into the cushion on either side of him, forcing the hem of your dress higher. 

From this angle, he had to look up at you. Hands migrated from your ass to thighs, callouses lightly scraping and fingertips darting under the fabric to trace shapes on your skin and drag the hem higher. Lightly, you ran your thumb along the scars on his chin before ghosting over the ones on his cheek that had always intrigued you. A moan rumbled from his throat as he followed your touch, mustache tickling the delicate skin of your wrist. Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?” 

Rather than answer, you turned and kissed him - just a light brush of your lips against his that seemed to catch him off-guard. You stared at one another for a long moment until he guided you closer. His mustache prickled, not unpleasantly but different, when he kissed you again. It was sweet and unhurried, a direct contradiction to the hardness you felt straining against his zipper. 

Pulling away, you smiled tentatively down at him, seeing the remnants of your lipstick on his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to them. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” 

“You like me?” 

“Yeah. You like me?” 

Rather than reply, you captured his lips again. “Drunk words,” you said between kisses, “are sober thoughts.” He barked a laugh before tugging you closer and licking into your mouth. 

“Shoulda said something earlier,” he chided, gripping your ass tightly. “Coulda been doing this for a long time.” 

“Blame the tequila.” The word came out as a moan when he trailed kisses down your neck, and you felt him smile. 

“Thank god for tequila,” he mumbled, nuzzling your breasts and making you grind down on him. Bradley caught your hands when your fingers trailed down his chest to tug at his shirt. “Nuh-uh, honey. Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”

“What?” 

“No more ‘hoe phase.’” 

“Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.

“No, Duch. Wanna do this right with you.” 

“I’ve heard the stories. I know you would.” When you rocked against him, he pinned your hand at your lower back and stilled you with a hand on your hip. He growled your name and smirked when your thighs clenched.

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” Heat flooded your face, and he chuckled again. Without warning, he stood, and you squeaked, trying to keep from falling. But he held you steady and set you on your feet, towering over you. “Can I stay over?” You didn’t hesitate in nodding, and his kiss was rough before he pulled away and swatted your ass. “Go get ready for bed while I lock up.” 

When you emerged from the bathroom, face cleaned and in your panties and a tank top, Bradley was lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers. Groaning, he looked at you and shook his head. “Where are those sweats from this morning?” 

“You want me to wear sweats to bed?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe and raising an eyebrow. His hand drifted down to his hard cock, squeezing lightly. “You’ve seen me in less at the beach.”

“Trying to do this right, honey.” Rolling your eyes, you walked to your dresser and pulled on sweatpants before digging out a pair of fuzzy socks. He laughed when you tossed them at his head, setting them aside as you circled the bed to lie beside him. Quickly, he pinned you beneath him, settling in the cradle of your thighs. As he licked into your mouth, you felt his hips rolling against yours. “Still too damn sexy,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Housewife lingerie does it for you?” you teased, running your hands through his hair. Rather than answer, he looped an arm under your knee and drew it up, allowing you to feel him better. “Fuck.”

“Not tonight.” 

And, unfortunately, he was true to his word. Anytime your hands strayed to his boxers, he pinned them over your head, seemingly content to tease and kiss all night. 

Eventually, though, you could no longer keep from yawning. After setting his alarm - Bradley was on duty in the morning while you’d taken the day off - he tucked you against him, your back to his chest. His cock pressed against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, hand slipping under your shirt to brush the underside of your breast. Sighing, he murmered, “Best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.” 

You couldn’t help but agree.

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

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly.

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[hartleychristopher]

Okie I have a request for a josh and Chris meeting the reader in highschool for the first time and they became friends through like comic books or like the newest game that came out because they are nerds just for fun

If you don't want to do this it's Okie

Issue #1: First Encounter

Parings: Chris x gn!reader, Josh x gn!reader (either platonic or flirty 😏 you decide) (no prank au)

Warnings: cheesy banter bc it’s fun! Okay? sue me.

Summary: you go to the comic book shop in search of a back issue, what you find are new friends in the shape of two dorks that come as a package deal; Chris and Josh. It seems you’ve been adopted as the third wheel in their bromance whether you like it or not.

A/N: hiii I love this! My two favorite boys 🥹 I hope it’s okay they’re in college in this, I know you requested high school but I prefer to write about them as adults :) (dating a lot of (only) nerds and having a base knowledge on comic books came in handy for this ask!)

You’re halfway through flipping through the back issues, elbow-deep in plastic sleeves and crossovers, when someone bumps into the end of the display with a soft thud.

“Ah, crap—sorry. I didn’t think anyone was back here.”

You look up to find a tall guy with glasses and a beanie, shoulders hunched like he’s startled himself as much as you. He’s wearing a Watchmen hoodie, already slightly pilled at the cuffs. Definitely a regular.

You give him a quick once-over and shrug. “It’s fine. no casualties”

He gives a half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Cool. That’s… good. Uh, I wasn’t, like, creeping or anything, I just—” He gestures vaguely at the boxes. “I’m on a mission.”

“Let me guess: Green Lantern?” You smirk.

His face lights up, almost embarrassingly so. “Rebirth! Yes! You get it”

Before you could respond, another guy steps around the corner—leaner, with that kind of practiced casualness that probably made him popular without trying. He takes one look at the two of you and raises an eyebrow.

“Chris, are you harassing strangers in the wild again?” he asks, smirking. “Can’t take you anywhere” he teases him.

Chris makes a noise that was half protest, half panic. “What?! No! I just bumped the shelf! I wasn’t—th-they were already here!”

“Relax, man, I’m messing with you,” the new guy says, shooting you a quick, easy smile before he sticks out a hand. “Josh. That’s Chris. He’s harmless. Socially clumsy, but harmless.”

You hesitate a second before shaking his hand.

Josh’s eyes wander to your bag when he lets go of your hand. “I like the Moon Knight patch. Taste.”

Chris nods quickly like he was just now noticing. “Oh—yeah, that’s awesome. Moon Knight’s underrated. like, so many people just watched the show and bailed, but if you actually read—sorry, I’m rambling”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you guys do this often? Corner people in the back issues section?”

“Corner?” Josh repeats, mock offended. “No, this is mutual proximity. We’re just friendly.”

Chris looks like he wants to crawl into a long box and close the lid. “we—we’re not trying to be weird. I swear. We just—uh, like comics. And your patch’s cool, that’s all”

You glance between them. Both clearly nerds, but in wildly different flavors. Josh had the confidence of someone who knew he could talk his way into or out of anything. Chris looked like this was the most intense social interaction he’d had all week. Maybe month. But neither of them gave you that creepy gut feeling. Just… harmless dorks. Maybe even kind of funny, in a secondhand embarrassment kind of way.

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You two always come as a set?”

“Unfortunately,” Chris mutters under his breath.

Josh ignored him. “Usually. Trivia nights, midnight releases, occasional accidental arson in the microwave when someone tries to reheat pizza on foil…” Josh gives Chris a pointed look.

“That was one time,” Chris mumbles, visibly dying.

You tilt your head. “There’s trivia?”

Josh perked up. “Yeah—The Kettle Café, Thursday nights. Comics, movies, all the nerdy stuff. We bombed last week because someone forgot the name of Thor’s Second Hammer.”

“It’s called Stormbreaker, and I had brain fog,” Chris shoots back.

You look down at the issue in your hands. You had fully intended to be in and out of this place in under ten minutes. But now you had two dorks standing in front of you; one melting, one grinning—and for some reason, you weren’t quite ready to bolt.

Josh raised his brows. “You should come, we could use someone who actually reads Moon Knight”

you considered. “If it turns out to be just the two of you playing against each other and quoting The Big Bang Theory for two hours, I’m walking out”

Chris looked genuinely disgusted. “We quote Firefly, actually.”

Josh grinned. “So that’s a maybe?”

You sigh, “It’s a ‘give me the address and I’ll think about it’”

Josh pulls a sharpie out of his jacket pocket like he does this sort of thing often. “that’s a victory”

As he scribbles the address on a receipt from his pocket and hands it to you, you catch Chris looking down at his shoes, trying not to smile too obviously.

You tuck the receipt into your bag. “Alright, nerds. Enjoy your Rebirth… don’t burn anything down”

Chris gives an awkward little salute, “No promises”

<3

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[seonghrtz]

iT'S A TERRiBLE LiFE !

𝒮 YNOPS𝑖S,ㅤㅤyou find yourself in a job that does not feel like the right one for you.

͏𝒘. ͏ ͏͏ dean winchester / smith & f!reader ᡴꪫ ( 5,9k ) fluff + cw. canon violence mentions of suicide season 4 episode 17 — spoilers

There was something about your job that you couldn't put your finger on it. Something about sitting behind a computer, wearing office clothes and heels that just didn't feel right.

When you started working in the Human Resources department at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. three weeks ago, it seemed like a good and decent job ⸻ even if it wasn't your dream.

But things seemed to get complicated when HR received the news that one of the technical support staff, Paul Dunbar, had committed suicide.

Apparently Paul was in the break room and opened the microwave, stuck a broken plastic fork in the safety catch, and set the timer before sticking his head in and killing himself.

And as much as it was the HR's job to communicate the death of the employee to the colleagues, to collect the necessary documents for the dismissal of the deceased, to pay the severance, and so on, you couldn't help but notice how strange the people who worked in this department were.

"Darling, could you read out the employee's death notice to the technical support department?" Janette, the friendly elderly woman who had welcomed you and shown you every corner of the company and how HR worked, approached you with a sheet of paper.

"Janette..." you took the sheet of paper from her hands, "don't you find this strange? Someone has just killed themselves in the company microwave, and the HR people are acting like it's any other Tuesday.”

"Oh dear, that's because you've only just joined the company." Janette put her hand on your shoulder. "This isn't the first suicide in the building."

"What?" You looked at the older woman in front of you, startled.

"Sometimes I think this building is somehow haunted." Janette tapped you lightly on the shoulder, indicating that you should go to the Technical Support floor.

However, you couldn't ignore the shiver that ran down your spine when Janette said the building looked haunted. But the most intriguing thing was that you weren't afraid; you were hoping that the building really was haunted.

When you arrived on the floor where the technical support was located, you approached the woman in charge of the area, who immediately grabbed a microphone to get the attention of the staff. She introduced you as someone from HR and then handed you the microphone.

"Good afternoon," you began, dazed by the number of people in the cubicles, "it is with deep sadness that we announce the death of our valued employee, Paul Dunbar. Throughout his career he demonstrated dedication, professionalism, and unrivalled commitment, earning everyone's respect and admiration. Our deepest sympathies go out to his family, friends, and colleagues. We know that this loss leaves a void that will be difficult to fill, but we will cherish the moments we shared and the legacy Mr. Dunbar left behind. In solidarity, the company will provide the necessary support to the family and other employees at this difficult time…”

Your eyes wandered over the unfamiliar faces as you recited the speech you had memorised on the walk, but your gaze fell on one of the employee.

He was tall, quite tall, with rather long hair and green eyes, but his look reminded you of a sad puppy. There was something about this unknown man that you seemed to know.

When your speech was over, you handed the microphone back to the head of the department and made your way to the lift, but you soon felt a body collide with yours, almost taking you to the ground ⸻ if a hand hadn't held you by the waist, preventing you from falling.

"I'm sorry..." you said as you looked at the person in front of you and met a pair of piercing green eyes (quite different from the eyes of the unknown tech support guy).

"Is everything all right?" The stranger took a step back, looking you up and down.

"Ah? Yes, everything's fine! I'm sorry again." You said and hurried to the lift, trying to calm your nerves and the sense of familiarity you felt with this man you had never seen before in your life.

When you went back to the seventh floor, all you wanted to do was go home and lie down in your comfortable bed and sleep, forgetting about the chaotic day and the two green-eyed guys who seemed somehow familiar to you.

The thought that your life would get better and that maybe you were just shaken up by the strange events at the company was shattered when you received the news that another technical support employee had committed suicide.

You couldn't help but feel that there was something wrong with the deaths in the company. The whole situation didn't seem to fit together, and there were certainly some loose parts.

Janette approached you, and you quickly got up from your chair, expecting to be the person she asked to tell the others about the employee's death.

"Oh dear, there's a young man from technical support who wants to talk to you."

You looked at Janette in confusion but you followed her anyway. Why would someone from tech support want to talk to you? You of all people?

And though you waited for answers, your doubts only grew when you saw the worried look on the face of the unknown, yet familiar man.

"Hello, I'm sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you," the man said.

"What do you need?" you asked.

"Can we go somewhere less crowded?" The man murmured as he looked around.

"Sure." You led him into the HR's break room and closed the door. "Sit down, please," you indicated one of the chairs available in the room.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" The man's question took you by surprise.

“What?”

"I know it sounds crazy, but do you believe in ghosts?" He repeated the question.

"I don't know… I've never seen them myself, but I don't rule out the possibility that ghosts do exist." You replied, even though you didn't understand what was going on.

"Look, lately I've been having these crazy dreams where I'm fighting monsters and ghosts that are supposed to be just legends and myths…”

"Should I make an appointment with the company psychologist?" You interrupted the man, already worried about the stranger's mental state.

"You're in it."

"What the hell?" You stared at him in surprise.

"You appear in my dreams. You and Dean. And apparently the three of us fight these monsters, and we're very good at it."

"Who's Dean?”

“Dean Smith, the Director of Sales and Marketing”

"I'm sorry, but I don't know this Dean, and I don't know you. It's probably just a coincidence. A scary coincidence." You let out a sigh. "Look, I have to get back to work; someone has just committed suicide in the building, and that is the second time this week."

"Sorry to bother you.” The man stared at a random spot like an abandoned puppy.

"The company psychologist is on the fourth floor." You said to the young man before leaving the break room and returning to your desk.

But as soon as you focused your eyes on the screen in front of you, everything seemed wrong again, as if you weren't supposed to be there.

That feeling chased you like hellhounds after souls ⸻ and for a moment you wondered about the comparison you had made. All this talk of ghosts and all these suicides that didn't seem natural had affected you in a way that didn't even make sense to you.

You had no connection to these events, and yet everything made you realise that there was something very wrong with your life. As if there was a hole in your chest, as if something very important was missing, something that was part of your history.

"Aren't you going to answer that call?" the woman sitting at the table next to you asked, snapping you out of your trance.

"Oh yes!" You said, reaching for the phone on your desk and bringing it to your ear, "How can I help?”

"I'm Dean Smith, Director of Sales and Marketing, and I'd like to ask you to join me in my office." The voice on the other end of the line sent a shiver down your spine.

"Of course, Mr. Smith." You quickly put the phone back and stood up from your chair, feeling a slight nervousness running through your system.

Your mind was racing. On the same day, there was a suicide, a strange man (whom you couldn't understand why he seemed so familiar) asked you about ghosts while admitting that he'd dreamed about you and a Dean who, as fate would have it, was the same Dean who'd called you into his office. If all these events weren't enough to justify your resignation, you didn't know what to do with the chaos you called life.

As soon as you stopped outside the sales and marketing director's office, you took a deep breath, not at all prepared for what was about to happen ⸻ not least because there was no way you could have prepared for it. You knocked lightly on the door and waited for the man on the other side to allow you to enter.

When you opened the door, you were surprised to see the man you had bumped into a few days ago behind the desk, and the tech support guy who had asked you about ghosts less than an hour ago sitting across from the other man.

"I swear, if you talk about ghosts and dreams, the next suicide in this company will be mine." You muttered, already tired of the whole story.

"Please, sit down." Mr Smith gestured to the empty chair next to the tech support guy, ignoring your inappropriate comment, "You work in HR, do you happen to know about any of these messages?" He handed you two sheets of paper.

You looked at the paper and noticed that it was a printout of two emails, one from Paul and one from Ian, the two employees who had recently committed suicide.

"You hacked into the emails of two dead people?" you looked at the two men in the room in surprise.

"Let's just say Sam here used his skills to find a pattern and satisfy a curiosity." Dean commented.

"A pattern?" You looked in Dean's direction, but soon got lost in the beautiful green of his eyes.

"We're thinking that maybe the suicides aren't really suicides." Sam commented, breaking you out of the trance of the green eyes of the man in front of you.

"Are you saying there is a ghost behind this?" You looked at Sam incredulously.

"How did you know that the ghost was our hypothesis?" Sam looked at you suspiciously.

"It's not even an hour since you came to me with all this talk of ghosts and dreams and now you're saying that the deaths of two employees don't seem natural and that there's a certain pattern to them.”

"What about the emails?" Dean asked, remembering the main issue.

"Look, those emails certainly weren't sent by anyone from HR, if we're requesting a meeting with an employee, the meeting should take place on the seventh floor, where HR is based, not in an unused, storeroom on the fourteenth floor."

"Room 1444 is unused?" Sam looked at you in confusion.

"Yes, it has been for quite some time."

"When did you start working here?" Dean asked you.

"Three weeks ago."

Your answer made Sam and Dean look at each other as if they were talking telepathically.

“Should we go check this out?” Dean asked thoughtfully.

“Like right now?” You and Sam asked Dean in unison.

“No,” Dean replied quickly, “No it's getting late. You're right.”

“I am dying to check this out right now.” Sam said, as if trying to convince Dean.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but so am I." you agreed with Sam.

“Right.” Dean looked at you and Sam, turning his gaze back to you.

You were one step away from madness for sure. In fact, you didn't have a sane thought in your head to justify going to room 1444 with Sam and Dean ⸻ a man who dreamt about you and another who supposedly saw a ghost in the bathroom. But apparently your lack of self-preservation and your curiosity screamed louder, begging you to solve the mystery. It was like living in the Scooby-Doo universe, but apparently with more blood and death and less people in costumes.

The three of you were heading down the corridor in search of room 1444 when you heard a man's scream. Rushing in, you came across the room and the locked door, which was soon opened as Sam kicked in the door.

"Whoa." Dean muttered in amazement as Sam looked surprised at his own action.

You quickly entered the room and saw a man lying on the floor under a shelf, struggling to get up. However, as you tried to help the man up while Dean and Sam lifted the shelf, you felt a force pull you backwards, throwing you across the room.

You coughed from the dust that had settled and noticed a wrench lying beside you. Without even knowing what you were doing, you grabbed the wrench and called Dean, who was getting up from the floor after being thrown against the wall by the ghost, and threw the object in his direction. Dean grabbed the wrench and in one swift motion hit the ghost, making it disappear.

Suddenly, the monitors in the room switched off and everything stopped moving, and Sam and Dean went back to helping the poor man who had been attacked by the ghost.

"How did you know how to do that?" Sam asked about the wrench attack.

"I have no idea," Dean said, approaching you and helping you up from the floor.

Dean's apartment was exactly what you had expected, all upper class and expensive looking, but somehow you seemed disappointed.

"Holy crap dude." Dean commented as he went into the kitchen to get a bottle of what you were sure wasn't water.

"Yeah. I could use a beer."

"Yeah, me too," you agreed with Sam.

Well, a beer (or something strong) seemed like the right choice after facing a ghost.

“Oh, sorry. I'm on the Cleanse. I got rid of all the carbs in the house.”

"You don't need that," you said, attracting Dean's attention, "you're in good shape."

"Are you flirting with me, sweetheart?” Dean smiled slyly.

"No, I'm just stating the obvious." You rolled your eyes. "And you're not my type."

"Not your type?" Dean crossed his arms, trying not to look offended by your comment.

"Yeah, I'm more into leather jackets and rock than suits and Beethoven." You smiled and shrugged.

"Hey. How the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?" Sam asked you curiously.

"I don't know..." You replied thoughtfully, "It was like... instinct..."

"Crazy, right? And nice job kicking the door, too. That was very Jet Li. What are you, like a black belt or something?" Dean handed you and Sam a bottle of water.

"No. I have no idea how I did that. It's like... we've done this before." Sam replied.

“What do you mean, before? Like Shirley MacLaine before?” Dean looked at Sam like he was from another planet.

“No. I— I just can't shake this feeling like I— like I don't belong here. You know? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle.”

“I think most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way.”

“No. Well, look, it's more than that. Like, I don't like my job. I don't like this town. I don't like my clothes. I don't like my own last name. I don't know how else to explain it, except that… it feels like I should be doing something else. There's just something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different. What about you? You ever feel that way?” Sam tried to explain the situation to Dean.

“I don't believe in destiny. I do believe in dealing with what's right in front of us, though.”

"Um," you scratched your throat before speaking, "I understand you Sam, ever since Paul Dunbar killed himself I've felt like there's something very wrong with my life. To tell you the truth, I don't even know what the hell I'm doing in HR, my memories are all messed up and it's like I have this..."

"Hole?" said Sam, finishing your speech before you had the chance.

"Yes." You looked at him with understanding, "Like a hole, and something very important, much bigger, is missing..."

There was silence in Dean's apartment. With nothing to add, you opened the bottle of water in your hands and sipped slowly.

“All right, so, what do we do now?” Sam asked after a few minutes of silence.

“We do what I do best, Sammy. Research.”

“Okay… Did you just call me Sammy?” Sam looked at Dean in disbelief.

“Did I?” Dean looked at Sam as if nothing had happened.

“I think you did. Yeah. Don't.”

“Sorry.”

The three of you sat down at the table, Dean and Sam with their respective laptops, while you sat next to Sam and helped him research ⸻ since you didn't have a laptop with you and Dean didn't have one to lend you.

Time seemed to pass slowly as you and Sam researched ghosts, trying to find key words and different lore about ghosts in different cultures.

"Oh, jackpot!" Dean exclaimed excitedly.

“What you got?” Sam asked, looking away from the laptop screen.

“I just found the best site ever. Real, actual ghost hunters.”

You and Sam stood up. You sat in the chair next to Dean while Sam stood behind the two of you. Dean's laptop was open on a site called Ghostfacers ⸻ you felt a slight lack of credibility coming from the site, as if they were two kids obsessed with the supernatural setting up a group in the garage of one of their houses.

“These guys are genius. Check it out.” Dean pulls up a video.

Ed and Harry, the guys in the video, started talking about ghosts. The first tip from the video for any fight against the supernatural was to find out what you're fighting.

Sam went back to his seat and typed some more until he turned the screen towards you and Dean, showing an article about the death of Sandover's founder.

“That's him. That's the ghost.” Dean said, referring to the photo of Sandover that appeared with the article.

“P. T. Sandover. Died 1916. Devoted his life to his work. No wife, no kids.” Sam commented as he looked at the article.

"He worked in office 1444, that's why he must have asked the victims to go there." You commented as you flicked through the article, “And apparently office 1444 was considered to be the center of the company's operations, with Sandover himself overseeing all details of any construction project the company undertook.”

“Used to say he was the company, and his very blood pumped through the building.” Sam completed your speech.

“Wow, okay. So slight workaholic. Maybe he's still here, you know, watching over the company, even killing for it.” said Dean.

“Plus, turns out this isn't the first time people started killing themselves in the building. 1929.”

“Yeah, but lots of guys jumped off lots of high rises that year.” Dean shrugged his shoulders as if it were a matter of course.

"But seventeen suicides? How many companies have that many?" you asked.

“Phew. Okay, so P. T. Sandover, protector of the company. His ghost wakes up and becomes active during times of grave economic distress.” Dean comments.

“Well, I mean, the worst time we've seen since the Great Depression—”

“Is now. Yeah, now sucks. My portfolio's in the sewer. I don't even wanna talk about it.”

"As if your portfolio is more important than a killer ghost..." you commented, rolling your eyes.

“So Sandover's helping the bottom line—”

“By zapping some model employees.” Dean completed Sam's speech.

“Yeah. I mean, Ian and Paul. It was like he turned them into different people.”

“Perfect worker bees, exactly. So devoted to the company that they would commit hara-kiri if they failed it.”

After discussing what you were dealing with, Dean went back to playing the video and Sam joined the two of you back in front of Dean's laptop.

“Once you've got that thing in your sights—” said Harry.

“You kill it.” Harry and Ed said in unison.

The boys in the video started talking about special weapons for hunting ghosts. Salt, which acts as an acid on ghosts, iron, which dispels ghosts instantly ⸻ which explained why the wrench had worked on Sandover's ghost.

“Next little trick. We learned this from those useless douchebags—” Ed said in a disgusted tone.

“That we hate.” Harry added.

"The Winchesters and the dear girlfriend of one of them, the Singer," said Ed, and for a moment the two surnames sounded familiar.

"Oh, I like Singer, she was a badass," Harry commented.

"She was hot," Ed said with a dreamy look on his face.

When the video finally ended, you, Sam and Dean came to the conclusion that you had to act that night to stop the killing once and for all.

Dean packed two pokers from his fireplace in a duffel bag that he had already placed a container with salt and other iron objects.

"Where do we even get a gun?" Dean asked.

"Gun store?"

"We don't have time to go to a gun store." you reminded the men.

"Right. Back to the video" Dean sat back down in his chair and waited for you and Sam to play the video.

"The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douchenozzles and our dear Singer also taught us this one other thing. You have to burn the remains." informed Ed.

"Okay, this next part gets a little gross. Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry."

"It's illegal in some states."

"All states." Harry corrected his friend.

"Possibly all states."

"Sandover was cremated." Sam commented.

"What? So what do we do now?" Dean asked with a tone that indicated he was losing hope of fighting the ghost.

"Now, if the deceased has been cremated—"

"Don't panic." Harry and Ed spoke in unison.

"Just gotta look for some other remains."

"A hair in a locket, maybe. Fingernails. Baby teeth." Harry listed.

"Milk teeth." added Ed

"Genetic material. You know what we're talking about."

“Set your cell phone to walkie-talkie in case we get separated.” Dean commented while you were in the lift going up to floor 14.

You opened your bag, looking for the device, but couldn't find it anywhere.

"Shit." You muttered, "I left my phone at your apartment." You said, turning to Dean.

"For someone who says I'm not her type, you've already left something at my place." Dean's comment made you roll your eyes.

“How the hell are we gonna find some ancient speck of DNA in a skyscraper?” Sam questioned doubtfully.

“Well, that creepy storeroom used to be Sandover's office, right?”

The fourteenth floor was more dingy at night than the last time you were there, earlier in the day, to prevent a ghost from driving an employee crazy, who later would committed suicide.

When the three of you entered room 1444, it didn't take long for you to start scattering around the place, looking for possible objects that might contain some of P.T. Sandover's genetic material.

“What the hell are you doing here?” A guard opened the door to the room, taking the three of you by surprise.

You felt a hand wrap around your waist, pulling you down so the guard wouldn't catch you. Dean's muscular chest was against your back and you took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on what was happening (and the fact that you had almost been caught by a guard) and not on the man behind you.

“Nothing. I just—” Sam said confused, not quite sure what to say to the guard.

"Come with me," the guard demanded as he grabbed Sam's arm and shut the door behind them.

"You can let me go now..." you said in a whisper and felt Dean release you slowly.

You and Dean searched the room until he found a framed photograph of Sandover Bridge.

"I think I've got an idea where we might find something useful," Dean said, putting the picture back and then picking up the phone to try and communicate with Sam. “Hey. You okay?”

“Call you back.”

Dean grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of room 1444 and into the lift. Dean pushed the button with the number 22 and you stared at him in confusion.

"Where are we going?" You asked.

“Sandover history display”

“Dean, you there?” Sam's voice echoed through Dean's cell phone.

“Yeah, listen, I think I got it. Meet us on twenty-two.”

“Okay, yeah. Just, uh, take the stairs.”

In the lobby, you looked at the history display in chronological order and noticed a glove in a display case on the wall.

“Whoa. That's a lot of blood.” Dean said, noticing Sam's arrival on the scene.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Right. So, uh, in there.” Dean points to a glass case containing a pair of gloves, the ones you were looking at.

"P.T. Sandover's gloves," Sam commented.

“Yeah, how much you wanna bet there's a little smidge of DNA in there? You know, like a fingernail clipping or a hair or two? Something.”

“So you ready?” asked Sam.

“I have no idea.” Dean said worriedly.

"Really?" You looked at the two men beside you, incredulous at their hesitation, and took off your heel. With the thin heel, you broke the glass protecting the glove.

"Wow." Dean looked at you in surprise.

Sam and Dean both pick up a poker and Sam picks up a container of salt. But before you can remove the glove, Sandover appears behind Dean and throws him into the wall, then throws you in the same direction, causing you to fall on top of Dean.

“We need to stop meeting like this," Dean grinned, making your heart skip a beat.

“Shut up” You stood up and helped Dean.

"Oh. Nice." Dean smiled at Sam and noticed that he had used the salt to make Sandover disappear.

But it wasn't long before Sandover appeared behind Dean.

"Dean." You and Sam said in unison.

Sam threw the poker at Dean, who grabbed it and swung it through Sandover, causing him to dissipate again.

"Nice catch." Sam smiled.

"Right?" Dean said, looking at you. You shrugged, but the smile on your lips gave you away completely, causing a discreet laugh to escape Dean's lips.

The three of you approached where the gloves were, ready to take the object and set fire to it. But, as any plans actually seemed to work, Sandover appeared between Sam and Dean, who simultaneously hit him with pokers making the ghost dissipate and reappear not long after.

Taking advantage of Smith and Wesson's fight with Sandover, you went to the bag, grabbed the lighter and returned to where the glove was. You took the object through the broken glass, turned on the lighter and lit the gloves on fire before dropping it on the ground, watching Sandover's ghost burn.

“That was amazing.” Sam said, trying to steady his breathing.

“Right? Right?”

You, Dean, and Sam were in Dean's office after confronting the ghost, and the only thing on your mind was how good a cold beer would feel at that moment.

“Man, I gotta tell you, I've never had so much fun in my life.” Dean pulled a first-aid kit out of his desk.

“Me neither.” Sam smiled.

“That was crazy, in a good way.” You grabbed the first aid kit in Dean's hand and opened it, looking for the alcohol and gauze.

“Was a hell of a workout too, wasn't it?”

“We should keep doing this.”

“I know.”

As if it was automatic for you, you dabbed the alcohol gauze on the bruise on Dean's forehead, but when his eyes met yours, you quickly turned away in embarrassment, leaving him to tend to his own bruise and sitting down in a chair away from him.

“I mean it. There gotta be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people.” said Sam.

“Right, we'd be like the Ghostfacers.”

“No, really. I mean, for real.”

“What? Like, quit our jobs and hit the road?”

“Exactly.”

“How would we live?”

"Uh…” Sam mumbled without knowing what to say.

“You gotta be kidding me. How would we get by? With stolen credit cards? Huh? Eating diner food drenched in saturated fats? Sharing a crap motel room every night?”

“That's all just details.” Sam shrugged.

“Details are everything. You don't wanna go fighting ghosts without any health insurance.”

You were torn by Sam and Dean's argument. On the one hand, you agreed with Sam, you didn't know how long it had been since you felt so alive, like there was no hole in your chest, like you were whole again, without a doubt. But Dean had a point. Hunting ghosts was a life-threatening business and certainly a lonely one, with people who didn't understand or even believe in your purpose.

“All right. Um. Confession.”

“What?”

“Remember those dreams I told you about with the ghosts?”

“Yeah?”

“I was fighting them.”

“Okay.”

“With you and her." Sam pointed at you. "We were these, like, hunters, and we were friends. You and I were more like brothers, really. And you and her obviously had something going on— I mean, what if that's who we really are? I mean, you saw us back there, working together. The ghost was scrambling people's brains. What if it scrambled ours?”

“That's insane.”

“Is it? Think about it for just one second. What if we think this is our life, but it's not?”

“Hey, man, the ghost is dead and we're still standing. I mean, I'm sorry, but—”

“Look, all I know is this isn't who we're supposed to be.”

“No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo.”

“When was the last time you talked to them? To any of them?” Sam confronted him.

“Okay, you're upset. You're upset, you're confused—”

“Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up with my fiancée, Madison. But I called her number and I got a damn animal hospital.” Sam mentioned feeling frustrated with the argument.

“Okay. What are you saying? Are you trying to say that my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories? Come on.”

“All I know is, I got this feeling in my gut. And I know—I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it too. We're supposed to be something else. You're not just some corporate douchebag. This isn't you. I know you.”

“Know me? You don't know me, pal. You should go.” Dean said. He certainly was stressed about the whole situation.

And in a matter of seconds, Sam walked through Dean's office door without looking back.

You got up from your chair, ready to leave the office and finally go home, when you felt a hand gently wrap around yours.

"Are you leaving me too?" Dean's question came out bitter with a strange hint of inexplicable familiarity.

"Look, I'm really sorry. But I think Sam is right about this. Now that we know about ghosts and that they attack innocent people, we can help them. You don't have to be a superhero in magazine covers and secret identities to help people and do good." You held Dean's hand in yours and looked into his eyes, "I don't think I've ever been more sure of what I want for my life than I am right now. And I know that can be hard for you. Just look around you! You're the sales and marketing director, you've got your own office, a nice fancy flat in a safe neighbourhood... You've got it all, Dean, but there's no point in having it all and feeling empty inside.”

You slowly let go of Dean's hands and walk out of his office with a determination you haven't shown in the last three weeks.

"I quit," you muttered.

"What, dear?" Janette asked you as she walked past your desk.

"I quit." You said a little louder with a smile on your face.

"Darling, I don't think you're feeling well.”

"Actually, Janette, I've never felt better," you got up from the swivel chair and picked up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, "You know, I'm sick of it all. The office, these clothes, these tight heels, everything."

"I don't think you're thinking clearly." Janette said, coming up to you and holding your hands.

"I have already handed in my letter of resignation. Thank you for everything, Janette, but I don't want to feel empty ever again."

You let go of Janette's hands and walked towards the lift with firm, determined steps.

As you left the building, someone bumped into you on the way.

"Sam?" You looked up at the tall man, surprised to find him there.

"What are you doing here?" he asked you, equally surprised.

"I just quit."

"You've got to be kidding?" An incredulous laugh escaped Sam's lips, "I've just quit too."

"Don't tell me you're thinking of— ghost hunting," you muttered the last words of your sentence as if it were a secret.

"I get the impression you already know the answer!"

Before you could say anything else, you felt something else change both inside and around you. Your eyes wandered around, looking at the building and the busy street without understanding anything. You only came out of your trance when you heard Sam call your name multiple times.

"Why are you dressed in office clothes? And are you wearing heels?" Sam asked, looking you up and down.

"What the fuck?" You looked down at yourself, not even when you wore a suit and pretended to be an FBI agent you wore heels (they weren't very useful for chasing monsters) "And why are you wearing a company uniform, Sammy?"

"I don't understand, nothing makes sense." Sam muttered, startled by the whole thing.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean's voice caught both your and Sam's attention, "Sweetheart!" The older Winchester wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly.

“Dean, you're crushing me!" You smiled, "And what's with the tie?"

"Long story..." Dean murmured before capturing your lips in a soft kiss.

However, your moment with your boyfriend didn't last long though, as Sam scratched his throat and interrupted the kiss.

"Aren't we going to talk about what's going on?" Sam asked, looking at Dean.

"We can talk about it later, I'm so hungry I feel like I'm going to die if I don't eat."

"Okay, okay, so you can explain everything on the way to the diner." You smiled and gave Dean a quick kiss on the cheek as he led you and Sam to where Baby was parked.

If you ever had felt that something was missing before, now you felt completely whole again.

this was my first time writing for dean, and it certainly wasn't my best work, but i've wanted to write for him for a long time :) and english isn't my first language, so please forgive me for the mistakes!

© seonghrtz, 2024. all rights reserved, please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works!

[ckret2]

Chapter 34 of human Bill Cipher not making friends with Stan during his imprisonment in the Mystery Shack, featuring: the tooth fairy and her dentist attempting to steal Bill's teeth in the middle of the night. Stan would care a lot less if he weren't still handcuffed to Bill. And also: Stan and Bill have a friendly chat. As you can see.

####

Even though Bill and Stan were trying to watch the same TV as they had dinner, Bill refused to sit in the living room with Stan; so he sat on the bottom step of the stairs in the entryway, Stan perched on the end of the couch, and they strung the handcuffs around the doorway with their little plastic microwave dinner trays balanced on their knees.

Both of their dinners had come out undercooked. Both of them were too proud to complain.

After picking through maybe a third of his meal, Bill decided he'd rather go to bed hungry than eat something he didn't enjoy, dropped his tray on the floor, and kicked it into the kitchen. "Hey Stanley, still glad you went with the cuffs instead of the bracelets?"

"Shut up."

Bill smirked victoriously, and looked back to the TV. "No mayonnaise in Ireland."

"What?"

Bill pointed at the screen and the rows of blank letters waiting for contestants to fill them in. "The round that just started. That's the solution."

"Oh." Stan counted out all the blank letters, frowned, and said unconfidently, "It can't be that. It doesn't make any sense."

"You're wrong," Bill said lightly; and then fell silent, running the tip of his tongue over the new gold spots on his teeth. 

When the contestants had guessed enough letters that one could hesitantly offer, "Is it... 'no mayonnaise in Ireland'?" Bill smirked triumphantly at the sound of Stan's silence. He just barely waited until the next board of blank letters flashed on the screen, and then announced, "Tip your waiter."

Stan counted the letters under his breath. "Man. I thought I was good at this, but we'd clean up if we put you on this show. No one would ever figure out how you're cheating."

Bill laughed. "Listen to you! If you were Ford, you'd just be mad that I'm giving away all the answers before you can guess. That's the great thing about you, Stanley: you don't get irritated at me for stupid little reasons. You're more fun." He took a deep breath and shouted, "Hey Ford, did you hear that?! Stan's the fun twin—!"

"Keep it down, you idiot. Ford's in the basement, he can't hear you." Stan had thought Bill was finally sobering up from the sedative; maybe not. (Then again, maybe this was just what he was like sober.) "And what are you talking about? You irritate me all the time!"

"Oh, well, I guess I just don't care when you're irritated." Bill laughed.

Stan grumbled, planted his chin in his hand, and tried to focus on Cash Wheel. It was difficult when he already knew the solution.

He tolerated the silence for less than a minute before sighing, looking toward the doorway, and demanding, "What's with you, anyway? Why are you so obsessed with my brother?"

Bill spluttered in disbelief. Stan could feel his handcuff chain jerk over. Voice even shriller than usual, Bill said, "Excuse m—Excuse me?! Obsessed? Moi?! I don't know what you're talking about!" He forced a loud laugh.

"If Ford's in the room, he's the only one you talk to, and when he isn't here you're yelling across the house for him—"

"Is it obsession to sometimes pay a little more attention to the human here I happen to know best and to whom I happen to be a teacher, muse, and friend—"

"Oh that's a load of bull," Stan snapped, "you're not any of those things! Friend? Friend? He wants you dead, you crazy—"

"Well if he does," Bill said, louder still, "then wouldn't it make perfect sense to keep my eye on the guy who killed me? There's no big mystery—"

"That's it! That's just it!" Stan tossed down his TV dinner and stood so he could face Bill properly. "He didn't kill you alone, remember? That was a two-man con you fell for! But you keep talking like Ford was the only one there!"

Without bothering to stand, Bill looked up at Stan and said, quite confidently, "Only one person killed me. You're just the place where I was killed."

"I wh...?" Stan fell silent, blinking at Bill in disbelief.

"Do you even remember what happened inside your brain? After you took my hand?" Bill asked. "You don't, do you?"

Stan glowered at Bill, but he shut his mouth and said nothing.

"I knew it." Bill laughed nastily. "We were both trapped in there when Fordsy fired the gun. Completely powerless. You were weeping and begging for a way out when the flames got too close, but there was nothing I could do by then—"

"All right," Stan took a threatening step closer, "I know that that didn't happen! I would never—"

Bill leaned back, hands raised palm out in appeasement, "Okay okay okay! All right, you got me—just embellishing the story a little—we actually had a big psychic laser battle. Imagined up all kinds of futuristic weapons. It was very 90's action movie. You did... fine, you were fine."

Stan considered that. "Ehh... sure, that sounds more like me."

"But it was all imaginary," Bill snapped. "It was a vast illusion! At that point there was nothing either of us could do to the other. We were just two victims locked inside a burning house as it came down around us. You didn't kill me, you never even had the power to kill me."

"Huh." That was all Stan said. But he kept looking at Bill, frowning distrustfully, studying him.

Bill's shoulders slowly went up under the pressure of Stan's gaze. "Oh—oh wow, okay, I see what's going on!" He gave Stan a crooked, mean smile. "You're jealous, aren't you? You thought offering up your body to be the scene of a murder finally made you a co-star instead of a sidekick! All your lives, Stanford got more attention from daddy, more attention from the teachers, more attention from the whole world... and you thought you'd finally get at least a little attention from the big bad living nightmare. Just because you let your brother shoot you in the head!" Bill laughed. "You weren't special enough for anyone else—why do you think you're special enough for me?"

Stan jerked Bill to his feet by the handcuff's chain. "I bet I'm special enough to break your face!" He dragged him into the living room, fist raised. "Let's see if you stay down this time—"

Bill scrambled back as far as the chain allowed him. "NO!" Horror filled the one ragged syllable. His free arm was raised to shield his terrified eye.

They froze, staring at each other.

Bill straightened up, forcing a nervous, rattled laugh. "Come on, I just got all this dental work done. At least give me a couple days to enjoy it before you pound it in!" He was talking fast to fill the silence. "Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind having a flatter face, all these bones and cartilage jutting out never did feel right—"

Stan feigned a punch.

Bill flinched.

Stan laughed at him, slapping his knee. "You big chicken! Look at you! Baw-baaawk-bgawk! HA!"

Bill tried, very hard, to explode Stan with his brain. This usually worked on people who dared try to insult Bill Cipher. "If I had one billionth of a billionth of my power, I'd have already destroyed you—!"

"But you don't, sucker!" Stan laughed louder.

Bill screamed in frustration, turned his back on Stan, and stomped upstairs to sulk.

Or, he would have, if he hadn't gotten one step up the stairs before the handcuffs yanked tight. He stumbled back, landed on his butt, and inadvertently jerked Stan down on one knee with a yelp.

Bill cast a resentful look at Stan—who was rubbing his shoulder and finally looking as irritated as Bill felt—and then he lay down and deliberately stared straight at the ceiling. "Whatever. I don't even care about your pointless mammal posturing. It's fine. It doesn't bother me. I'm calm. You're just making yourself look stupid." Bill shut his eyes. "I wanna go to bed."

####

"Bill," Ford said.

Bill cracked open an eye and peered up at the form looming over his makeshift cushion bed. "Mrm?"

In a very calm voice that suggested he was not calm at all, Ford asked, "Why are you sleeping on the floor in front of my bedroom door."

"Oh. Right, you missed it." Bill yawned and sat up. "Well, you see, Stanley got us handcuffed together until tomorrow morning," he pointed at his cuffed wrist and rattled the chain, "and I tried to be accommodating, but he doesn't want to sleep in the attic and won't let me sleep in the guest room—"

Stan yelled through the door, "And Mr. Accommodating here still refuses to sleep on the sofa bed."

"—so the best compromise we've got is sleeping on the floor with the chain under the door. Not my idea of a fun evening, but." Bill shrugged ruefully, like an adult resigned to indulging the whims of a petulant child. "Do you want in? It'll take us a little coordination to get the door open, but we've already done this once, so—"

"I'm not messing with this," Ford said. "I'm sleeping in the basement. Good night, Stanley."

"Night, Ford."

Trying not to sound miffed at being snubbed, Bill said, "Hey, do you still keep your cot on that rug you used to channel me better?" He laughed.

"Nope. I burned that rug." Ford turned the corner and left.

Bill stuck his tongue out at his back. He didn't actually know whether Ford was lying. He wished he'd thought to check out Ford's study before heading down to the portal back when he'd had his time tape.

"Hey." He rapped on the bedroom door. "I thought we weren't asking Sixer for help so he wouldn't find out about the handcuffs." They hadn't actually discussed it, but he'd taken it for granted. "Now that he knows, why aren't we getting his help?"

"What, you think I need his help to solve all my problems? Ha!"

"Okay, fine. Doesn't matter to me, I'm used to sleeping on the floor." Bill lay back down and sighed.

He shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

####

Bill wasn't quite dreaming, but for a few seconds it was something very close to a dream. He saw points of light in darkness. One of his earliest, oldest memories. He'd memorized the constellations outside of his plain when his starblind species didn't even have a word for "constellations."

But these weren't those points of light in darkness. Some nearer, some farther—he could sense their distance—and all of the lights were calling to him. All of his eyes. He could see so many more than he had last night.

One was just a few inches away. He could almost reach out and grab it. 

But those few seconds of light-in-darkness were in the gray twilight between the dreamscape and the physical world, and Bill only fleetingly glimpsed them as he passed from sleep back to wakefulness. He opened his eyes.

To see a person looming over him.

And the taste of thick metal tools in his mouth.

"Hi," Bill said, for lack of anything better to say under these circumstances.

It was enough to make Dr. Illing gasp and stumble back from Bill. "Jeez." He clapped a hand over his heart. "I'm sorry— I-I didn't want to—"

"Uh-huh." Bill sat up and took the abandoned tool out of his mouth—pliers. They'd been gently clamped around one of his canine teeth. "Not the most unpleasant thing I've had aimed at my face in the middle of the night," Bill mused, "but it's pretty high on the list." He tried to lift his other hand to feel his face for damage—and only remembered the handcuff when the rattling chain caught his wrist in place.

They both looked at the cuff. As Dr. Illing realized Bill was trapped, a change came over his face—a desperate, crazed fury.

Bill shook his head. "Ohhh, no no no—"

"Give me that!" Dr. Illing lunged for Bill, one hand reaching toward the pliers and the other toward his throat, trying to pin him against the door.

Bill shoved his feet in Dr. Illing's chest, trying to hold him back. "Stanley!" He pounded on the door with the pliers. "We have visitors, wake up!"

"It'll only take a second," Dr. Illing insisted. "You were going to give me one anyway! And that tooth is already loose! You can handle the pain! Just—hold still, I can't damage it!" He managed to get his thumb in Bill's mouth—he cringed when Bill bit down, but didn't back off—and pulled a fresh set of pliers out of his tool bag.

Bill parried the pliers with his own pair. "STAAAN—"

The door unlatched and Bill tumbled backward into the room. He twisted out of the dentist's way, slid the handcuff chain out from under the door, and skittered behind Stan.

"Wha—what's—?" Stan squinted into the dark hallway. "The heck's going on?"

Bill stretched to Stan's nightstand and grabbed up his glasses and hearing aids. "Put your face on!" He shoved them in Stan's hands, then reached back for his dentures.

Stan put his glasses on first. "What the— Illing? What are you doing here?"

Dr. Illing stood forlorn in the hallway, trembling all over, eyeing Stan nervously. "Uhhh," he said eloquently. "I just..." He gestured around Stan's shoulder toward Bill, "wanted to check her fillings. I thought one of them might be a little loose—"

Bill's cackle cut through his excuses. "Oh, come on! I know your boss put you up to this! What does the little lady want with my mouth?"

Dr. Illing's eyes widened. All he managed to produce was a squeak.

Stan said, "What 'little lady,' this guy's self-employed. What are you talking about—"

"The tooth fairy, genius!" Bill flung his free hand in the air. "Why did you think your dentist pays you to pull your teeth! He lives in a van, who'd you think was funding him?!"

"Uh," Stan said. "You know, I sort of just took his whole 'creepy sadist who bribes people to let him pull their teeth' shtick at face value." (Dr. Illing's shoulders slumped.) "But—I know things are weird around here, but the tooth fairy's gotta be fake, right? That's the stupidest..."

A fairy popped out of Dr. Illing's bag—just large enough to use an adult man's hand like a chair, with a bob cut so white it almost shone, giving off a glowing toothpaste-blue aura, wearing a necklace of baby teeth like a hunter who'd taken trophies from the bones of her kills.

"Oh," Stan said. "Well. Never mind. Just one more crazy thing in this town."

Bill's back went stiff, his eyes widened, and he curled his fists into the fabric of Stan's tank top like he was holding his shield in place. "Oh, she's here." He lisped an inhuman swear under his breath.

Ignoring them, the tooth fairy glowered up at Dr. Illing. "How did they know? What did you tell them!"

"Nothing!" he protested. "I swear! I'd never!"

"Well, you must have let something slip—"

Bill swallowed hard; but then he straightened up, let go, and stepped into the open. "Why, if it isn't Miss Pearl E. White, in the fae flesh! To what do I owe such an honor?"

Dr. Illing and the fairy both flinched. She asked, "How do you know my...?"

"Oh, Pearl. I know things you couldn't even dream of." Bill favored her with his best, widest, most unnerving grin.

And got the creeping sense that she'd stopped looking at his face, and started staring at his teeth. He pressed his lips together. "And here's just one thing I know: lady, if you were toeing the line of your treaty any harder, you'd be tripping across it. So tell me what you're doing here and what you want."

She huffed defensively, wings buzzing as they lifted her several inches in the air. "I'm well within the terms of the treaty! I haven't laid a hand on you and I'm not about to start, and I've been offering more than adequate financial compensation—"

"Oh, right," Bill laughed, "I'm sure the queen of your court would be thrilled to hear you ordered your legally-dubious helper to rip out someone's teeth in the dead of night—"

"Hi," Stan said, "question. What the hey are you guys talking about. Treaties? Queens?"

"Oh, this is all going over your head, isn't it! I'll catch you up." He turned to the side to point accusingly at Pearl, "Little miss enamel-happy here has a thing for teeth. To the extent that she started stealing them straight out of humans' mouths. She went so crazy that the local human settlements actually declared war on her court over her dental kleptomania—and the fairies she dragged into the conflict weren't any happier about it than the humans were. So now, under the conditions of a human-fairy peace treaty, she's only allowed to acquire already freed teeth that are voluntarily offered to her by their owners—which is why she started bribing children."

Pearl crossed her arms, fuming. "That's a very biased version of events. You're just trying to paint me in the worst possible—"

"Save it, sparkles! I woke up with your minion's pliers in my mouth, I'll be as biased as I want!" He shifted his attention to Dr. Illing—who seemed to wilt under the force of Bill's glare. "But she's getting deep in a gray area working with this guy. Once a tooth is handed to a dentist, he's its 'owner,' and can freely give that tooth to the tooth fairy—but him extracting the tooth puts the whole operation on shaky legal ground. Really, I think the only reason you've gotten away with this racket so long is because nobody's filed a legal challenge with the fairy court yet."

"Nobody's complained about it," Pearl said hotly.

"None of your victims know about it," Bill countered. "Hey Fisherman," he jabbed Stan's arm, "how do you feel knowing your teeth were sacrificed to the tooth fairy?"

He considered that. "Well—it was free."

Pearl crowed, "Ha!"

Ignoring Stan's reply, Bill blithely moved on: "But by any reading of the treaty, hiring a human to steal teeth straight out of someone's mouth is beyond the pale. So you'd better have a good explanation for this!"

"Yeah. I do have a good explanation." She sucked in a deep breath. "I want your teeth!" She launched herself toward Bill; Dr. Illing had to grab her around the waist to hold her back. "I'd do anything for those teeth! They're the most amazing teeth I've ever seen!" She clawed at the air, hissing and straining as she tried to reach Bill.

"My lady, please," Dr. Illing said pathetically. "The treaty—"

She aimed a swipe at his face. "I know about the stupid treaty!"

Bill stared at her, baffled. His perfectly normal human teeth? But he shook his head, smiled, and said, "Well okay, fantastic! It's been a while since I've bargained with the fae, but I'm not too attached to this body—so how much gold do you have on you, kid?"

"We're not bargaining. You already know too much," Pearl snapped. "I'm not about to get blackmailed by a human, and I'm not going back to fairy jail. So here's what's happening." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward Dr. Illing. "I'm gonna have my guy rip out every one of your teeth, and then rip your head apart so you can't talk, and the only negotiating you get to do is whether or not my guy uses the local anesthetic before he starts. So what's it gonna be?"

Dr. Illing went deathly pale and his knees shook as he verged on fainting.

"Hey," Stan waved at the fairy, "listen, I'd love to see this guy's head get ripped apart, but—crazy thing, long story—it turns out there's fifty-fifty odds that killing him could end the world. So, maybe let's talk this out—?"

Pearl gestured dismissively at Stan. "His mouth has nothing left of interest to me. He's a witness. Kill him, too."

Dr. Illing swallowed hard; but, with trembling hand, he reached into his tool bag and slowly pulled out a large power drill that definitely wasn't designed for teeth.

"Right," Bill said. "Okay. This'll be fun." If he said it convincingly enough, maybe it would be true. "Hey, Fisher—you know that spell Sixer's got on me? If I cast it on Frankie here, can you..."

"Yeah, I see where you're going."

Pearl's eyes narrowed. She pounded her tiny fist on Dr. Illing's finger. "Hurry up, before they—"

Before she could issue a warning, Stan charged at them, fist raised. Dr. Illing flinched, shielding his face with the drill; but Stan dodged around him, heading for the hall. Bill seized Dr. Illing's upper arm as he passed—"Amnesia Limina, Stupidi Digiti, Occultus Locus!"—and then Stan yanked Bill out into the hall by their chain and slammed the bedroom door.

Dr. Illing gasped. "What?"

Blue light radiated through the cracks around the door as Pearl darted around, shrieking, "Open the door, you idiot!"

There was a moment of futile scrabbling. "How?!"

Bill and Stan retreated to the entryway. Bill said, "If we get outside, we can lose 'em."

"Or get the car and run them over," Stan said.

"You don't wanna be the guy who kills the tooth fairy! She might be in the doghouse, but she's still old fae nobility. Her court would—"

Bill cut off as Stan opened the door. Instead of leading to the porch and the forest beyond, it now opened into a bone-colored cathedral, the arches and vaulted ceilings constructed out of what looked like small irregular pebbles: teeth.

Stan gaped at the vast chamber. "Where the heck...?"

Bill looked at what had once been the outside of the door; the numbers "13 / 32" were carved into the wood. "Nowhere we want to go! Shut it!"

Stan slammed the door.

"That explains how she got in," Bill muttered. "There's no time to un-enchant this exit, we'll need another one."

Stan pointed toward the living room. "We can go out the—"

"The floor room exit." Bill dragged Stan back toward the hallway they'd just left.

"What?! That's the other end of the house, you idiot, the gift shop's right through here!"

"But it's a straight shot down the hall—" Bill stumbled to a stop.

The tooth fairy was clawing her way out from under the bedroom door. She caught sight of Bill, and her wings raised in a sharp V like a wasp preparing to attack. "You!"

"Never mind."

Stan dragged Bill back toward the living room. "Now can we go—"

Bill saw the living room—that familiar dark room, the familiar walls and carpet, the familiar armchair facing the doorway as though welcoming him back, the pale blue light from the fish tank climbing the walls like flames—and Stanley Pines, dragging Bill by a chain toward this tomb—and he grabbed on to the staircase railing. "Up."

Stan jerked to a stop. "That's a dead end!" He tried again to pull Bill toward the living room. "Are you insane?!"

"Yes." Bill locked his hand around the railing like a corpse in rigor mortis. He'd break his fingers before he let go. "We're going up."

"We are not—"

The tooth fairy shot past them like a glowing blue bullet, streaking into the kitchen. Stan started, and Bill took the opportunity to drag them up the stairs. Stan finally followed.

"You're not getting out of here with my teeth!" Pearl screamed after them.

"Ignore her," Bill muttered, "she can't risk touching us and she knows it. She's powerless without her minion." He stumbled on a step and just kept climbing on all fours.

"I wouldn't bet on her self control!" Stan struggled to keep up, his cuffed wrist in the lead. "Why are we going this way? How do you expect to get out from the attic?!"

"I don't know! It just seemed like a better idea! Do I have to think of everything?!"

"This was your plan!"

"There's got to be a ladder in the storage over the kids' room, we can get down out a window."

"I don't keep ladders—!"

"Well maybe Jesús does, do you know everything in the attic?! Come on!"

Bill kicked the door to the kids' room until Stan opened it. After a short argument about who should climb to the storage loft ("I have to look, you can't see in the dark!" "And you can?! Since when!" "Since always! You didn't need to know!"), Bill scrambled up the makeshift rungs nailed to the wall while Stan climbed halfway up to give the handcuffs a little slack.

As Bill started searching for anything useful, Pearl's ranting filled the shack: "Those teeth are too good for you!"

"I think she's getting closer," Stan said. "Find anything?"

"Not yet." Bill pulled out a broken umbrella with a hooked handle. He clung to it like it was his only defense as he scanned the loft for any signs of a ladder.

Pearl went on, "They're the most beautiful, pristine, unblemished, perfect teeth I've ever seen in my life!"

Bill asked, "Are they really that great?" He'd never paid that close attention.

"Eh..." Stan shrugged and made a so-so gesture with one hand. "A little weird-looking, honestly. They've got those jagged bits in the front that make 'em look like kids' teeth?"

"Huh."

"They're pure," Pearl snarled. "I've never seen adult teeth so pure! And you're ruining them by drilling out chunks of perfect enamel for unnecessary fillings! You don't have the right to those teeth! I deserve them!"

"Hey Bill," Stan said. "So you knew my dentist works for the tooth fairy, right?"

Bill was dragging aside a large box to see if anything ladder-like was hiding behind it. "Yes."

"And you knew she goes crazy for nice teeth."

"Yes." No ladder; he moved to another stack of boxes.

"And it didn't occur to you that she'd be furious that you carved up your new teeth."

"It's in the past, Stanley! Focus on the present!"

"—and I don't even know how you got magic teeth," Pearl continued. "Fully adult teeth in a fully adult mouth, but somehow they're barely a month old! It's impossible! I could barely believe it myself until I saw your mouth with my own two eyes! I must have those teeth, as soon as possible, so I can preserve them exactly like this, who knows if I'll ever find such a novelty again—"

"Ahh, so that's it," Bill said. "Welp, nope, didn't see that one coming at all."

"She's been shouting a while without actually coming after us," Stan pointed out. "What's she up to?"

Bill paused. "Check." He lay down and stretched his cuffed arm down from the loft to give Stan enough slack to peer out the bedroom door.

Stan frowned. "Huh. Weird."

"She's upstairs?"

"Yeah. But she's just flying in a circle. With... I think a veggie container from the fridge?"

Bill sucked in a breath. "Do we have mushrooms?"

"Wh—yeah? How'd you..."

"What!" Bill half-climbed half-fell to the attic floor. "That little cheater's making a fairy ring! That's not fair!" He leaned out the door with Stan. "She's probably already made the matching ring downstairs. We have to destroy it before—"

The circle of chopped portobello mushrooms glowed white; and with a glittery puff, Dr. Illing appeared in the ring.  He coughed out a lungful of fairy dust.

Pearl pointed at Stan and Bill and screamed, "Get them!" With a murderous scowl and terrified eyes, Dr. Illing stared them down and revved his drill.

Stan yanked Bill back into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Dr. Illing whined. "Aw, f—again?!"

"Just break through it!" Pearl commanded. "It's just wood! You have power tools!"

"He can't do that," Bill said confidently. "Doors don't work like that."

Stan said, "He can do that." A power tool whine announced Dr. Illing beginning his assault on the door.

"Oh." Bill considered that, eyes scanning the bedroom from one side to the other, mouth set in a grim line. "I have an idea." He pointed toward the window with his umbrella. "Stan, open the window." He hooked the umbrella over his elbow as he ripped the bedsheets off Dipper's bed and started tying the corners together.

Stan shook his head in disbelief. "You don't really expect us to climb out that window on bedsheets, do you?"

Bill dragged Stan closer and murmured in his ear, just quiet enough that their assailants wouldn't hear him over the power drill, "No, I expect them to think we climbed out the window, while we hide in the closet in the alcove. Once they're past us to check the window, we can sneak out and run downstairs."

"I don't like hiding like cowards instead of fighting. Illing's rickety, we can take him."

Bill kept tying bedsheets. He picked up Dipper's zodiac blanket, flinched, and tossed it to the floor on the other side of Dipper's bed rather than add it to his chain. "Funny—you didn't seem to have any problem hiding for a week while I had your brother prisoner."

Stan grabbed Bill by the shirt, dragging him closer. "You wanna say that again?"

Bill's hands shot up next to his face in surrender. "Sorry, sorry, sorry—"

"There were people in this shack I wanted to keep safe," Stan growled. "I'm not half as fond of you."

"Got it," Bill squeaked. He pointed toward Mabel's bed. "But I can see a dozen futures that end with our brains splattered across Mabel's dolls. I do not want to fight power tools."

There was a crack as the drill flung the first few splinters of wood free from the door. Stan's scowl deepened, but he let go of Bill and nodded.

They tied the bedsheet rope to a table leg, opened the window, and flung the rope out the window; then retreated into the alcove at the other end of the room, pulled shut the ragged curtain that hid it, and closed themselves in the closet to wait for the tooth fairy and Dr. Illing to break in.

####

(Thanks for reading!! If y'all enjoyed, I'd love to hear what y'all think! Next week we conclude both with the tooth fairy and with whatever the heck is going on between Stan & Bill.)

[sincerelywhistler]

✨PART 5✨ of things my husband does that are so violently Asher Coded, I had to compile a written list and turn them into headcanons:

part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 4

That’s… so many parts… but y’all ask and ye shall receive.

• Invades David’s (his actual best friend’s name, yes) fridge the moment he steps foot in his home. He asks nicely at least, but it’s like feeding deer— feed him once and he’ll keep coming back

• “You’re ruining the vibe with your logic and rationality”

• Legitimately scared of butterflies

• Drops a drink or glass at LEAST once a month, knocks them over regularly. He has his own designated plastic cups now.

• Once said to me “your company has taught me how to love all of life’s insignificant details that most people often overlook” then immediately spun off to microwave a breakfast pastry while not wearing any pants ??

• (These sentimental drive-bys happen often)

• Calls himself a trophy wife. He’s a 6’3” cis man.

• Will give you a 12 pt. size Times New Roman double-spaced essay with proper citations on why “it’s just more environmentally friendly to shower together as a couple”

• Arms.

• Told people that he was my ex-boyfriend when we got engaged, then later my ex-fiancé when we got married

• If he can’t make a sexual innuendo because of the sort of company we’re in, you can feel the energy thicken and you just KNOW that he’s fighting for his life to keep from blurting it out anyway

• Stretches after waking up so LOUDLY like a whole ass dog. VERY Asher Talbot me thinks.

• [I Kissed A Girl by Katy Perry blasting through the stereo at 5 billion decibels] [full performance included]

• Is the type of pretty that just fucking pisses you off does this make sense

• If he doesn’t write an event down on a calendar, it simply does not exist

• Proposed in the most casual manner by teasingly asked if we should get married, paused, then got out of the bed and proceeded to dig around in his SOCK DRAWER for the ring he was hiding, crawled back into the bed, and practically straddled me to repeat if we should get married

• Has an average body temperature clocking in at whatever the surface of the sun is

[wooahaes]

the aftermath of trick-or-treating

pairing: non-idol!jeonghan x gn!reader

genre: fluff. single dad!jeonghan au.

word count: 0.7k~

warnings: candy mention. slightly suggestive comments from jeonghan that lead nowhere (he's just here to tease a little hehe). single dad jeonghan (bc hes. cute :( <3)

daisy's notes: @twogyuu hi holly

The sound of tiny feet running around your home was enough to tell you that Jeonghan had finished trick-or-treating with his daughter. And if that hadn’t been enough to clue you in, the weight of your soon-to-be step-daughter throwing herself into your lap definitely was.

Jeonghan had chuckled to himself as he made his way inside, carrying that neon orange plastic pumpkin in one hand and his daugther’s coat in the other, a bag hanging off of his shoulder. “Ha-eun,” he called out, “be careful with the pumpkin hat.”

(You didn’t fail to notice that Jeonghan donned a pair of kitty ears—Ha-eun could get her way with puppy dog eyes any day.)

She merely let out a giggle, hugging you tight, her squishy pumpkin costume folding around her. She’d peeked up to your TV, noticing the frozen still on the screen. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing, baby,” you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Scary things for adults. Can I see your pretty costume?”

With a gasp, she began to beam at the idea of showing off the costume Jeonghan had bought her. She hopped up, slowly turning around to show off the soft orange dress with little details to make it obvious it was a pumpkin—lines down it and leaves around the neckline. Jeonghan had painted her face to look like a jack-o-lantern, too. Jeonghan had told you that she picked it out herself after a long bout of deliberation at the store. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be a princess, a pumpkin, or a skeleton this year. He’d tried to suggest that she could be all three if she went to Uncle Cheollie and gave him her puppy dog eyes, but she’d merely giggled and decided she would be a pumpkin because she’s always a princess (as told to her by Uncle Shua).

“How cute,” you mused aloud, smiling to yourself. Jeonghan had made his way over, settling into the spot next to you. 

He called out to her, picking up the tiny backpack that clearly belonged to her, “Why don’t you get changed? I’ll come help you wash off the paint and we can watch Halloween movies together.”

Ha-eun was strikingly mature for her age, and agreed easily due to the promise of movies (and snacks—she knew snacks would always be included in that promise). She ran off to get changed in your bedroom, the door shutting a moment later, and Jeonghan immediately turned to steal a kiss from you.

“I nearly took her to Joshua’s for tonight,” he mumbled. “I’ll just have to give you your treat later—”

Only for you to laugh, smacking at his arm. The two of you had agreed on this weeks ago: there was no way he was going to change his mind and deny Ha-eun of her movie night with her second favorite person in the world (... don’t tell Cheol or Shua that, though, Jeonghan had told you immediately after he spilled that little bit of information to you. Or Seungkwan, for that matter.), especially after you already made snacks. Jeonghan pulled away after pressing a second peck against your lips, pulling out a piece of candy from his pocket and pressing it into your hand.

“Ha-eun doesn’t like this kind,” he said, winking at you. “I stole it from the bucket when she wasn’t looking.” 

She’d never know it was missing either way, but you liked the way Jeonghan smiled at you like he was getting away with something. He got up to put the popcorn in the microwave, fetching the snacks you had made as you jot down the timestamp in the horror movie you’d been watching before changing it to something more family-friendly. Maybe you would forego the timestamp entirely and watch the movie with Jeonghan after you put Ha-eun to bed for the night. You heard the sound of his daughter coming back out of your room, calling out to her dad that she was ready to wash the facepaint off. All too soon, she had settled between the two of you again for movies.

And just as soon, she’d fallen asleep on top of you, exhausted from the exciting day. Jeonghan merely took the opportunity to lean over, smiling into the kiss he stole from you, all with the taste of candy on your lips.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune @weird-bookworm

[anyplaceisparadise]

A/N: Oh, it gets cheesy at the end yall. But I watched Make Up today and had to give Tom something to eat other than pasta. I could handle the spaghetti sandwich but I drew the line at plain spaghetti. Photos from Pinterest and Imdb.

Dessert

All she had done was cook him a chicken dinner.

One measly, wimpy looking roast chicken, with a side of mashed potatoes and green beans.

It was just a nice thing to do, she thought. She couldn’t stand watching him eat spaghetti for the millionth time, and she had a feeling he didn’t know how to cook much else.

“How do you survive?” she had asked him once as she leaned against the wall of the shed, watching him slurp another forkful of plain spaghetti from a plastic container.

He had shrugged, swallowed, and grinned at her.

“Need the carbs for this job don’t I?” he had said.

She had scoffed and wandered away, pulling her jacket closer around her as the wind came in from the sea. Sure, you need energy but good grief.

And so, when Shirley had asked her to go to town for her to grab a few things, she didn’t think twice about stepping into the tiny shop to pick up a few things extra. There wasn’t much to choose from, but she knew it was better than endless spaghetti. She didn’t even bother to turn down the pasta aisle.

When she showed up at his door with a stack of Tupperware, he had looked at her like she had grown an extra head. She knew it was a bit unexpected, but she also knew that he wasn’t going to turn her down. Just as she thought, he stepped back and she ducked through the beads hanging from the doorway and into the cramped space. She had cooked it all already in her own kitchen; “it just needed warming up”, she told him as she dumped it out on to a plate and popped it all into the puny microwave.

Tom hovered nearby, looking unsure but bemused. She suddenly felt quite awkward; was this too forward? Too much? It was just friendly, she had thought, but she realized suddenly how it might come off. She opened her mouth to speak but Tom beat her to it.

“You didn’t have to do this… I can feed myself, you know” he said, but there was a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

“Well, I know I didn’t but… Christ, Tom, you can’t live off spaghetti. You don’t even put anything on it” she said.

“Sometimes I do” he argued, crossing his arms.

“I have never seen you-”

“Just because you’ve never seen it-”

“Do you know how to cook, or-”

A loud beep cut them off. She gasped quietly at how hot the plate was in the microwave and shook her hand out as Tom gently hip bumped her out of the way.

“Careful” he admonished her, and took the plate out with a damp dish rag from the sink.

She exhaled sharply from her nose but didn’t say anything. She watched him set the plate down and then look around the tiny cooking area.

“You’re not eating?” he asked.

“Oh-”

She faltered. She hadn’t intended to eat, she was really just trying to feed him-

He pushed the plate towards her and grabbed another from the cupboard, loading more food up.

“Oh, Tom-” she protested, but a large hand pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her to sit at the table.

“You cooked it, you should eat too” he said, and then reached up, his work shirt lifting to reveal a sliver of pale stomach, and turned on a radio.

A jazzy song she didn’t recognize filled the space, and she heard him fiddling with the microwave behind her. She looked around. It was just as cramped and small as her own place, but relatively clean for a single young man living there. Through a doorway she could see an unmade bed, another work shirt laying rumpled at the foot of it. A work schedule had been pinned to the wall nearest her, and a dark jacket hung on the doorhandle of the bathroom.

She showed looked down quickly as Tom sat across from her with his own hot plate of food, and they quietly dug in. She chewed silently and then glanced up at him.

“I didn’t mean to like… impose or anything” she said quietly.

“I’m not going to say no to food” he replied, his big brown eyes crinkling as he smirked.

She smiled slightly and returned to her food. They ate in near silence until Tom finished, leaning back in his seat and yawning quietly.

“You’re a good cook huh?” he said, nodding at his empty plate.

“Glad you liked it” she said quietly, finishing as well.

A thick silence filled the air. She snuck a glance at him only to find him sneaking a glance back at her. He was cute, she thought, with his curls and dusting of stubble, his chocolate-coloured eyes that were blinking at her so sweetly.

“Did you want to... watch something?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh- ah… yeah, yeah, alright” she said quietly, and watched as he stood and passed her, motioning with a flick of his hand for her to follow.

She sat with him in the dark lounge; how close was too close? How close was not close enough? She didn’t know until the third rerun of the same gameshow, when she felt his large hand rest against her knee.

She looked over at him, meeting his deep gaze. He was looking at her closely, his pink lips parted slightly. His thumb tapped her knee.

“Did you want dessert? I think I want dessert” he said.

“Oh- yeah, I mean- we could- we could go down to the-” she began, throwing her own thumb behind her shoulder in the direction of the little shop in the camp.

“Nah, I mean-” he murmured, and leaned into her lap, his lips finding hers.

She was so stunned she sat there for a moment before her shoulders collapsed, melting as his hand moved around her waist and to her back.

“You wanted-” she breathed as they broke away for just a moment.

“I wanted dessert” he whispered into her mouth and kissed her again.

He nudged her gently, making her lay back against the worn, dark cushions as she felt his mouth attach to her neck, leaving warm kisses against her skin. Her hand found his curls, her other hand running across one broad shoulder. The winning ding from the game show rang out in the background, all but forgotten as they shifted; Tom finding his way between her legs. His hand ghosted over the button on her jeans, and she felt her stomach contract; it had been a while for her but-

“You’re still hungry?” she whispered.

He looked up at her, big brown eyes sparkling cheekily.

“I could eat all night”

[medusas-musings]

YOUR BRIAN QUINN X READER ONESHOT WAS SO GOOD, HELLO?? Anyways, I was wondering if it was possibly to do a Q x Gender Neutral reader? Nothing fancy but maybe and established relationship and some fluff y'know?

THANK YOU????? OMG?????????? Anyway I think I'm gonna try to write in a more Gender Neutral friendly way anyway for one shots, everyone deserves to fantasize about their celebrity crushes <3 Hope y'all enjoy!!

Movie Night (Brian “Q” Quinn x GN!Reader)

Summary: Q is late from filming. Again. But you could never stay mad at him, it's almost impossible. Slight angst-ish??? But overall fluff!

As I finish washing the dishes, I can't help but shut the door to the dishwasher with a swift thud, causing some of the dishes inside to rattle. My lungs fill slowly then release the air in huff as I look at the clock to the microwave: 11:23 pm. I can feel my heart drop with every minute that passes across the face of every clock in our house. Q was late, again. But this time, it hurt just a little bit more.For the past month, Brian’s been staying later on set, whether it was to catch up on busy work or to simply squeeze in some quality time with his friends. At first, I really didn’t mind; I knew what I signed up for when it came to dating someone who has their own tv show. However, one hour late becomes three hours late and I end up waiting by the phone in bed for a “coming home” text from him. He still cares, I know that at least. There’s been a lot of morning coffee talks about my feelings and I know he had his full attention on me and my new worries. He suggested that the next night he’ll get home as soon as he can and we can have a cozy movie night in. It was such a simple idea but I couldn’t help but feel a comfort wash over me. I had set up our living room with warm blankets, lavender scented candles and popcorn that’s lost its heat. The screen of our TV was on a selection of movies I picked out for the night, but it’s been replaced with the scrolling Roku cityscape. Now as I find myself trying to distract myself with any busy work in the house, the soft fuzzies I had for this plan have been replaced with anger. Before I was about to pull out a broom from our pantry to start sweeping, I heard the locks of the door move around. Most days this was music to my ears but right now it was nails on a chalkboard. I wait for the door to open then close behind him; I don’t need the neighbors to hear me chew this man out. “You are…” I glance at the clock on the microwave again and do some mental math before continuing my sentence. “Three hours and 30 minutes late, give or take.” I inform him, my voice calm but laced with ice. I close the door to the pantry and start to walk toward the entryway, my tone shifting to release the pent up frustration from the hours. “Really, Brian, I get you work hard and can’t always text me but you can’t-”

As I turn the corner to look at him, the first thing that catches my eyes are the flowers. They’re classic roses, a flower I enjoy because it’s safe for our cats. The next thing I see is the plastic bag in his other hand, stacks of styrofoam boxes inside. I recognized the smell instantly as one of my favorites from a local restaurant nearby Q and I had our first date at. There was a second bag, this one from the grocery store down the street; I could see from the top of it a bag of one of my favorite sweets and a pint of ice cream clinging to the bottom of the bag. Brian’s face is what I noticed last, and it nearly broke my heart. His eyebrows were together and his eyes filled with anxiety. The confidence he usually carries about him is dissipated, as if it was gone for the season. I didn’t want to immediately forgive him, but seeing him so worried about receiving my disapproval almost made all of my anger vanish.

“Baby, I know.” Q finally manages to find his words. “I’m late, but I promise I didn’t mean it. I really wanted to get home on time but the producers were up my ass about some final details for the season.” He walks towards me, as if he’s holding out his hand to pet a snarling dog. I didn’t let my expression soften yet; I wanted to see just how much he was willing to put into this little apology.“You couldn’t call?” I ask, finding an excuse to let my anger be for more than nothing for a second longer. My eyes try to stay off the gifts, not wanting to put my guard down just yet. “I wanted to, I promise. But once I realized I was still there at 9 I couldn’t think of anything but rushing around to get ya all this.” His broad shoulders raise, motioning to everything in his arms. I can’t help but imagine myself there instead. “I guess trying to make it up to you worsened the damage, I’m sorry. He notices me looking at the ground, avoiding his eye contact. His confidence was returning; he knew I didn’t want to be mad at him, and he knew exactly how to fix it. He gently lays the bags onto the ground and walks over to me, placing the bouquet onto the end table next to us. His arms now vacant, Q’s places his hands onto my cheeks, gently tilting my head up to meet his. His eyes had that special glimmer of softness to them, one I’ve only noticed when he looks at me. I pursed my lips slightly, trying to keep a serious nature to my face, but the mask was slipping. And he knows it. A small smirk creeps up onto his face, his facial hair framing his smile perfectly. At times like this, I hated how gorgeous his eyes were. “I’ll let you pick the movie.” he teases, his lips forming a real smile. I can’t fight the gentle smile that appears on my face as he leans down to give me a gentle kiss onto my forehead. My hands snake their way around Q’s waist and I tilt my head up to place a chaste kiss onto Q’s cheek, a white flag in this battle that’s only transpired in my head. “You’re too good at diffusing my anger, you know that?” I ask, moving one of my hands to his face, the fuzz of his beard scraping against my palm. He smiles back at me. “I hate seeing you angry with me, Sweetheart, I gotta do what I can to fix it.” He breaks away from our embrace and grabs the bags he carried into our home. “Look, you go relax in our living room that you worked so hard to make all cozy and I’ll get these roses in a vase for you and get our dinner situated, don’t you do another chore, baby!” I smile at him walking to our couch and sit down, getting myself comfortable with the blankets and pillows. I watch as Q puts the ice cream away and fills a vase with water, looking at his phone from time to time about how to properly prepare flowers for a vase. Watching him try so hard to salvage this night made every angry thought I had 30 minutes ago seem so irrational. I wondered how I could ever be angry at the man who fills my heart with so much adoration and makes my world more colorful. In about 5 minutes, he shuffles into our living room area placing down the containers of our dinner onto the glass coffee table and lays a couple bags of snacks on the floor by our feet. From muscle memory, I cuddle into him putting my head onto his chest and then feel his arm wrap around my shoulders. He gives me a kiss on the top of my head as I take in his scent and I couldn’t describe it as any more than just “home”.

At this moment, I understand now that I wasn’t mad at Q, I was really having withdrawal symptoms of him. Getting my fix of my beloved set everything right in my world, and it felt as if anger wasn’t a feeling, but a distant memory.

[bioleaderpack]

Can Paper Plates Go in the Microwave? 7 Crucial Facts Everyone Should Know

Introduction: A Common Question with Uncommon Consequences

Using paper plates in the microwave feels like second nature—convenient, quick, and supposedly safe. But if you’ve ever asked, “Can paper plates go in the microwave?”, you’re not alone. The reality is, not all paper plates are created equal. Some are heat-safe, while others could leach chemicals, warp, or catch fire.

In this blog, we’ll explore:

The science behind how paper plates respond to microwave heat

Which types are safe (and which are not)

Common misconceptions that lead to risky heating

Why molded fiber plates made from sugarcane bagasse offer a superior alternative

Actionable tips for safe microwaving with disposable tableware

What Happens to Paper Plates in the Microwave?

Paper plates may seem like simple products, but they vary drastically based on materials and manufacturing processes. Under microwave heat, these differences can become dangerous.

Common Microwave Reactions:

Warping or sogginess from moisture absorption

Melting or bubbling if coated with plastic

Smoking or burning when waxed or microwaved empty

Toxin release if colored with non-food-safe inks

In a microwave, microwaves excite water molecules. Plates without sufficient moisture may overheat. If coated with synthetic liners, they can emit volatile organic compounds (VOCs).

Which Paper Plates Are Actually Microwave Safe?

The answer depends on three things: material, coating, and certification.

✅ Microwave-Safe:

Uncoated, plain fiber plates

Molded bagasse (sugarcane pulp) plates

Plates labeled “microwave-safe” or FDA food-safe

❌ Unsafe:

Plates with plastic lining (common in glossy or moisture-resistant products)

Wax-coated plates (often used for greasy foods)

Printed or metallic-decorated plates

Recycled plates with unknown additives

7 Essential Facts About Microwaving Paper Plates

1. Coatings Are the Primary Danger

Many disposable plates marketed for durability are lined with polyethylene or wax. These coatings melt under heat, releasing harmful substances and making them a microwave hazard.

2. Ink and Decoration Pose Health Risks

Plates with colorful patterns or foil edging often use non-food-grade ink that can migrate into food when heated.

3. Bagasse-Based Plates Are Heat-Stable and Safe

Made from sugarcane fiber, bagasse plates are naturally microwave-resistant, hold shape under heat and moisture, and are fully compostable after use.

4. Moist Food Makes Microwaving Safer

Microwaving dry plates or empty dishes creates heat concentration, increasing fire risk. Always use paper plates with food or place a cup of water nearby.

5. Heat Duration Matters

Most microwave-safe plates are safe for up to 2–3 minutes. Beyond that, even safe materials may weaken.

6. Structural Design Influences Performance

Plates with thicker, molded rims or fiber-integrated lids better retain shape and resist warping.

7. Compostable ≠ Microwave-Safe—But It Can Be

Not all eco plates are heat-resistant. For example, cornstarch-based products with PLA lining can melt. Unlined bagasse plates, however, are both compostable and microwaveable.

Real-World Insight: Why Compostable Fiber Plates Perform Better

A 2023 trial across three university canteens compared traditional coated paper plates with plant-fiber molded alternatives. The results:

95% fewer product failures in microwave reheating

Higher satisfaction in food temperature and integrity

Increased compliance with compost collection programs

40% reduction in packaging waste landfill contribution

Eco-conscious consumers increasingly value plates that perform during and after use—not just in appearance.

Are All Compostable Plates Microwaveable?

No. Compostable products vary widely.

Material Microwave Safe? NotesBagasse

(sugarcane)✅ Yes Durable, naturally heat-tolerant

Cornstarch + PLA❌ No PLA can melt in microwave

Bamboo pulp⚠️ Partial May warp under long heating or oily foods

Palm leaf⚠️ Partial Can split or over-dry when microwavedCoated paper❌ NoPlastic or wax makes it unsafe

Bagasse plates, thanks to their plant-fiber strength and absence of coatings, offer the most reliable balance between microwave safety and post-use biodegradability.

What to Look for on the Label

Before using a disposable plate in the microwave, check for:

✅ Microwave-Safe icon or phrase

✅ Food-safe certification (e.g., FDA)

✅ No gloss, waxy feel, or plastic smell

✅ Mention of uncoated fiber or bagasse

A high-quality, fiber-molded plate will feel slightly textured and matte. No gloss = no plastic.

Tips for Microwave-Safe Plate Usage

Limit use to under 3 minutes

Don’t microwave dry plates—always include food

Never use metal-edged or glossy designs

Check for fiber content over paperboard

Place a mug of water in the microwave for extended heating

These precautions protect not only your microwave but also your food quality and safety.

Why Material Choice Matters Beyond the Microwave

The story doesn’t end after reheating. Many microwave-safe plates still end up in landfills if they’re coated or made from mixed materials.

By choosing compostable fiber-based plates, you:

Support agricultural waste reuse (like sugarcane pulp)

Reduce methane emissions from landfill paper waste

Avoid microplastic residue in food

Help build circular waste systems at home and city scale

That’s sustainability you can feel with every meal.

Final Thoughts: Don’t Assume—Choose Smart

So, can paper plates go in the microwave? The answer is yes—if they’re uncoated, certified, and made from natural fibers.

By opting for heat-safe, compostable tableware like sugarcane bagasse plates, you protect your food, your appliance, and the environment. They hold up under pressure—literally—and disappear responsibly after use.

Convenience doesn't have to cost your health or the planet. Choose smart. Choose safe. Choose sustainable.

[paganfantasy]

Batman Japanese Ramen Noodle Bowl

https://amzn.to/3GIgjQ4

MANGA BATMAN:White ramen dish features Manga comic sketches of DC comics Batman.

STEP UP YOUR RAMEN GAME: This 20 oz deep ceramic bowl comes with a pair of matching Batman chopsticks. Enjoy ramen, rice, soups, and more in this playful dish.

SAFE & SUSTAINABLE: Enjoy your favorite foods hot or cold in this durable bowl. It’s microwave safe, and top rack dishwasher friendly. Made with BPA-free plastic.

[forkfulofflavor]

Honey Mustard Chicken Tacos Ingredients: 1 (12-ounce) bag broccoli slaw mix (or regular coleslaw) 1 cup keto mayonnaise 2 tbsp white vinegar 2 tbsp Besti Monk fruit and Allulose Sweetener (substitute with regular sugar for non-keto) Pink salt, to taste Cracked black pepper, to taste 16 frozen chicken strips (use crispy or rotisserie strips for added flavor) 1 cup Keto Honey Mustard Sauce (substitute with store-bought honey mustard or make your own with regular honey) 8 keto tortillas (substitute with regular taco-size tortillas for non-keto) Directions: In a large mixing bowl, combine the broccoli slaw mix, mayonnaise, vinegar, sweetener, pink salt, and cracked black pepper. Mix well, cover with plastic wrap, and place in the refrigerator to chill. Cook the chicken strips according to the package directions until they are crispy and golden. While the chicken cooks, heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Warm each tortilla on both sides until pliable. Alternatively, wrap the tortillas in a damp paper towel and microwave for 15-30 seconds until warm. To assemble, lay 2 chicken strips on each tortilla, top with a spoonful of broccoli slaw, and drizzle with honey mustard sauce. Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cooking Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes Kcal: 310 kcal | Servings: 8 tacos Tags: Honey Mustard Chicken Tacos combine the best of tangy, crispy, and creamy in every bite. The crispy chicken strips pair perfectly with a fresh broccoli slaw tossed in a light, tangy dressing, while a drizzle of honey mustard sauce adds just the right amount of sweetness. Whether you're in the mood for a quick lunch or an easy weeknight dinner, these tacos are sure to please your taste buds! Ideal for a low-carb or keto lifestyle, these tacos are versatile enough for all dietary preferences. The recipe uses keto tortillas and a keto-friendly honey mustard, but regular tortillas and store-bought honey mustard work just as well. Perfect for Taco Tuesday, these Honey Mustard Chicken Tacos are a guaranteed family favorite with a unique twist.

[digitaldetoxworld]

Best Meal Preparation for Busy Professionals: Eat Smart, Save Time

 In the short-paced global of cut-off dates, meetings, and unpredictable paintings hours, ingesting wholesome and staying energized can experience like a luxury for busy specialists. Often, convenience wins, leading to takeout food, skipped breakfasts, or late-night time snacking. However, with a bit of planning and the proper strategies, meal prepping can emerge as a sport-changer on your health, productivity, and wallet.

Best Meal Preparation for Busy Professionals

Let’s dive into the quality practices for meal training tailored especially for specialists who're continuously at the cross.

🌟 Why Meal Prep Matters for Busy Professionals

Before diving into the “how,” permit’s cope with the “why.”

Saves Time: Preparing food in bulk frees up each day cooking time.

Healthier Choices: You control the substances, quantities, and nutrients.

Boosts Productivity: Proper nutrition improves intellectual consciousness and electricity.

Saves Money: Reduces impulse food purchases and eating out.

Stress-Free Eating: No last-minute cooking or food choices.

🧠 Step 1: Smart Planning Is Half the Battle

🗓️ Plan Your Week

Choose 2 days for prepping (generally Sunday and Wednesday).

Breakfast too?

Consider your paintings calendar: Travel days? Late conferences? Adjust therefore.

📋 Make a Meal Schedule

Example:

Monday to Friday

Breakfast: Overnight oats

Lunch: Quinoa + grilled chook + greens

Dinner: Stir-fried tofu with brown rice

This keeps your grocery buying and cooking green.

Avoid wandering the aisles aimlessly. Build a listing around your deliberate food. Divide it into categories for pace:

Proteins: Chicken breast, eggs, tofu, chickpeas, Greek yogurt

Grains: Brown rice, quinoa, oats, whole wheat wraps

Veggies: Bell peppers, spinach, broccoli, carrots

Fruits: Apples, bananas, berries

Fats: Olive oil, avocado, nuts

Extras: Spices, sauces, condiments, espresso/tea

Tip: Try on line grocery shipping to shop even greater time.

🍳 Step 3: Meal Prep Techniques That Save Time

1. Batch Cooking

Make massive batches of food that can be portioned at some point of the week:

Roast a tray of vegetables.

Cook huge quantities of rice or quinoa.

Grill or bake five-6 portions of chicken or tofu.

2. One-Pot Meals

Limit cleanup and prep time:

Chili

Pasta with greens

Rice bowls

Soup/stew

three. Overnight Prep

Overnight oats or chia pudding

Smoothie freezer packs

Marinate proteins in a single day for next-day grilling

4. Freezer-Friendly Meals

Make extra and freeze:

Casseroles

Baked pasta

Curries and dals

Burrito wraps

Freezer meals are perfect for emergency busy days.

🥗 Step four: Meal Ideas for the Work Week

Here’s a full 5-day pattern meal plan for busy specialists:

Breakfast Options

Overnight Oats (with chia seeds, banana, almond milk, and honey)

Egg Muffins (bake scrambled egg with spinach and bell peppers in muffin tins)

Greek Yogurt Parfait (with granola and berries)

Smoothies (banana, spinach, protein powder, peanut butter)

Avocado Toast (entire grain toast + boiled egg or smoked salmon)

Lunch Options

Quinoa Bowl (grilled chicken, chickpeas, cucumber, feta, lemon dressing)

Burrito Wrap (beans, rice, corn, salsa, avocado, chook)

Pasta Salad (with cherry tomatoes, olives, spinach, and grilled tofu)

Stir-Fried Veggies & Brown Rice

Chickpea Curry with Whole Wheat Roti

Dinner Options

Grilled Salmon + Roasted Veggies

Stuffed Bell Peppers (quinoa, black beans, cheese)

Zoodles (zucchini noodles with pesto & shrimp)

Veggie Stir-Fry with tofu and noodles

Dal + Rice + Pickle + Salad

🍱 Step 5: Storage & Portioning Tips

Use the Right Containers

Glass packing containers: Durable, microwave-secure, no plastic flavor.

Compartment bins: Ideal for element manipulate (protein + carbs + veg).

Mason jars: Great for salads and in a single day oats.

Label Everything

Use labels or covering tape to put in writing the call and prep date.

Refrigeration Guidelines

Cooked food: Best fed on inside 3–4 days.

Freeze whatever you received’t devour in that point.

Quick Meal Prep Hacks

Chop greens in bulk and save in ziplock bags.

Use pre-washed veggies to save time on salads.

Buy frozen fruit/veggies – just as nutritious, already chopped.

Use kitchen gadgets: Instant Pot, air fryer, or rice cooker.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

Too Much Variety: Keep it simple. Rotate 2–three core food each week.

Ignoring Snacks: Prepare healthy snacks like boiled eggs, path mix, or hummus with carrots.

Skipping Seasoning: Bland meals received’t inspire you. Use herbs, spices, and dressings.

Overcooking: Especially for leafy greens – they turn soggy quickly.

Forgetting Breakfast: It units the tone for the day—plan something seize-and-go.

💼 Office-Friendly Meals

Use microwave-secure packing containers with steam vents.

Avoid overly highly spiced or messy food in shared areas.

Choose non-stinky foods like boiled eggs or fish wisely—maintain coworkers happy!

Pro Tip: Keep a set of utensils, napkins, and snacks on your table drawer for emergency conditions.

🌱 Healthy Doesn’t Mean Boring

You don’t must devour grilled chicken each day. Add range with:

Different marinades (lemon herb, teriyaki, tandoori)

Different grains (millet, couscous, barley)

Fun toppings (hummus, tzatziki, chili flakes, nuts)

Flavor subjects as tons as nutrients.

🧘 Bonus: How Meal Prep Improves Work-Life Balance

When you’re not scrambling to cook dinner or consume out:

You advantage greater unfastened time in the evenings.

You devour mindfully, enhancing digestion and mood.

You spend much less intellectual energy worrying about food.

Vegetarian Indian street food recipes

[ameliareedsocial]

Game-Changer Alert: The Leakproof Glass Container That Goes From Freezer to Blazing Oven!

Hey busy bees and fitness fam! 👋 If you’re tired of soggy lunches, spilled smoothies, or microwaving meals in flimsy plastic tubs—I’ve found your holy grail: The Airtight Lock & Go Glass Container!

✨ Why This Is EVERYWHERE in My Life

✅ Lock-Tight, Zero-Leak Seal Four-sided locking lids + silicone gaskets = 100% leakproof magic. Toss it in your gym bag (next to your protein shaker), take it poolside, or stash it in your work tote—no spills, no mess!

✅ Freshness That Lasts Say goodbye to wilted salads or stale snacks! The airtight seal locks in flavor and crunch for days. Perfect for meal-prepped grilled chicken, cut fruit, or overnight oats.

✅ -40°C to 400°C (752°F!) Tough Yes, you read that right! ❄️→🔥 → Freezer-safe: Stock up on soups or batch-cooked grains. → Microwave-friendly: Reheat in minutes (vent the lid!). → OVEN-HERO: Go straight from fridge to oven—no dish-swapping! (I’ve baked lasagna in mine!)

✅ Lazy-Clean Approved Dishwasher-safe? ✔️ Stain-resistant glass? ✔️ No lingering smells? ✔️

🚀 Real-Life Wins

Gym/Post-Swim: Pack Greek yogurt or chia pudding—shake it upside down… still sealed! 💪🏊♀️

Work Lunch: Impress coworkers pulling a steaming homemade curry FROM THE OFFICE OVEN.

Planet Love: Ditch single-use containers!

Pro Tip: Avoid thermal shock—let frozen dishes rest 5 mins before oven use.