#best american dishes

[indelicateink]

as an american, sam reid’s total inability to hide his contempt for overly fake-chipper american journalists, especially ones who Have Not Done The Assigned Reading know and care about the show, will never not be hilarious and iconic to me

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

the amount of effort that goes into figuring out what to cook and eat every day is RIDICULOUS. i used to think people were so weird and boring for eating the same thing every single day but it truly does make life so much easier

[mars-ipan]

worst part of echolalia is the urge to mimic accents. i am gonna get my ass beat one day

[lago-morpha]

I do love meat but I cannot stand dishes where the point is a slab of meat. Why would I eat straight up steak or pork loin where are all the other ingredients. shit is so boring

[snckt]

i’m terribly glad patrick warburton got to do the audiobook for poison for breakfast, he has an excellent reading voice

[bettysupremacy]

okay hear me out!!! Abby telling mike all the things her and y/n did that day, very cliché things but still so cute!! (loosely based off of best day by taylor swift... but...)

it’s like you knew my weak spot was Taylor Swift

“It was the best day ever.” Abby muffles, mouthful of salad.

Mike stands in the kitchen, back to her. He looks silly in a pretty pink apron Abby had picked out at the store, but he doesn’t mind. He wears it to let her giggle at the bow tied behind him. Steam smokes from the pots and pans around him.

“Oh, yeah?” He asks, stress keeping a low profile. He turns the burner nobs to lower settings.

“Yeah,” She emphasizes. “Really, we went to the mall, did you know there was a store just for dolls?”

“Yuh uh.” The pasta water is boiling over, shit. “What’s it- what’s it called? The girl doll store?”

“American Girl Doll.”

“That’s the one.”

Abby shrugs, flicking her bangs before stabbing wildly into her bowl. “It was so amazing, they have a cafe in there.”

Mike’s heart spikes at the thought of you spending money on his sister. It’s thoughtful, truly, but that’s his job now. He took on this roll. “You uh,” he mixes the pasta sauce. “you eat in there?”

“Yes.” She gushes, finishing the remnants of the salad Mike had made her. “But that was hours ago, and I’m hungry again.”

“That’s okay. That’s totally fine. Pastas almost done.”

“Good.” She juts her hand out to Mike, letting him lean over to toss her bowl in the sink with a clatter. “I got lemonade and a cheeseburger.”

“Wow.” Mike smiles, finally at ease with the chaos of cooking. He wipes his hands off messily, resting his them on the counter as he watches Abby with a light grin. “You’ve never eaten those for me.”

“Yeah,” She shrugs flippantly. “it was my first time.”

“I know, you like it?”

“It was soooo good, is the pasta done?”

Mike turns over his shoulder, “Shit, yeah.” He rushes to flip off the timer that now counts down from ten.

“Jar.”

“I’m not putting money in a jar.” He scoffs. “This is my own home.”

He spoons the pasta into a clean bowl, ditching the spoon for a fork when he realizes it’s a hopeless cause. He forks more than he thinks she’ll eat, but that’s okay, because at least she’s eating. She doesn’t have to finish it.

“We didn’t buy a doll.” She pulls the warm bowl in front of her, mixing the pasta sauce into her noodles. “They were creepy, I didn’t like them.”

“I don’t like them either.”

“But she got me a cupcake and ohhhhh my godddd, Mike.” She squeals. “It looked just like Chica’s, I didn’t want to eat it!”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, it was good.”

Halfway through the bowl she taps out. To be expected. Mike isn’t mad. Instead he grabs her plate, scraping the leftovers into dingy tupperware. It’s quiet besides the rumble of AC and Abby. She taps the counter to the tune of a television show she’d been watching earlier.

“Go uh,” He trails off, distracted with the dish.

“Shower?” She helps.

“That.”

“Ok.” She hops off the counter bench, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand messily. “Mike?”

“Yes?” He eyes her over his shoulder.

“I like her. Can we hang out again?”

He laughs turning back around. “Maybe. Go shower.”

[fatkish]

Hiii Could you do a fluff head cannon with all the mha pro heroes (aizawa,present mic,all might,mirko, And midnight) like little moments with child reader

Pro Heroes x Child Reader:

(Platonic) Fluff HC’s

Aizawa:

Snuggles with the reader all the time

Probably bought a matching sleeping bag for the reader

Has secretly put up their drawings in his office at school

Lets the reader sleep with him when they can’t sleep or have a nightmare

Will go through the house and make sure no villains or monsters are hiding before bedtime

Reads story books at bedtime or tells the reader stories about uncle Mic or his students

Would definitely have pajama parties

Would help the reader build blanket and pillow forts in the living room and sleeps in them

Helps the reader as best he can with their homework

Hizashi:

Most definitely has dance parties or plays music videos games

Bought the reader one of the children’s karaoke machines and cheers the reader on now matter how bad their singing is

Loves playing hide and seek with the reader

If the kid likes to dress up whenever they play then he’ll definitely help and tries to make the reader look like a mini him

Definitely bought the reader instruments like a toy keyboard or drums to let them explore music and see if they like it

Makes up the weirdest and silly stories for the reader’s bedtime

Helps the reader with their homework by making a game of it or making it entertaining

Has pictures and drawings from the reader all over his desk and office

All might:

Dad jokes 100%. Will tell all kinds of them no matter how lame or stupid they are

Plays pretend and has the reader be the hero who defeats the evil tickle monster

Tries to cook food with the reader like baking cookies or making their own homemade pizza. Has had to try to keep the reader from eating all the ingredients when they were younger

Carries the reader on his shoulders and will toss them in the air

Definitely tries to introduce foreign foods to the reader such as classic American dishes like an American hotdog or apple pie

Tells the reader stories of his hero days when he was younger or his experiences overseas as bedtime stories

Helps the reader understand their homework and shows them how to do it before letting them try if they’re struggling

Let’s the reader wear his shirts since they’re so big on reader and he thinks it’s cute

Proudly shows pictures and the reader’s drawings to his coworkers

Mirko:

Definitely cheers on the reader whenever they play Heroes and villains

Will definitely give actual advice on how to fight a villain

Has morning yoga sessions with the reader to help them increase their flexibility

Would most likely play wrestle with the child

Reader has a bunch or Mirko merch and has all the limited edition items thanks to Mirko

Recounts stories of the villains she fought that day as bedtime stories or makes some up

Tries to help the reader with their homework and will hire a tutor or ask another pro to help them if possible

Definitely has the reader’s drawings in her office and proudly displays them for all to see

Probably has a trampoline and teaches the reader how to do cool jumps

Midnight:

Loves going shopping for clothes with reader

Will definitely play heroes and villains with the child and be the villain

Would also pretend to be a civilian in need of saving

Helps reader design their ‘hero’ costume

If the child can’t sleep then she’ll use her quirk to help them sleep

Will read story books to the reader and tuck them in at bedtime

Helps the reader with their homework by referencing the problems to things they already know or that they like, for example: with math, Midnight will use visual references like pieces of candy to help the reader understand addition and subtraction

Has bought so many stuffed animals for the reader, their room is basically filled with them

[bubblegumbi-tch]

the way americans say "make a plate" to mean serving yourself/someone or dishing up/out food drives me bonkers...you didn't make the plate too did you?!?!

[mando-abs]

Being sick again means I crave only one thing

I miss you babe

[adrienneleclerc]

Can You Be My Boyfriend?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N is Ferrari’s social media manager and when one of the mechanics doesn’t take no for an answer, she pretends she’s dating a certain Ferrari driver.

Warning: grammatical and spelling errors cuz I don’t proofread

A/N: i just wanted to say thank you so much for the love y’all gave “Prince of Ferrari”, it means a lot to me as a new Charles Leclerc writer. I hope y’all like this one too, just like Olivia Rodrigo, I am so American,

Y/N walked into Fred’s office.

“Mr. Vasseur, I had an idea for a new C2 challenge.” Y/N said.

“What did you have in mind, Y/N?” Fred asked.

“I was thinking we make dishes from each place we go to. Like Cuban food from Miami, Texas barbecue ribs, paella from Spain, and we have Charles and Carlos match the dishes to their flag. I personally think it would be fun, you know? Or we could do a video where the drivers tell us from which Grand Prix the photo was taken.” Y/N suggested.

“Those are very good ideas, Y/N, see if the boys are up to it, will you? Figure out when the best time is to film that.” Fred said.

“Yes, will do.” Y/N said and left his office. She walked to the living room (does the hospitality have a living room? I don’t know) to see Carlos and Charles chatting to away.

“There she is! Como has estado, hermosa?” Carlos asked Y/N, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek.

“Ha estado súper bien, un poquito cansada, pero nada que no se puede arreglar con un café.” Y/N said, her and Carlos laughed.

“I understand half of that.” Charles said.

“Now you know how I feel when you speak French.” Y/N said. “Anyway, as your social media manager, I had an idea for an upcoming challenge, we have to make the most of this season.” Y/N said.

“We hear you, mon ange, what’s the idea?” Charles asked.

“Can you guys guess what Grand Prix this is based off the picture?” Y/N asked, showing them a picture on her phone.

“That’s when I won in Monza.” Charles answered.

“Good, this is your challenge, guessing Grand Prixs based off a photo.” Y/N said putting her phone away. “It’s not much, but it’s different from what you guys have done in the past. You could also match dishes to their countries.” Y/N said.

“Sounds like a fun challenge.” Carlos said.

“Good to hear. I’m gonna be with the photographer, he’s taking photos of the new livery and I need to approve them before I post them on Instagram. See ya later, okay?” Y/N said, stepping into the garage where she sees the photographer looking over the photos on his camera.

“Y/N! You’re here, tell me what you think, and be brutally honest. Do you think they came out to blurry?” The photographer, Daniel, asked. Y/N started looking them over.

“They look great, honestly, it matches Ferrari’s instagram feed, you did a good job. Can you upload them to the computer?” Y/N asked and Daniel said that he could. He left Y/N alone on the garage and that’s when one of the mechanics, Ruggero, approached her.

“Sei bellissima, a more mío.” Ruggero told her. Y/N rolled her eyes,

“Grazie, Rugge, what do you want?” Y/N asked.

“You are very hostile towards me, you know? I might be able to forgive you if you go out with me.” Ruggero said.

“Not gonna happen, Rugge, aren’t you tired of getting rejected?” Y/N asked.

“I bounce back. Come on, amore, why won’t you let me take you out? You think you’re too good for me?” Ruggero asked.

“What are you talking about? Oh my god, I don’t think I’m too good for you, where the hell did you get that from?” Y/N asked, so confused at the turn this conversation took.

“Well that’s the only thing I could think of, you come from the states, you clearly think you’re better than Europeans.” Ruggero said and Y/N had enough of this nonsense.

“I have a boyfriend! Que pesado eres, me cae.” Y/N said.

“Really, who’s the boyfriend?” Ruggero asked. Y/N saw Charles walking into the garage.

“Muñeco, there you are!” Y/N said loudly, walking up to Charles and kissed him. Charles widened his eyes in shock but kissed her back and they both pulled away, Y/N wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest and Charles rubbed her back.

“Congratulations, does Fred know?” Ruggero asked.

“It’s private right now, we’re just seeing how this goes.” Y/N replied and as soon as Ruggero left, Y/N pulled away from Charles. “I am so sorry! Ruggero wouldn’t leave me alone so I had to tell him I had a boyfriend and honestly whoever walked through that door was going to be the victim of my lie but I am glad it’s you and not Carlos, mainly because Ruggero knows Rebecca is dating him.” Y/N explained quickly but Charles was still distracted, thinking about the kiss Y/N gave him.

“I’m sorry, what?” Charles asked.

“Can you be my boyfriend?” Y/N asked.

“I Don’t think we could pull this off, Y/N. We work together.” Charles said.

“We would only have to pretend we’re dating around Ruggero, no one else has to know, I promise.” Y/N said.

“Okay fine.” Charles said, him and Y/N were walking back to the main area (I don’t know how this works) and Carlos was standing next to Fred and Ruggero with a smile.

“Congratulations, cabrón,” Carlos told charles, hugging him. “You two are adorable.” Charles turned to look at Y/N with a look that said ‘no one will know, yeah right’

“I didn’t know you two were dating.” Fred commented.

“It’s still new.” Charles replied, putting his arm around Y/N.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the social media posts, it should be fine.” Fred said before walking away. Ruggero smiled before going back to the garage.

“Now I know why you always called her ‘mon ange’, que coqueto saliste, eh charles.” Carlos said, leaving Y/N and Charles alone, Y/N pulled away to face Charles.

“Well so much for that plan, I really am sorry, Charles.” Y/N said.

“You know what? It’s alright, it’s okay, pretending around here should be easy enough, this can’t get worse, right?” Charles asked.

“I Don’t think it can. How about I buy you lunch for getting you into this situation? I swear I did not mean for this to happen.” Y/N said.

“Yeah, sure let’s get lunch, where do you want to go?” Charles asked.

“Well since this lunch is my treat, you choose where we should go.” Y/N said. Charles and Y/N walked to the parking lot together and Y/N was walking towards her car when Charles grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards his car. “Seriously?”

“Well what kind of boyfriend would I be if we went to lunch in different cars?” Charles asked.

“Yeah, makes sense, Ruggero is watching through the window too, let’s go.” Y/N said. Charles opened the passenger door and Y/N got in, he close the door behind her, ever there gentleman, and he got into the driver seat. He turned on the car, and gave Y/N his phone so she can choose the music.

They arrived at the restaurant and like always, there were fans recording Charles and Y/N in the car, leaving the car, eating at the restaurant, talking, laughing, within the hour, Charles and Y/N were trending on Instagram, Twitter (X), and TikTok. As they waited for the check, Y/N was scrolling on TikTok when she found a video of her and Charles in the car.

“Charles, i think our ‘relationship’ went public.” Y/N said, showing him her phone. Charles’s eyes widened.

“Cant say I’m not surprised, I just thought videos wouldn’t be posted until later, you know?” Charles said and Y/N put her phone away.

“We haven’t even been ‘dating’ two hours and now everyone knows. You have no idea how sorry I am, I feel so bad for dragging you into this.” Y/N said.

“None of this wouldn’t have happened if Ruggero understood the word ‘no’ so you are fine, I’m glad I was able to help. But what was that thing you called me? ‘Muñeco’? Why did you call me that?” Charles asked.

“So ‘muñeco’ means ‘doll’, you have a pretty face, everyone says you’re good looking, you know you’re good looking. So muñeco just suits you, okay, especially with those dimples.” Y/N said, Charles smirked a little.

“You think I have a pretty face?” Charles asked teasingly.

“Great, I boosted your ego, like your head wasn’t big enough already. You literally said in one of those C2 challenges when Carlos had your photo that if you were a woman, you would be in love with yourself.” Y/N said. The waiter came in with the check and Y/N was going to take it but Charles was faster. “Dude, I told you I was gonna pay.”

“It would look good if you paid, there are cameras everywhere apparently.” Charles said, placing his credit card with the check. The waiter took the check.

“Then I’ll Apple Pay you. You gonna train today?” Y/N asked.

“Yes actually, come with me? You could post it to my story.” Charles asked. The waiter came back with Charles’s card.

“Yeah, I can do that. But we gotta go to Scuderia Ferrari for my car.” Y/N said, getting up from the table, Charles getting up as well.

“I think it can stay there overnight.” Charles said.

“You want me to spend the entire day with you? You’re insane.” Y/N commented as they were leaving the restaurant.

“Maybe, but it is to keep up appearances.” Charles said.

“I guess, but how long do we say we’ve been dating?” Y/N asked, getting into Charles’s car, he does the same.

“4 months seems good, don’t you think?” Charles asked.

“I guess that’s plausible.” Y/N said, Charles starts the car and drives off.

“Do you miss New York?” Charles asked.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked.

“You travel a lot with us and you moved to Monaco for work, but do you ever miss New York? Your family? I know I miss my family when I’m away for races.” Charles said.

“I miss the food in New York, I can’t get decent tacos al pastor in Monaco, I gotta wait til the Mexican Grand Prix for them.” Y/N stated. “But yeah, I do miss New York.”

“You should ask for vacation time so you could go.” Charles said.

“I Don’t think they’ll give it to me, but thanks.” Y/N said.

For a week, Y/N and Charles have been spotted together everywhere, at races obviously, with Joris, Andrea, Doni, and Victoria, even with Charles’s family. Right now Y/N was with Charles at a club in Monaco. Y/N was at a table with Charles was at the bar getting drinks. Y/N noticed a girl flirting with Charles, touching his hand, before he pulled away with two drinks for him and Y/N.

“Charles, can we talk for a second?” Y/N asked.

“Sure, what’s on your mind, mon ange?” Charles asked, the nickname still causing butterflies in Y/N’s stomach.

“If you wanted to hook up with that girl, you can. I don’t want to have you tied down for a fake relationship.” Y/N said.

“I wasn’t interested in her at all, you know.” Charles commented.

“Really? What happens when the next girl that hits on you is more your type? I don’t want to hold you back, we are friends after all.” Y/N said.

“I have a confession to make.” Charles said, Y/N nodded her head for Charles to continue. “I’ve liked you for a while. Before you kissed me, it was a little crush, I thought it would have went away, but being with you this past week made my crush grow stronger. You don’t have to feel the same way, I just wanted to get this off my chest.” Y/N was shocked. Charles usually went for Instagram models, but he actually likes her, this was her dream come true.

“I’ve liked you for a while too, I just never thought you would see me that way.” Y/N said.

“I’m going to kiss you right now, okay?” Charles whispered, getting closer to Y/N, looking at her lips then back into her eyes, Y/N nodded, leaning in until their lips touched. It was a soft, gentle kiss, until Charles gained more confidence to do more. They pulled away. “Will you be my girlfriend? For real, this time?” Charles asked.

“Yes I will.” Y/N responded, they kissed again.

The End

Was this good? I think it was good, the pacing is weird, but I had no idea where this was going, just saying. Was it just as good as “prince of Ferrari”? Probably not, but I hope y’all liked it, should I keep writing Charles Leclerc fanfics?

[coff33andb00ks]

37 With Oscar Piastri? 🫶

37: not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out I got this twice so i'm combining them k thx 🥹

also this is really for @maxlarens bc she helped me craft something similar to this idea

Oscar's...different. Not in a bad way, just...different. He's not loud or obnoxious like the other guys in your classes at uni, he just comes in, takes his seat, and then...

Well honestly you don't know. Since, you know, you're paying attention to the professor. But you assume he's paying attention as well.

He's just quiet. Or so you thought.

"Your grandma sounds nice," you say, truly smiling as he finishes telling you about the treats his grandmother sent from back home.

He grins, blushing a little. Maybe from embarrassment, maybe from the drinks. "Yeah... She's strong too, you know."

"Is she?" you ask.

"She's got the heart of a lion."

"Oh wo--"

"And a lifetime ban from the zoo."

Your jaw drops and you let out a giggle while he grins again. "Stop, that was terrible," you insist, taking a sip of your drink. But you're still giggling a little.

His face creases and you realize that the weirdly quiet guy from maths isn't weird.

So naturally he needs you to become his friend. Right? Right. Probably not but you take up the task anyway, happily dragging him along to parties and clubs on weekends. He goes along with it, longsuffering and looking miserable, but always ends up cracking jokes that have even your most judgmental friends liking him.

Oscar's like that, you realize, watching him cringe over the house music playing. He pretends not to care but he does. He cares more than you, sometimes. Especially about people he loves, like that American guy that follows him around like a lost puppy, and the super posh guy that you and your friend joke is actually a serial killer

His friends and your friends become a group. Neither from either side have anything in common other than attending the same university. None seem to really like the others really but put up with them because Oscar makes it worth it.

You've all been studying for exams, gathering in the posh guy's off campus flat because it's the biggest and has the best furniture and the best food, and you're in the kitchen fixing coffee when Oscar finds you. There's chatter in the dining room, your friends arguing over a minute detail in some show you haven't watched yet.

"Are they getting rowdy?" you ask, taking down another mug - they all match, George is third year and all his dishes match - and pour him some coffee.

"No more than usual." Oscar murmurs a thank you, leaning against the counter as the arguing turns into laughter.

"You hate that I've dragged you into this hysteria don't you?" you murmur.

"What?"

You smile against the rim of your mug. You like the way he says what, all exaggerated and so very Australian. What does that even mean? You have no idea. You just know you like it. "They're a bit..."

"Loud?" Oscar asks, his face dead serious as absolute silence comes from the dining room.

"You," you mutter, lightly shoving at his shoulder before leaning against him, dropping your hand.

"They're alright," he promises. "They keep George and Logan bonkers."

You laugh, because your friends do love tormenting his friends. And vice versa. "Come on, let's try to get them to focus on work."

Back in the dining room you're working your way through the problem that you've been struggling with when you notice Logan keeps giving you weird looks after he comes back from the toilet. You ignore him because, well, it's Logan, and he tends to always give people weird looks.

There's rustling and whispering around you and then George looks up from his laptop and you freeze, suddenly feeling everyone's eyes on you and Oscar.

"What's all this then?" George asks.

"You sound just like my grandad," your friend groans before turning to you. "When did this story arc happen?"

"Yeah, I thought you two were still stuck on ew that's my friend," Logan chimed in.

"What?" This from Oscar.

George points a pen at you both. "That."

And then you feel it. Your hand in Oscar's - his thumb tapping yours, the calluses from his love of the gym, warm and comforting and—

"Well?" your friend demands.

You know you should drop his hand. That's my friend, my quiet black cat that I adopted and drag around to keep the weirdos away only I'm the weirdo and he can't keep me away. You look down at your clasped hands.

There's a freckle next to his thumbnail and all you can think is how fucking endearing that is.

"Just because no guy wants to hold your hand doesn't mean I should suffer," you find yourself saying.

Next to you, Oscar throws his head back and laughs.

[leupagus]

On Voting in America

So one of the most profound comments on routine chores that I've ever encountered was, hilariously, the Pickle Rick episode of "Rick & Morty," where (after a lot of shenanigans have already ensued) this therapist absolutely lays Rick out:

"I have no doubt that you would be bored senseless by therapy, the same way I'm bored when I brush my teeth and wipe my ass. Because the thing about repairing, maintaining, and cleaning is: it's not an adventure. There's no way to do it so wrong you might die. It's just work. And the bottom line is some people are okay going to work and some people, well, some people would rather die. Each of us gets to choose."

I think about this at least once a week — usually while I'm doing my laundry or sweeping or some other task that needs doing and won't get me anything more than clean clothing or a dog-hair-free floor. There's no Pulitzer for wiping down your microwave or scrubbing your toilet; no one's awarding you for getting all the dishes out of the sink. At best you have the satisfaction of crossing it off your list.

Voting is very much the same (and I'm talking about the US here, as an American). Sure, you sometimes get a sticker; but nobody's going to cheer for you. There's no adventure here, no potential for anything more than crossing something off of a list. It's a chore, something that needs doing in order to repair, maintain, and yes even clean. So I get why people don't like doing it.

And I've decided I don't give a shit.

Do it anyway. Your country takes astonishingly little from you — taxes, the once-in-a-blue-moon jury duty, and a theoretical draft that hasn't been used in over half a century and likely will never be again — but it asks you (asks! not requires! not demands!) to vote once a year. It's not always easy; especially in conservative states, the impediments to vote can be ridiculous. But it is once a year and unlike in our nation's all-too-recent past, you will not die if you do it.

In fact, the worst outcome from voting these days is that the person or issue that you vote for loses — but you won't know if they lose until after the election. Polls are less accurate now, for a whole host of reasons; you cannot know until after the election who or what will win. This makes your vote more valuable than possibly ever before.

Use that power. Not because it's exciting or even rewarding, but because your vote is what keeps our country's metaphorical teeth from falling out and our metaphorical ass from stinking.

Brush, wipe, vote.

[romanovthinkver]

pov: you’re scarlett johansson’s wife // sfw headcanons

scarlett knows you’re in love with New York and despite having drivers that can easily bring you to one side to another of the city, she knows you prefer taking the subway. you’re favourite is the Q train where you can see the best landscapes as it’s an open train space. your wife always makes sure to pick up a spot by the door, she always says “i want to see that beautiful smile on your face the whole ride” and as you watch the train going from Manhattan to Brooklyn, scarlett wraps an arm around your waist and looks up at you with pure love.

scarlett loves how you adore your county despite its bad sides. you’re here for work so you don’t go back home as much as you would want. the last time was at christmas two years ago with all the family. little pieces of your culture are spread in the house tho, through the food, the flag you hung in your home office, some products you buy at the authentic drug stores owned by people of your home-country. you also started to teach the kids your childhood traditions, your favourite meals, your native language even. sometimes you go out in typical restaurants, or the one that claims to be typical when they’re not, and your wife has to listen you ramble about how they couldn’t make a simple dish of your land and instead ruined it. “can you believe baby? they ruined it, look at this: chicken. why? there’s no chicken in the original recipe and yet i see chicken here, why you americans put chicken everywhere?” scarlett would laugh and sometimes record your little grumbles. the kids loves when you, their mama, cook home land dishes of a culture they’re starting to feel like theirs. your wife loves when your accent rolls off your tongue when you’re tired or pissed, sometimes even when you two fuck roughly; it send her over the edge in no time. however the thing she likes the most is when you speak in your native language giving her or the kids pet names or when you whisper “i love you.”

you’re the biggest supporter ever. the way your eyes shine when you stand beside scarlett at movies premiers, it’s unmatched. you always buzz around your wife when she’s being prepared by make-up and hair-stylists taking extra time to snap some phots of her proudly. you make sure her dress is always perfect and adjust it often during the carpet. you make sure scarlett is always hydrated, not only with alcohol but with water too!, and fed because these things are stressful and your lady has to be healthy. you step back when she poses for paparazzi photos even tho she insists to have you beside her, she would softly place her hand on your chest clothed by the black jacket and shares smiles and little whispers. “you’re so beautiful, baby” or “i can’t take my eyes off you” these are the words that you find to whisper to her in that moments when your eyes are glued to her form, your hand gently cradles her back. you in the end step back giving your wife the deserved moment in the shiny flashes of the photographer’s bulbs, she poses and you look at her, sometimes you would snap a few picture too of her beside the paparazzi. scarlett would peck your lips amidst the event, they reassure you like a warm blanket and she softly pass her slender fingers to wipe her lipstick off your lips. you watch the movie with rapt attention because despite everything, before meeting her, you were and are a fan of her movies. in the end you always hug her and pepper her lips and cheeks whispering “congratulations my love, you were brilliant!”, “i can feel the oscar baby, can i start your campaign now?”, “i’m so incredibly proud of you, you’re a movie star” or “look at that baby, they’re all clapping and cheering for you, you’re so inspiring.” at the after party you both dance, engage in conversation with people and sometimes only seat at the bar together. you make sure to drink only safe drinks and let your wife party as she deserve. you take care of her and by the end of the night she’s not much sober but you steady her holding by her waist, your suit jacket always ready to shield the woman from the cold gently rest on her shoulders and her heels accomodate your feet while she wears you’re much more comfortable shoes.

scarlett started a skin care brand line with her friend and co-founder, kate foster. you, despite not knowing a thing about skin care, started to be supportive since the first day. however you didn’t know your wife would make you be a tester. you forgot how many times you ran around the house to dodge her “c’mon baby let’s try this eye cream, i swear it will be good for your eyes!” or the times she would let you sit on the bathroom sink with a blue argyle mask on your face, a hand band with the brand logo that would definitely make your curls frizzy and messy. you would groan and grumble a lot but your wife is always quick to kiss you. in the end you fell into a routine of doing this pampering ritual every night. slowly you started to learn a lot about skin care and your wife’s work. you also would crash often at her office to just bring donuts and coffee or sneak to spend more time with your wife and the team. and much to your dismay, scarlett will never stop treating you like a tester, she’s already planning on dragging you at the offie to record some funny videos of her putting on your face brand new face creams.

talking about videos, you hate cameras and photos. oh you’re the opposite of your wife in this department. you’re a diplomat, an ambassador specifically, so you barely stand in front of cameras and address speeches, a safe way to do what you love without struggling with the media press. however since you got into a relationship with your wife and got married, you quickly became a target to paparazzi’s cameras. you awkwardly stand beside your wife when you’re taking photos at the event she has to attend, but scarlett is always there to calm you down with soft touches, whispers and little pecks. “it’s okay baby, focus on me, everything’s is alright”. when they catch you in the street you go protective over the kids and wife putting your discomfort aside. “little one it’s okay, look at mama, everything is okay. scarlett, baby, come closer to me. it’s okay”. when you’re alone, you just hide behind a hoodie hood. you rarely talk to the microphones and usually only offer politely smile and shield your anxious eyes.

scarlett never saw you crying in the years you’ve been together and probably she thought she would never. this until your wedding day arrived. oh, boy! the moment you saw her walking down the aisle you started crying for her endlessly beauty and the overwhelming love you have for her. after that you cried again, much harder, when your little girl was born. scarlett loves teasing you a lot about it. you blush rolling your eyes playfully and dismissing her with a groan.

you rarely fight but when you do, and it’s always for silly things, it doesn’t take much to crack the hard shell. one of you crawl in the arms of the other not much more than 1 hour later. you’re an ambassador so your job is to make peace, after toxic experiences in your past relationship, your communication level is high and you’re lucky enough to have found scarlett that is on the same page as yours. scarlett would hold you close and kiss the crown of your head. “i’m so sorry my love, i promise to work better on these things.” you would kiss her knuckles and whisper “i’m sorry too, baby, we’ll work on them together.”

at the end of the day it’s just you and your wife. you softly sway in the gold sunrise painting your skins. scarlett arms wrapped around your neck cradling the glass of wine between her hands while she leans to ghost your lips. your hand on her hip, the other hold your glass of wine close to the chest. you both hum the song that is putted on the background while behind you food cooks on the stove and mixes with the noises of the city. it’s peaceful, it’s a paradise, it’s you and the love of your life in a life that isn’t perfect, but has a glimpse of perfection shared together.

a/n: pt.2? nsfw part?

[wingedhallows]

fic recs; my absolute favorite works

hi there, i decided to put together a list of my absolute favorite fanfics, please check out the writers and their other works! & the list is in no order of liking

to the writers: thank you so much for writing these, i enjoyed each and every one of your fanfics, pls write more, love michelle <3

navigation

angelic by @xreaderbooks (pls, my heart <3)

everything black by @firsttimewriter92 (came back to this one at least twice, girl- so good!!)

i see you by @hermioneshandbag (girl, girl- this was so good)

teaching a moderately old dog new tricks by @spxllcxstxr (got me blushing <3)

cherry bomb by @evanpeterswhoresblog ( chefs kiss, love love loved it <3)

dream guy by @themissingweasley26 (cute, loved it <3)

marrón by @amortentiainmyfirewhiskey (got me feeling like the baddest bitch)

i am half-agony, half hope...i have loved none but you by @sunnami (GIRL girl girl- this- i swear to god, it has me in a chokehold. your brilliant mind <3)

poly!marauders x reader - drunk james & reader by @moonstruckme (there's no title but, this was so cute)

i'll love you 'til the grass around my gravestone is deceased by @mybutcheredtongue (so cute, i love post azkaban sirius, your brilliant mind, god i love this!)

identation in the shape of you by @whorediaries-09 (i love post azkaban sirius & this comforted me so so much, i loved it <3)

i can't lose when i'm with you by @neytirisheaven (so good, i came back several times for this, loved it sooo much <3)

coward by @luv4freddie (girl- so good, i love love loved it <3)

foreign fancy by @princessconsuela120 (got me kicking my feet and smiling, girl-<3)

the american by @justagirlwholikesadam (i love this different take, so good that i came back to it several times, i loooved it <3)

pretty boy by @cloudybarnes (harry fics have a special place in my heart & i looooved this one <3)

revenge is a dish best served cold by @wonderlandwalker (so good, had me on my toes, i looooved it <3)

forget me, not by @folklvrsworld (girl- if u want a good cryin' sesh, read it, it was soo gooood, girl-<3)

come back, be here by @ellecdc (girl, girl, stop what u're doin' & read this, i loved every single word <3)

i am yours by @annabelinlove (i love poly!marauders fics & this one is a pretty good one, read it. now! loved it <3)

sad beginnings by @finelinevogue (wolfstar fics got me feeling some type of way, this is sooo goood <3)

just ours by @0x81 (wolfstar, what else should i say, read it, like yesterday, got me blushing and shit-)

the stash by @thebestofoneshots (if someone knows how to write smut than it's this writer, like how do u write like this- i'm speechless, flabbergasted <3)

divorcing orion black by @kquil (i've never quite read something like this, it's so so so good. pls more<3)

azkaban prison by @justsomerandomfanfic (i'd die for sirius black & this one in particular, more more more pls <3)

heroes in tattoos by @kquil (i'd die to read this for the first time again, like-I'm coming back to this whenever i have a rough day and i love it still, so goood <3)

new romantics by @pretty-little-mind33 (i love me a good james potter fic & this one has my feet kickin' & smilin' like an idiot <3)

injured (hip) by @hollowdeath (i love enimies to lovers & harry so- pls read it, it's great <3)

the one with the blouse by @super-clearlysaltybouquet (oh, how i love angst. i love love love angsty shit & this one was pure gold <3)

love potion and unspoken desires by @cyripticchronicler (amortentia stories are one of my favorites, this was absolutely great, read. it. now!)

[bruciemilf]

I will say, it is so fun thinking about the Waynes and their relationship with food. But specifically Bruce.

We get such little light shed on the Waynes before the Big Terrible happened. Like. How were Wayne dinners like?

Were they terribly posh and quiet with small moments of fun thrown in? Was Alfred scolding Thomas for telling a star eyed Bruce unnecessarily gory details from a surgery?

Did Martha help Bruce break into the cookie jar? Was there a lovely, playful gossip about Bruce's loud classmates and his adorable crush on Gray Ghost?

Because I like that! But I'd also like it to be a complete juxtaposition.

I want Bruce to talk about his family, to his children, with a smile that could melt the sun. I want him to tell them about the noise.

How the Wayne manor was permanently flooded with a noise and boister that could rival a packed 5 star kitchen.

How Thomas always cooked with a dry cigarette in his mouth, arguing with uncle Jacob about forks of all things.

Why were they smudged, why were they placed randomly and not organised with militaristic precision, while Martha watched with the fondest annoyance.

How Thomas would cuss filthy in Italian only when Bruce was around and only Oz could understand him, long before he was the Penguin, long before Bruce was Batman.

"It's about culture. Not that you'd understand, Jakey."

And uncle Jacob never entertained his father for long. He'd throw a dirty look, his obsidian eyes sharp as a switchblade, and mutter a 'bitch' in Russian, while Alfred sat there judging them both.

The Waynes were chaos with heartbeats. And Bruce's favorite event at these diners? The food fights. It's always uncle Philip who started them.

"Wow, Jay eating steak. Never thought I'd see this day."

" It's venison."

" Vinison?" Thomas would finally take a break from his unlit cigarette, holding Bruce in his lap like a king would a prized cat.

A collective sigh rang among the table. They knew what was coming. " What are you, fuckin' crazy? That's fuckin' cannoli, dipshit."

"With vinison."

"Jacob."

" Tom."

"Martha."

" Honey."

" You come into my house, not knowing what a goddam cannoli is? Fuck are you gonna tell me next, you don't put garlic in your Carbonara? I mean."

" Garlic is disgusting."

And Thomas would cover Bruce's ears like that's the most offensive thing uncle Jacob could utter at Thomas Wayne's table. And Uncle Oz agreed. Their favorite pastime was ganging up on Martha's oldest brother.

And it starts off as something minuscule and petty and mutates in something loud and ugly and breathtaking.

Bruce would watch with an open mouth in Alfred's lap, as his father's neck popped with veins, and uncle Jacobs pale complexion would blush something angry as the skin of his throat thinned from yelling.

"FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, YOUR PRESIDENT IS A VODKA DRINKING, BALDING, COMMIE PIECE OF SHIT."

"YOU'RE AMERICAN. "

" I CANT HELP THAT, I WAS BORN LIKE THAT!"

And it wasn't a true Saturday dinner unless Thomas didn't leap across the table, running over all the food to smash whatever dish into Jacobs face.

But truly, the best part, was watching them go from fight dogs to eating outside in time-out. As different as his father and uncle were, they could always find agreement on one topic:

Defying Martha Wayne was painfully stupid.

They'd share a cigarette and eat in silence, which was as friendly as they'd ever get. But he loved it. Bruce loved Saturday dinner.

And when the batkids start the fighting tradition on Saturdays, Bruce thinks they do, too.

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one

summary: leaving your old life behind, you move to copenhagen to follow your dream of opening a restaurant. almost a year after opening, luca's quest for inspiration brings him right to your doorstep.

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 2500

a/n: remember when i said we'd get pastry chef luca fanfic whether we liked it or not? well, it seems i can't be normal about anything bc i have an outline of (potentially) 10 chapters right now based on this headcanon. while i try to keep reader characters pretty neutral so that you can picture yourself, i have this reader creating food from her own life experiences/cultures so do what you will with that. also, i tagged some peeps from my headcanon post, but please let me know if you'd like to be removed.

masterlist | part two

He’s in search of inspiration when he finds the restaurant – your restaurant. 

It’s an American stagiaire and a single conversation that makes him realize that he’s missing something – that he’s been in need of something fresh, a new perspective– setting him on his quest. 

The best things are inspired. 

Luca stares at a blank piece of paper for what feels like hours, writing a few things down, sketching up an idea, before viciously crossing them out, hopelessly stuck on new ideas for the new menu. After a few half-baked ideas that go nowhere, It occurs to him that he may be in need of a little inspiration himself. He can’t think of the last time he’s taken his own advice, mulling over the carefully-chosen words of wisdom imparted to Marcus a couple of weeks ago, and he’s determined to change that. 

A review in the paper, an old colleague’s recent trip there, and a glowing recommendation from a close friend are what bring him to the restaurant. 

He’s not sure what to expect – having forgone any interest in cuisine described with the words trendy or fusion a long time ago – but Luca reminds himself that it’s the writer’s word choice, not the chef’s, when writing the article. 

When Luca steps into the small home-turned-restaurant, he’s immediately inundated with a warmth, a homeyness, that takes him by surprise. From the open kitchen, to the golden lighting, it feels vastly different from the classic Danish-style, fine dining establishments that have swept the country. 

But Luca reminds himself that the announcement of noma’s 2024 closure, has shifted the conversation around dining culture in Denmark, and already, he can feel that this is the breath of fresh air that he’s been looking for. 

Luca’s seated quickly with care and hospitality by a highly-attentive host, which he only assumes is a symptom of the fact that he read somewhere that you’re an American. While Danish, the host is boisterous, as if he’s known Luca since childhood. Luca smiles politely in response, graciously thanking the man and his chocolate brown curls. 

The menu is small, indicating that each dish receives enough care to be excellent and he likes that, despite being described as trendy and fusion-focused, your menu is creative. It’s different. It’s inspired. 

He chooses the special of the day: the mapo tofu bolognese – a traditionally Italian concept done from an Asian perspective – and the suggested wine pairing.

It doesn’t take long for him to receive his glass of wine, or his food, and he’s pleasantly surprised by how efficient service seems. Stealing glances through the open kitchen, he watches as you and your sous lead dinner service with a kind of compassionate leadership and playfulness that warms him from the inside out. 

“We recommend mixing the whipped tofu into the dish for a creamier sauce. Skal,” his waitress greets, with a warm smile on her face as she sets down the bowl of noodles. 

“Cheers,” Luca replies, his eyes savoring every single detail of the dish. 

It’s somehow elevated, thoughtful, and elegant, yet comforting all at once. 

Luca picks up his fork, using it to collect a little bit of everything – a perfect noodle twirl with just enough sauce, and ground pork before running his fork the whipped topping – raising the fork to his lips for his first bite. 

As the flavors hit his tongue, he closes his eyes, and it’s as if time has stopped, just for a moment. 

The wheat noodles are perfectly al dente while the whipped tofu is almost ricotta-like, transforming into a silky smooth addition to the dish, cutting the tingle and heat of the Sichuan chili peppercorn-based sauce. 

The corners of his lips turn up as he takes a breath, opening his eyes as he savors the delicate layers of flavors. With a crooked smile on his face, he decides that he’ll most certainly be back next week. 

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

You make peace with the fact that tonight is one of those nights – a slow night – as you finish washing your hands. It being a slow night, you’d encouraged your staff to up the hospitality at the pre-shift meeting. Treating guests with the utmost personal touches in an effort to build genuine connections would be the focus of tonight’s slow service. In fact, you and Mathilde, your sous chef, had been running dishes out this evening – something you rarely had the luxury to do. 

“You should go say hello,” your sous encourages, nodding towards the dining room through the expansive window of the open kitchen. 

“Thought it was your turn,” you reply in a casual tone, paying no attention to who she’s referencing.

“No, I think you should take this one,” Mathilde nudges you, causing you to look up. You shoot her a funny look, your eyes flickering over the mischievous expression she has on her face, to where she’s gestured towards. 

“To-?” you begin to ask, before seeing exactly who she’s talking about.

“Ehm. Tall, blonde, and tatted!” she emphasizes in a whisper yell. 

You don’t really need the description as you glance over at the dining room, easily spotting the man seated at a two-seater near the front window.

“You’re right. He’s become a bit of a regular,” you agree with a curt nod that means all business, no pleasure, as you move a few things as you walk and talk around the kitchen, tidying up.

“That’s not what I meant,” she scoffs with a playful eye roll. 

“You know, Jesper thought he was Swedish because… look at him… but he’s apparently a Brit,” she gossips with you, her eyes stealing a glance his way. “We’re slow tonight. He’s here every week. Sure he’d appreciate a direct thank you from the chef!” 

“I-,” you hesitate, wondering why she’s so damn insistent on this. “... yeah, alright. I’ll go.”

“That’s my girl!” Mathilde cheers, in a sing-song voice, she hands you the beautifully plated bowl of pasta to take out to the dining room.

As you walk over towards his table, you make a note that it seems as if the mystery man has made this a bit of a routine. He shows every Saturday at exactly 7 pm, week after week, for the past month or so, as if it’s a standing date he has with himself. After his first visit, you half-expected him to bring a date when he returned, or bring a group of friends, or for something different to happen. 

But it hadn’t and you’ve watched him come in, week after week, with a different book each time. He always orders the special of the day and whatever suggested wine pairing Jesper’s recommended that week.

Most Saturday nights you're busy leading a kitchen or cooking on the line – having little to no time to fixate or wonder curiously over your weekly diner – but tonight’s pace affords you the luxury to spend more time at the front of house. Truthfully, you know it’s the thing that sets you apart. Sure, the hospitality here in Copenhagen is excellent, but you bring an American hospitality-style to this restaurant – and above and beyond mentality – that feels welcoming, personal, even, as if your restaurant itself is just an extension of your home. 

You’ve heard your staff – front of house and back of house – whispering about him, all seemingly enamored and enchanted by the charming Brit. All any of you knew about him was that his name was Luca and that he’s always more than kind to your front of house staff. 

He doesn’t say much when he comes in, you’ve noticed, but every Saturday at 7 pm, he’s pushing his way through the front door with punctuality and a gentle ease.

The whisperings from your staff had all revolved around who your mysterious regular must be: whether he was Danish or Swedish, that someone that good looking must already have a partner, that he doesn’t wear a ring. 

You hadn’t paid much attention to the gossip (or at least that’s what you’ve told yourself) more focused on running dinner service then trying to piece together the story of your handsome, mysterious regular. 

“Hello,” you greet him warmly. “I just wanted to come introduce myself and say thank you for becoming one of our regulars. Your support means a lot to all of us.”

“Hi, I’m Luca.”

You share your name with a smile as he shakes your hand. 

Luca turns his attention down to the bowl you’ve put in front of him, his eyes taking in the beautiful presentation hungrily. 

“Wow, this looks… incredible,” he marvels, returning his gaze back to you. 

“Thank you. I’m sure my front of house already walked you through this but if you’d like for me to-,” you begin. 

“Yes, that’d be great, thanks,” he interjects, a crooked smile on his face that makes your heart skip a beat. 

You have to pull your attention away from him, hoping he doesn’t notice that you’re quite possibly gawking at him. 

He’s kind, charming, and he’s easy on the eyes (easy on the eyes, really being an understatement here).

“Today’s special was inspired by a childhood favorite of mine,” you begin, walking him through each component of the dish. 

Crispy Rice. Caramelized marinated trumpet mushrooms and charred broccolini. Your mom’s sauce approached with classic French techniques, courtesy of your sous, Mathilde, a classically French-trained chef. 

It’s a marriage of your story. Of the people around you. It’s your heart and theirs, put into a dish. 

“You’re the chef?” he asks, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. 

“Yes,” you answer, trying your best to get a read on him. 

He balks, and you’re unsure of how you’re supposed to respond. Was he surprised that you’re a woman? That he’s been eating your food the whole time and expected a male chef? Before you can overthink it, Luca clarifies with:

“I’m sorry. It’s just-, I can't think of the last time I saw a head chef work front of house, let alone with this much care.” 

Oh. 

You let down your guard, wondering why you’d assumed the worst when the man’s been nothing but kind to you and your staff so far. 

"We're a little short staffed tonight. And I love getting to talk to diners… especially on nights like this,” you explain, trying your best to sound like you hadn’t just assumed that he was a sexist asshole. 

He shakes his head in disbelief, looking down at the picturesque bowl, then back to you.

Luca is impressed, and he has no intention of hiding it.

He picks up his wine glass by the stem, raising it to you.

"Cheers,” he says. “And thank you. This is a really beautiful dish.”

“Of course. Enjoy,” you reply, giving him a polite smile, before heading back into the kitchen. 

 -------------------------------

“Good service tonight, everybody!” Jesper, your front of house manager, announces while clapping a few times to signal to staff that it’s time for a post shift meeting. 

As you all gather in the pristine front of house space. Some of your cooks have taken their aprons off, others haven’t had a moment to unwind from the shift yet – business picking up in the last hour or so of service. 

Jesper goes through his nightly wrap-up notes, celebrating the wins of tonight, and making sure to celebrate how everyone rallied to pick up pace when business spiked. He’s gregarious, larger-than-life, the kind of person who can talk to anyone about anything, making him an excellent front of house manager, and even better sommelier. You really lucked out with the twins, you think to yourself – with Jesper and Mathilde – when they were more than eager to work with you on opening this restaurant. 

“Oh, and before we go, a client left a gift… table number four,” Jesper says, in reference to Luca’s table. He pulls a tan-colored pastry box from another table, setting it down on a table where everyone can take a look. 

“As a thank you. He requested for me to share. So have it and let’s make a note next time he’s in to really treat him like a VIP.”

One of your most-talented servers opens the box, eliciting a chorus of gasps, giggles, and excited whispers as soon as the assortment of croissants and pastries are revealed. 

You and Mathilde exchange a look as everyone else busy themselves with unpacking the pastry box. Mathilde raises an eyebrow and you’re not sure what to say. Witnessing your silent exchange, Jesper makes his way over to the both of you, before extending his arm to reveal the card he’s holding. 

“And this, my dear…” he begins, exchanging a look with his sister. “...is for you.”

“What do you-, just me?” you ask as you take it, hesitantly. 

“I think so, yeah,” he nods, confidently. 

To the Chef, the front of the card reads. 

“Jesper, let’s check out some of these pastries, yeah?” Mathilde suggests, not so subtly hinting towards her brother. 

He nods, giving you a little space so that you can read the card Luca’s left for you. 

As your staff divvy up the box of laminated pastries, sighing with joy as they taste the decadent, hand-crafted sweets, you take a few steps away to open the note. His handwriting is pristine – perfectly neat in every way, like he’s written over carefully measured invisible lines.

Chef,

Thank you for all of the great meals. I'd like to return the favor, that is, if you're open to it. 

Tomorrow. 5 pm. Dronningens Tværgade 2, 1302

While Luca’s gift has been more-than-generous, you find yourself overwhelmed by questions. Was he a chef too? And why had he not said anything? And what was this gesture all about anyways?

You read the card a few more times, turning the words over in your head as you try to make sense of it. 

Mathilde can see your overwhelm, your eyebrows knitted into one confused expression as she saunters back over to you.

“What does it say?” she asks, curiously. “A love confession perhaps?”

“Mathilde, you really have to stop reading all of those French romance novels!” you tease her. “It’s giving you too many ideas.”

“It’s the only way I keep up with my French!” she defends herself with a lackadaisical shrug, earning a laugh from you.

“Uh no… it’s actually a thank you card… only I think he… wants to feed me,” you share with her, holding the card out so that she can take a look. 

“He’s a chef too?” she asks, taking the card from your hands. 

“I think so, yeah,” you reply, letting out an exasperated laugh. 

“Oh shit!” Mathilde exclaims, as soon as she sees the address that Luca’s written down. 

“What?” you ask her, wondering if there’s something you missed. 

“The address… that’s AOC. I think he’s a chef at AOC, babe,” she gasps, shaking her head as she hands the card back to you, sending a ‘you lucky, bitch’ look your way.

Oh shit, is right.