#Affordable knife sets for home cooks

[munsonthings86]

sunshine

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a love-struck steve cooks you dinner for the first time

warnings: cursing, alcohol, bit of backstory, oversimplified summary, steve's parents kinda suck (when do they not), best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, soft!steve

an: i think this is my favorite thing i’ve ever written. i'm so in love with these two. i hope you all enjoy this one as much as i do. * don’t copy my work * (also pretend there's a big city near hawkins for the sake of this pls)

wc: 6.0k

“Ow!” Steve hissed, nicking his finger yet again as he made his best effort to dice pesky onions. The knife was razor-sharp as it was fresh out of its packaging, having never been used yet. Frustrated, he squeezed the band-aid he'd spent a solid ten minutes looking for, tighter on his finger, earning a harsh sting.

"Goddamned knife," he whispered, tightlipped, but as soon as the complaint left his lips he wished to yank it back in. It was the chef's knife you'd bought him along with many other thoughtful housewarming gifts to celebrate Steve moving into his first apartment. Steve had insisted that you return some of the gifts, noting that "one gift was more than he could ever ask for".

In spite of his pleas, you didn't return a single gift. Of course, you didn't. You had bought items you knew Steve would need but would ultimately forget to buy for himself. Just to name a few, you'd gotten him a trash bin for his bathroom, a record player, and the best utensil set that the rest of your Family Video paycheck could buy.

Peering at the odd assortment of household objects you'd lugged into his barren apartment with a bright smile pulling at the corners of your lips, an expression of gratitude and bewilderment claimed his face. Steve's round, chestnut-brown eyes ogled yours as you ranted and raved, explaining your thought process behind each purchase.

The record player was for nights like these. Peaceful nights indoors, simply enjoying each other's company without the tense presence of his parents who would shout for him to turn that damn music down if he even thought about letting the needle hit the groove of the record.

"Now we can play music as loud and as much as we want to," he remembered you saying, blushing at your use of the word "we". Though you two were only best friends and have been since grade school, Steve couldn't help but fantasize about a life with you. You, drowning in one of his bigger-than-you t-shirts, prancing around the apartment as you listened to some your favorite records.

He'd begun pondering on how he would rearrange the bit of furniture he had, that'd allow for space for your belongings as well, before you lured him out of his thoughts, defending the bin.

From what he gathered, you bought the garbage bin due to his burning inability to keep his bathroom clean. Steve was someone who took great care of his appearance, always well-kempt and attentive to even the smallest of details.

His bathroom did not reflect this, whatsoever. He had a bad habit of harboring empty cans and bottles of Farrah Fawcett spray that littered the already limited counter space he had in his en suite bathroom.

Steve was such a boy when it came to tidiness.

Everyone knew that about Steve, though. What they didn’t know, however, was how skilled he was in a kitchen. After being left to his lonesome whenever his parents would venture off to one of their many business trips, Steve spent his nights learning to cook after his allowance dwindled and he couldn't afford pizza delivery anymore. The second he'd clock in for his shift at Family Video, he'd make a beeline to where you stood, stocking VHS tapes, and instantly began buzzing and bustling about the new recipe he tried the night before.

You had begged him to let you come over one night to taste one of his home-cooked meals, but his response was always the same. "You can't rush perfection, sweets. But I promise, when I'm ready to grace the world with my master chef skills, you'll be the first to know."

You would roll your eyes dramatically at him but admittedly, you felt a sense of pride wash over you whenever Steve would tell you about his cooking endeavors. It may not seem like a big deal to others, but you knew how much his parents being so negligent, so often, bothered him.

Though they were never the most warm and affectionate, there seemed to be a colder chill and heavier sense of loneliness in the house when they were gone. That's why you never denied Steve whenever he'd call late at night asking if it was okay to spend the night at your house.

He always felt at home there.

Steve learning to cook for himself meant that his parents' absence was finally beginning to help him grow; no longer craving validation and tenderness from his family. He got that when he was with you. That's what the utensil set was for. A silent sign saying that though his parents weren't there, you were.

"Don't get me wrong, sunshine, I love the gift, but why's this knife so funny looking?" Steve asked, squinting his eyes at the sharp object that looked like it was from some alien universe. It had three square-like holes infiltrating the blade, and the tip came to an up-turned point that split in two. The handle was the only average looking part about it.

"That, my friend, is a cheese knife," you answered matter-of-factly, gazing at the box that had all of the included utensils neatly labeled.

"They make knives specifically for cheese?"

"Apparently, yeah," you snorted, tossing the empty box off to the side of the room with the other discarded cardboard that you made a mental note to move to the recycling bin on your way out. Steve never recycled. Bad habit he picked up from his parents, you figured.

"Well, I can't wait to use my weird new knife. Thank you. Seriously," Steve smiled softly as he watched you with those big brown eyes that voiced his gratitude and sentiment louder than his words ever could.

"The best weird chef has to have the best weird equipment. You're welcome," you grinned, toying with the loose thread dangling from your distressed band tee, as your eyes collided with Steve’s.

Looking at Steve was hard.

In the midst of quiet and almost intimate moments like these, the nerves bolting through your body screamed at you to look anywhere else, but the greed of your heart yearned for you to keep drinking in the deep chocolate pools that were Steve Harrington's eyes.

The two of you gazed at each other for another second, though it felt identical to a blissful eternity, until Steve furrowed his eyebrows after registering what you'd just uttered. "Did you just call me weird?" He asked, hand on his hip as if he's offended, though he truthfully isn't because he's positive you're infinitely weirder than he is, and he's more than willing to debate with you for hours on that topic.

"Nooo," you sang, quickly turning away to distract yourself with some unpacking that Steve had called you over to help him with, which you happily agreed to. A little extra time with him was time well spent.

"Yeah, okay," he rolled his eyes. He happily tucked away the flashy silverware he'd poached from his parent's kitchen into the darkest corner of the drawer, leaving the less flashy but much more appreciated utensils you bought him, front and center, ready to be shown off.

"Oh those? My best friend got them for me. Aren't they nice? Did you know they make knives for cheese?" He imagined himself saying, hoping he'd get the opportunity to boast about them to his guests some time soon.

Steve smiled to himself at the memory, angling the cutting board that harbored a pile of diced onions that he'd at last conquered, into a bowl, sliding them off with the blade of a knife that was a lot less odd shaped compared to his trusty cheese knife. It didn't even have to be that specific memory. It could've been any imagery of you being the effortlessly sarcastic, intelligent, breath-taking person that you were, and it would be the warm light to inevitably guide him out of whatever dark mood that dared to plague him.

Steve was so helplessly in love with you.

April 14, 1978, he could never forget the day, was particularly dreary. So dreary it made Steve begin to question why the spring time was thought to be such a radiant, pleasant season when all it ever did was bring rain and provoke people with allergies. Steve slammed his blaring alarm off with a groan, never bothering to pry open his tired eyes.

The sky was dark and dreadful, concealing the golden rays of the sun he yearned to see. As he trudged through the house, reluctantly gearing himself up for yet another torturous day of middle school, Steve silently prayed for some unorthodox happenstance that would call for the canceling of school.

But much to his dismay, that wasn't the case.

When the bell pierced through the classroom speakers, alerting the beginning of Steve's favorite class, P.E., he rushed to the locker room, jumping into his gym uniform, as he was determined to continue his unfaltering streak of dodgeball victories.

Steve was in the zone, taking out his opponents left and right as if it was nothing. If dodgeball was an Olympic sport, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he could've won multiple gold medals.

Then you came.

Sauntering into sixth grade gym class, adorning a lengthy, bright yellow dress with your hair done up, looking as anxious as can be. It was your first day at Hawkins Middle and you'd just transferred halfway into the semester, all thanks to your parents decision to move to the small town, leaving New York City and all your friends behind.

Everyone turned their curious heads to peer at you, whispering amongst each other, prompting you to clutch your books tighter to your chest as if to shield yourself. Your soft smile as you looked around at your new classmates instantly made Steve's chest and stomach warm and gooey inside, making him want nothing more than to walk up to you and convince you to be his friend. Steve hated how gossipy his classmates were, as it clearly made you uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to look away either.

The way the illuminous medallion hue complimented your skin tone was nothing short of art. To him, you were the sun personified. The sun he was so eager to see.

Due to your lack of sports attire, Coach Daniels had you sit on the bleachers, watching as the other kids resumed their game of dodgeball after mumbling a "warm" welcome to you, per Coach's request.

Steve lost his first game of dodgeball that day. He just couldn't seem to focus when you were perched just a few feet away, thumbing through your withered book, looking like one of the prettiest girls he'd ever laid his adolescent eyes on. Steve, or the boy with the hella good hair as you dubbed him in your diary later on that night, was too enamored with you to be bothered by the taunts coming from his friends. He jogged over to you, offering to keep you company until fourth period began, which you happily accepted.

And ever since then, the two of you have been as thick as thieves.

"Hawkins PD, open up!" Steve recognized your muffled voice, though you deepened it, to imitate a police officer. Your signature three knocks followed, urging butterflies to erupt throughout his stomach, as he longed to see you. It couldn't have been more than twenty-four hours since the two of you had last seen each other, but even one hour without you was an hour way too long for poor Steve.

"It's open", Steve called, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder, setting the stove ablaze, planting a pot over the flame. Right on time, he thought.

"Hey, Harrington," you smiled as you struggled to enter, cradling two bottles of rosé wine and your purse in your arms, pushing the door open with the help of your hip.

"Hey, sunshine. Lemme get those for ya," Steve offered, stowing your bearings on the counter gently, while you kicked your shoes off, mumbling a "thanks".

A warm amber light casted from the ceiling of the kitchen spilled into the shadowy living room a few feet away, like a neglected can of paint. The only thing that remained un-melted by the darkness was the quiet record player, as if the generous light knew you'd be looking for it the minute you walked in.

"How was your day?" Steve smirked as he watched you rush over to the object he swore was the only reason you liked to come over, sifting through the vinyl's searching for your favorite one. What’s Love Got To Do With It by Tina Turner. Steve spotted it before you did. Absentmindedly, you responded, “Not too shabby, ya know? How was yours?”

“Yeah, it was alright.”

You crouched down to the two tier storage table, running a finger across the spines of the records, searching for your beloved song. It quickly became the song you most adored when you'd bought the tape for your Walkman a few years prior. Your days weren't complete unless you played the song at least twice, so much so that Steve found himself quietly humming the song to himself whenever he'd miss you. He even caught himself doing that dumb little finger dance you normally did whenever you listened to a song you really liked. He'd never tell you that, though.

Much to your dismay, you couldn't seem to spy that sneaky record. You dropped your hand disappointedly, faintly fearsome that it'd been misplaced. Steve's apartment wasn't huge, but it wasn't exactly tidy either. “It’s right there, sweets. To your left.” So you diverted your attention to the left. No Tina Turner. “No, your other left.”

“Here?” you pointed. Steve hummed in confirmation.

“Well, that’s not the left, Steve. That’s the right,” was your response that you punctuated with a roll of your tired eyes. Apart from knowing how to get to Skull Rock with his eyes closed, the boy had zero sense of direction. It was something you found both endearing and infuriating. It depended on the day, really.

“Potato, potahto.” Oh, Steve. Melting butter into the burning pan in front of him that he almost completely forgot about, all thanks to your beautiful presence, he began sautéing his diced onions along with some fresh garlic. "Well, speaking of 'potahtoes' you need to be cooking some, 'cause you promised me dinner tonight," you smiled tight-lipped, cocking your head at an angle.

You felt the unpleasant sensation of your stomach growling, cursing you, at the heavenly thought of food as your shift at Family Video earlier today was unforgiving to your non-existent breakfast. You fumbled with the vinyl a bit as the mouthwatering aroma of home cooking stormed your senses and Steve spoke once more. "Feisty today, aren't we?"

"Just a tad," you laughed quietly.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you but tonight we're not having potatoes. I'm making your favorite," he pointed, shuffling the pan to give it a gentle stir. He made sure to turn to face you in time to see your hopefully delighted reaction. "Alfredo?!" you spun around with a glittering grin, almost knocking over Steve's plant. A fake one, of course. A real plant was a bit too much responsibility for him.

At the nod of his head, your cheesy smile soften to a smaller, less toothy one as you watched Steve while he resumed cooking. What you failed to share with your best friend was that the last phrase you'd actually use to describe your day was "not too shabby". Besides waking up almost an entire hour past the start of your shift (Keith made sure to give you an earful about that) and everyone and their mother in town deciding to be at Family Video today, it seemed like your day was never-ending. The only thing keeping your mood from turning stink to sour was the idea of going to see Steve.

Steve was kind of magical in that way. Anger, sadness, anxiety, you name it, it was no match for Steve. Though he was no poet, he had this way with words that would never fail to make you feel so comforted. So safe. Any instance where Steve had to talk you out of whatever mental turmoil you were enduring, it felt you were being endlessly wrapped in a cozy, tight blanket, sheltering you from all the darkness.

How Steve knew you were having a shit day and needed your favorite meal along with your favorite boy? Lord knows. His ability to read you without even needing to be near you was nothing short of wizardry. But like you said. Steve was magical.

"You're the best," you proclaimed, prompting a mumbled sly remark from your chef for the evening, before the music began. Being here, along with the divine sound of Tina's ethereal voice and pasta boiling in water, was more than enough to make you feel like you were right at home, though your true address was miles away. When the time to depart would make its cursed arrival, it was never easy to leave, especially with the way Steve begged for you to stay, using those unfairly adorable puppy dog eyes that paired beautifully with his lengthy lashes, against you.

And it always worked. Well, not always. You had some degree of self-control. But more times than not, you couldn't help but to cave in to his protests. How could you resist? It was Steve.

With a satisfied grin that carved deep smile lines into his blushing cheeks, he'd tuck his sheets snug around your body, repeatedly asking you if you were comfortable enough. His bed was cloud-like, plush and doughy and his pillows smelled like his shampoo and conditioner, a hint of cologne on his comforter. It was like you were trapped in a cocoon of Steve. You wanted to tell him you were beyond comfortable, that there, in his bed, you were in just about your favorite place on Earth but, habitually, you concluded that a simple nod would suffice.

Crawling onto the empty space beside you, he made sure to face you, leaving a soft squeeze on your shoulder before humming "G'night, sunshine," closing his eyes and tucking his hands under his head. And like always, Steve was a perfect gentleman, dead set on never getting under the covers himself when you'd sleep over.

Guilt would disrupt your relaxation at the sight of the brisk night chill building little hills on his freckled arms, though you selfishly loved the way he'd cuddle up to steal some of your body heat. His plump lips would part as he drifted into a peaceful slumber, light snores and chirping crickets being your lullaby.

You hoped to have another night like that soon.

In the midst of times like those, storms of wonder and doubt raged on. Was Steve like this with everyone else? Were you being silly thinking that you and Steve could be more than friends? Being Steve's best friend for nearly a decade, you knew he wasn't exactly a prude. His King Steve era was honestly one of your least favorites. Though he reserved his usual tenderness and affection all for you, you've witnessed a whole slew of girls enter and leave Steve's life, and none of them looked like you.

You wanted nothing more than to be one of the girls he'd have leaned up against his locker, arm resting next to their head, cheeks fanned by his minty breath as he whispered honeyed words. You craved dates at the drive-in theater in Steve's burgundy 1983 BMW only to neglect the movie and end up making out, like he did with other girls.

When Steve would bring his latest lover around, desperately, you did your damnedest to bury your jealousy and and fill its grave with merriment for him, because if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Steve. But the girls at school only wanted to be with Steve because of his status and all the flashy things he could buy them.

The flashy things were dull to you, though.

You wanted to be with Steve because you wanted to hold his hand and press soft kisses to his cheek. To hug him a little tighter and little longer than a best friend normally would. To run your fingers through his fluffy hair whenever he would grow stressed because you knew it calmed him down. To make him breakfast in bed when he was sick and even when he wasn't. To love him your fullest potential.

But you had to settle for this. Calves tucked under your thighs with a blanket draped over your legs as you stared off into space, longing for someone you thought you couldn't have, not knowing he was stealing glances of you wondering what was running through your pretty little head.

Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, holding your head up, your lips were downturned in a pout, eyebrows pulled together as you studied the throw pillow a few inches away from you. A little pillow can't be that interesting, something has to be bothering you, he thought. He was unapologetically curious to know if pressing his lips against your own would make that frown melt into that sweet smirk you usually had.

Steve hated when you were unhappy. It made his mind race. Did someone say something to you? Did someone do something to you? Did you eat today? How was your shift? Why did you lie when you said your day "wasn't too shabby"? Obviously it was shabby. Look at your face. That tired and troubled, cute little face. What can he do to fix it? You were his sunshine, you deserved to be happy, always.

Giving the pot a final stir and turning the flame off, Steve carelessly tossed the grease-stained hand towel flopped over his shoulder, down by the sink, strolling over to where he'd earlier set down the two bottles of wine. White Zinfandel. Neither you or Steve were wine connoisseurs, but when you called Nancy panicking about how extensive the selection at the liquor store was, she swore by it.

Balancing two glasses and a single bottle of the rose-tinted alcohol, Steve took an extra glance at your face, deciding to scoop up the second bottle into his arms. By the looks of it, it was gonna be one of those nights.

You tried to hide your smile as you noticed he was coming over, a slight grin on his face as he set the glasses down. You and him both knew he was only coming to cause trouble. He set the delicate haul down on to the thrifted wooden coffee table in front of you, slipping you one of those comforting 'Steve smiles' he usually did.

Like the forgotten towel, he threw himself down on the couch next to you, warm hand having a much softer landing on the plush of your thigh; a familiar and welcomed touch. Habitually, you curled up closer to him, no longer able to hide your smile.

"Why so glum, chum?" He tilted his chin down, slightly poking his bottom lip out, as he looked at you through batting eyelashes.

Laughing through your nose and subsequently parading a grin that displayed nothing but teeth and hollow happiness, you remarked, "What do you mean? Don't you see me smiling?"

You were fooling absolutely no one. Steve knew you were sad. And, goddamn it, he was gonna get it out of you.

"You know exactly what I mean, you weren't smiling just a few seconds ago until I came over. You're welcome, by the way, I'm flattered that I have such an effect on you," he smirked, placing a hand on his chest in gratitude.

"Okay, now I'm glum again," you roll your eyes at his not-so discreet cockiness. You hid your face in your hands, resting your forehead on Steve's shoulder. It was hard with muscle, but soft with tenderness and safety. "I was smiling at the wine, for your information."

The palm of your hand that pressed against your face muffled your words, but Steve could still understand what you said, it was evident in the way your tone was laced with satire.

"Ah, yes, that makes way more sense" Steve replied, monotone. His thumb began coasting along your skin as he urged you, "Alright, jokes aside. How are you really feeling?"

Hoisting your head up, you almost answered before he continued, "And don't give me that 'not too shabby' crap 'cause that frown you had going on earlier already snitched on ya."

When the hell did he get so observant? Steve was no idiot, but sometimes things needed to be spelled out for him. But come to think of it, you never had to spell things out for Steve whenever it came to you. He just always had a way of knowing.

"I don't know, Steve. Honestly. Some days are just a bit tougher than others. Today was one of those days," you murmured, avoiding the attentive gaze he was burning into your shifty eyes.

He slowly nodded as he processed your words, head falling on top of yours as you again found comfort on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as you began mimicking the affection he was giving you on your thigh, rubbing his arm through the creamy cotton material of his crewneck. You hadn't seen it before. This one was new. So were the jeans he'd paired with it.

"Why're you dressed so nice, Harrington?"

He laughed more to himself than to you. "Well, the food can't be the only thing that looks good, you know? Wanted to look nice too. It's our first dinner together, after all," he mumbled the last bit.

Steve felt the skin around your eyes tighten against his shoulder as your eyebrows scrunched together. "We've had dinner together before, though."

"This one's different," he replied, almost instantly. You'd hoped Steve's eyes were still closed so that he wouldn't see the bashfulness you were weathering, plucking the corners of your lips into a soft smile.

A silence fell between the two of you. Not unusual. Not awkward. Never unusual or awkward. There was a mutual cherishment of moments like these. Shamelessly invading each other's personal space on the couch as if it was made to only fit one person, music playing lowly the distance, but preferring to listen to the sound of the other's breathing.

"How can I make you feel better, sunshine?" Steve questioned, voice still hushed. The volume of your voice wasn't much louder as you responded, thoughtlessly, "You don't have to ask me that. You make me feel better without even trying."

"Oh yeah?" He craned his neck so that his head was impossibly closer to yours, awaiting your confirmation. Steve knew that you enjoyed his company, as he did yours, but he was only joking earlier when he gushed about having such an effect on you. It was now his turn to hide his blush, when you hum, nodding your head fervently.

These were the warm moments that confused you so much more than any subject in school ever did. And unbeknownst to you, it messed with Steve's head too. He'd never been this close with anyone before. Especially not with any of his "girlfriends" in the past. Sure, they'd cuddle and talk about their feelings. But it never felt the way it does with you. Steve was in love with you. It was hopeless.

And he had to make it known. Soon. If not, he swore he'd explode.

"Ready to eat?"

"Mhm," you buzzed, untangling yourself from the envelop of Steve. As he pressed his knuckles into the sofa, willing himself up, you reached for the bottle of wine and a glass, but your hand only made it so far until it felt the sting of a petty swipe from the boy next to you. "Ah ah, missy, dinner first. Lord knows how many hours its been since you last ate."

You snorted, "Relax, it hasn't been that long."

"Oh yeah? When was the last time?" He looked at you with raised eyebrows and an expression that said he already knew your answer was going to be ridiculous. And if there was anything you learned tonight, it was that Steve was highly skilled at knowing when you were lying, so instead, you left him with a goofy smile and giggle that told him he was absolutely right in his assumption.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the spot where he sat went cold as he left to the kitchen, fixing two plates for the both of you. You moved the drinks and glasses over to the dining table, using a nearby lighter to ignite the accompanying lavender and vanilla scented candles. Tina Turner's vinyl was replaced with Tears for Fears' album Songs from The Big Chair instead, as Steve used his elbow to dim the kitchen lights, hands full with heavy plates of pasta.

"Oh my gosh, this looks so good! Good job, Stevie," you cheered, as he set your plate down in front of you, pouring you a much needed glass of wine. Your hands shook with hunger or excitement, or both, as you picked up your fork, ready to dig in. "Yeah, don't get too psyched yet. Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."

"I'm sure it does."

His knee rests against yours as he sits adjacent to you, gathering food on his fork, though his eyes are peering at you, awaiting your verdict. The mouthwatering smell of garlic, butter, cheese and other heaven-sent elements overwhelm your nose and you feel like you can't eat it soon enough. You pause for a beat and so does his heart, hand over your messy mouth as you chew. Steve's hand twitches as he contemplates wiping the sauce from the corners of your lips and licking his finger clean.

"Steve," you begin, eyes flickering shut. "I'm gonna need you to cook for me every night. This is so fucking good." The tension in his face eases at your palpable delight, mission well accomplished. He was proud of himself. Very proud. Almost as much as you were of him.

You throw your head back, the purest form of satisfaction consuming you. "I'm glad you like it, I've been trying to nail it for weeks," Steve laughs, finally taking a bite for himself.

"Well, you've succeeded," you beam, washing it down with a sip of wine. Everybody Wants to Rule the World begins playing and you smile at Steve, knowing it was his favorite song at the moment. You nod your head along as Steve hums. A truly peaceful pocket in time.

Through the large windows opening the living room to the rest of Hawkins, you had the perfect view of the bright lights and mountainous buildings from the neighboring city. It was like the sky had flipped on its axis and the stars weren't in the sky anymore, they were among the trees and high rise properties.

"Steve, look how pretty," you point towards the window as his gaze shifts from you to raindrop-riddled glass. "I love being able to see the city so close. Sucks that we can't see the stars, though. I've always wanted to go stargazing."

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that a while ago. We gotta go one of these days," he replied, shoving a forkful of alfredo into his mouth.

"Oh, did you wanna go too?"

He shrugs his shoulders, chewing before speaking, "Eh, I'm not really a big stars guy. Besides, if I wanna see a pretty little light, all I gotta do is look at you," he says inattentively, going right back to eating as if he hadn't just said the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you.

"Shut up, Harrington," you roll your eyes, letting out a half-hearted laugh as you take your last bite. How could he flirt with you so easily? So carelessly? Couldn't he see that you loved him and that whenever he says things like that it does something to you? Clueless boy.

"I'm serious. Why do you think I always call you sunshine?" He replies, not a hint of irony in his face.

"Steve," you warn, sitting back in your chair. You didn't know where this conversation was going, and you'd be damned if you got your hopes up for what you always got whenever you did: absolutely nothing.

"It's why I love when you wear yellow. Reminds me of the first time I ever saw you," he pressed. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clueless girl.

"Steve," your voice wavered. "What? Why do you keep saying my name like that?" He laughed, dryly.

He grew worried that he was saying too much. Saying things that a person shouldn't say to their best friend. He took a sip of his wine. Then another. Then another. He was considering just downing the whole glass. Maybe he was saying too much.

Screw that, he was in love with you.

"What're you saying to me right now?" You charged, voice a little harsher than what you'd intended, but you demanded an answer. A straightforward one. "I'm saying that I'm done hiding it."

"Hiding what?"

"That I love you."

The revelation yanks your parted lips shut, unsure of what to say next. You had dreamed for what felt like a lifetime for Steve to say those words to you and at last, it was no longer a dream, but instead reality. The rapid pace of your heartbeat could be felt in your chest and ears, and the butterflies in your stomach were more wild and untamed than ever before.

Steve's eyes didn't leave yours, though the stillness from you was killing him. The silence between you two that was once never awkward or unusual, was now painful and nearly unbearable.

Your dilated pupils scanned over his face, relentlessly. The jokey, teasing grin that he often sported when he was messing with you was unaccounted for. Holy shit. The gate to your thoughts opened once more. "You're serious," you whispered.

"How could I not be?" Steve watched you with adoring eyes, the warm light of the candle giving the melted chocolatey pond the sweetest infusion of honey.

"Kiss me."

Forks and butter knives fall to the ground with several, loud unpleasant clanks as Steve leans over the square dining table, hungrily pressing his lips against yours. His lips are garlicky and a little chapped, as yours probably are as well, yet the kiss is nothing short of perfect.

His mouth does a passionate dance against yours as you follow his lead, embracing the plush little pillows with your own. It was both everything you've imagined it'd be and nothing like you'd thought at the same time. You already knew Steve was an amazing kisser. Anyone who went to Hawkins High knew it. But experiencing it for yourself was completely different and new. It was euphoric.

The two of you have to reluctantly pull yourselves off of each other to catch your breaths. This moment was a long time coming.

Steve's hands are still holding onto to either side of your face, unwilling to let you go just yet. Truly savoring every second of the present. His breath fans across your cupid's bow, as he smiles against your lips. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

Giggling, you wrap your palms and fingers around his wrists, rubbing your nose on his. "Sorry," you shrug, feeling his thumbs caress your warm cheeks.

"Don't be," he shakes his head, engulfing your soft lips into another kiss.

message from jojo: pls comment and reblog if you enjoyed! it means a lot <3

[hinge]

Not-So FAQ for LGBTQIA+ daters

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Hear more about #HingeNFAQ from Roxane and Debbie at https://hinge.nfaq.co

[disneyprincemuke]

dancing with your ghost * cl16

the ghost of your relationship lingers in your old apartment, reminding you of what's lost

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

notes: today, i got an anon ask asking if i was allergic to happiness so this one is dedicated to u babes,, i'm doubling down

(f1 masterlist)

there is something different about the air in the kitchen when you walk in. your heart hits the floor. it takes a minute to realise why you’ve avoided this room the entire time you’ve been back home in new york.

upon your move to los angeles to kickstart your career, you’d left the apartment vacant until you were ready to face the truth. that you’d now fallen out of the relationship you once poured your entire self into.

you rest your head on the door frame, watching your entire relationship unfold in visions in this tiny apartment, once shared with the person you now know nothing about.

you stood over the counter and charles held you from behind with his chin resting on your shoulder. “please be careful,” he hummed sweetly, “the knife is so big and we can’t have another er trip. we can’t afford it.”

you laughed and threw your head back on his shoulder. you looked up at him with an overwhelming warmth in your chest. “well, it would be hard to make dinner with a smaller knife,” you giggled along with him.

charles pressed a tender kiss on your shoulder before he pulled away. you remember looking over your shoulder as you chased for his warmth — you’d never gotten used to the cold of new york — and he just smiled at you as he poured himself a glass of water. “i just don’t want you to get hurt.”

his smile reached his eyes and at the time, you knew that he clearly felt the same way. you often wonder when that started to change.

when did he start lying when he’d say he loves you, or when did the spark in his eyes when looking at you disappear? had you truly been so blind to not notice that he started to spite you eventually?

you remember the kitchen used to be the brightest room in your apartment, always complaining about how hard it was to cook once the sun had set. one day, charles made his way out and got you white lights to ease your difficulty.

you look at it now and it is barely recognisable. two out of the five lights are no longer working and one flickers above your head.

you can hear echoes of giggling in the back of your head. you turn around and your attention is immediately caught by the piano at the far end of the room. you hear the melodies hang in the air like they’d always been stuck there, cursed to never be heard by the masses after you’d pushed it into a box in your mind.

you drag your feet over to the piano, dimly lit by one of the salt lamps you and charles had gotten at a market one sleepless night. you lift the cover with a sigh. you run your fingers over the keys carefully, as if afraid that it would crumble along with the bittersweet memories of hours spent sitting in the seat that came with it.

charles found you sitting here on one of your sleepless nights, aimlessly playing around with a melody that had been bugging you all day. you laughed when you noticed him stalking you from the small crack of your bedroom door pulled open.

“i’m sorry,” you frowned, “did i wake you with all of this?”

“no,” he shook his head with a smile and his arms folded over his chest. he walked over to you. “please, don’t let me interrupt. i loved that.”

you sighed and slumped your shoulders as a blush crept up your cheeks. “that’s all i currently have. i’ve been stuck here all day.”

he hummed and rested his arms on your shoulders and bore his eyes onto the monotonous keys of the piano you shared. “you say that all the time, but you eventually figure it out.”

“can you help me?” you prompted. you lifted your fingers from the keys and wrapped them around his hands, turning slightly to press a kiss to the back of his hand. “you’re the only one i trust that wouldn’t ruin the melody.”

“my help with another song?” he teased, scrunching his nose. “i might have to start charging you for my services.”

you laughed as he squeezed himself next to you in the tiny seat. composing melodies with charles wasn’t a foreign practice, spending most of your sleepless nights sitting around the piano as you try to spurt lyrics out to match a melody.

you almost start to feel bad for your neighbours who had to endure several nights of this behaviour. hushed giggles under the influence of wine with poorly composed melodies begging to be put to rest with your string of words.

“i was thinking something like this to continue would be good,” charles hummed, wrapping an arm around you to get to the further end of the piano.

on the top of the piano and a pile of sheet music with tiny doodles in different coloured ink. you pick it up with a smile, a work-in-progress title is written in big block letters in charles’s handwriting with a small heart in the corner.

you remember well working on this song together. you wonder if that was when it started to all fall apart. if that was when charles had started growing to slightly despise you.

you start to go sift through the pile of papers. all of these songs will probably never see the light of day — even thinking of them just hurt — except for that one song.

that one song that started playing on the radio after you’d released it with crossed fingers and all of the hope in the world. you turn around and look at the living room, remembering the way you’d scrambled to move the furniture around when you heard a familiar melody filling the empty air of your apartment.

charles had insisted you celebrate with a mini dance party.

he pushed the table and the couch back, grabbing your hand as he started moving to the beat. though, you could argue that a ballad is not the type of song you throw your head back and dance along to.

but he somehow made it possible.

the million versions of that song only exist in your head and hopefully his: the ballad, the pop, the alternate version and the version with the different set of lyrics.

you can then suddenly hear the slamming of doors the night that things started to blow up. you hated it — you remember thinking that you could change his mind as he packed his things into a bag. not all of his things, which is what frustrates you even more to this day.

he could have at least shown you some decency by taking all of his things after having decided that he can’t do it anymore. you look around the living room and there are still remnants of charles everywhere.

his reason? he despises the success you’ve managed to find without him; the new world you’ve seemingly built and left him behind. and because of it, he finds it difficult not to be jealous of you — to not hate you.

it still stings to this day.

“i don’t love you anymore,” charles said in a tired sigh after your back-and-forth screaming. “i didn’t want to have to say it, but it seems like that’s the only thing that will put a stop to this.”

“to what?” you asked, hearing your heart shatter in your chest.

“to you asking me to stay! i don’t want to stay!” he explained with a dry laugh. he watched as tears filled your eyes as you slowly processed his words. “i tried to see if it was a mistake that i feel this way, but i can’t… i– i don’t love you anymore.”

it was difficult to climb as an aspiring classical musician. it’s such a niche market that watching your career, as a popstar, made it difficult to not let the resentment get the best of him.

charles had reached out a few weeks ago, through his personal assistant, inquiring if you’d ever release the songs you’d written together. he’d received a simple no from you personally, written with a bitter scoff while you sipped on some seltzer after a concert.

you wonder if he would do anything with the arrangements you’d spent creating together.

you see the ghost of your relationship tangled on the couch, sickeningly lost in the magic of the early stages of your time together.

“we’re going to make it,” charles whispered in your ear as he mimicked a sign with his hands. “you’ll be performing sold-out concerts, releasing music that people want to hear… and i’ll be the idiot at the sideline watching you like a lovesick fool.”

“no,” you laughed, shaking your head. “you’ll be my classical musician boyfriend. the best of its kind, better than mozart, perhaps?”

“nonsense!”

that had turned to you sitting on opposite ends of the couch with your head in your hands. charles sat in silence with his staggered breathing taking over the room.

“i’m sorry,” he sighed. “i didn’t want it to end this way.”

“i just don’t understand,” you croaked out, your voice cracking, “you said you loved me this morning when i left the apartment. so, you lied.”

charles dropped his head. “i still do, but… with the way it’s going… it’s not ending well.”

and that’s the last conversation you had with him. he’d left your shared apartment shortly after that, taking your prolonged silence as a cue for him to leave.

he’s dead to you now, along with all of the bittersweet memories you’d spent together in this very apartment. which is what you’d flown back to new york for — to pack it all up and get your things. you’re finally letting the apartment go along with all of the hatred you’ve got for charles.

taglist: @33-81 @darleneslane @localwhoore @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @c-losur3

[tobesolonely]

Y/N and Harry are expecting a baby, and they’re both very impatient.

happy 5k to meee! when I made this account at the height of the pandemic in 2020 to pass the time i would’ve never thought i would’ve made the friends i have or gotten so much support with my writing!! thank you besties! i hope you enjoy! 

warnings: smut

please buy me a coffee to celebrate! :D

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“I just don't think we need three different kinds of bottle warmers, love.” 

Y/N looks at her husband looking down at the half-full cart that’s now one bottle warmer fuller. According to every baby blog and “new mom” website she scoured, bottle warmers were a must-have. However, there was no general consensus on the best one. Y/N didn't really see any other option but to try a ton. (Besides, it's not like he couldn’t afford it.)

“Then tell me which one’s the best.” 

Harry's eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. “How would I know which bottle warmer is the best?” 

“How would I know?” 

He opens his mouth to quip back but can't think of anything to say because once again she's right. How would she know?

“Ok, darling,” he resumes pushing the cart through the aisle with a defeated sigh. “You're right.”

A credit card swipe and a short 15-minute car ride later they’re home, depositing all their recent purchases in the half-complete nursery. It was nearly stuffed to the brim with clothes and instructions for toys Harry began assembling but never completed and baby wipes and strollers and now, three different types of bottle warmers that it was a little overwhelming. The good kind, though. 

By the time they finish that, they’re knackered, sprawled out on the couch with the tv playing lowly in the background.

“How does stir fry sound for dinner?” Harry absentmindedly traces over her plush thighs with the pads of his fingers while he seeks her approval. “I don’t think those bell peppers in the fridge have got much longer.”

“Mmm, sounds good,” she cranes her neck up to look at him, not wanting to leave her position on his chest. “Not too spicy, please. I can’t handle it right now.”

“I know, love.”

Y/N knows Harry knows, but she still reminds him anyway. He gently helps her up and guides her to the kitchen, lifting her up on the counter so she could cut up the vegetables while he stood at the stove and cooked the chicken. He’s about to sprinkle a generous amount of red pepper flakes atop the chicken when he remembers her polite request that he doesn't make it too spicy and he sets it down, deciding he’ll add it to his own portion separately.

“I think these are all chopped up.” 

Harry hums and walks over to where Y/N is positioned on the counter to inspect her handy work. Most everything she knows in the kitchen she learned from Harry, and he definitely still teases her about her skills with a knife. At least she tries! 

While the look on Harry’s face tells her he thinks her chopping skills look like that of a ten-year-old, all he says is, “Looks great, darling! You’re so helpful.” (The pregnancy has made Y/N more sensitive than usual and Harry knows she's liable to cry over the tiniest things so he’s been extra sweet to her)

With the chicken now simmering on low, Harry adds the vegetables to the dish and adds a bit of water to help soften it faster, making sure to add a generous amount of seasoning. Y/N appreciated this because she wasn't the biggest fan of vegetables (especially peas and broccoli, which Harry coincidentally loved) so whatever he did to make them even the tiniest bit tastier was helpful.

Twenty minutes later they're enjoying dinner, bowls filled with heaping piles of steaming rice and chicken-veggie stir-fry. Harry stands in between Y/N's legs while she’s sitting on the counter (occasionally giving her bites of his food even though they’re eating the exact same thing).

“Who taught you how to be such a good cook?” Y/N randomly questions in between a mouthful of food. She knows the answer is Anne, but she just likes stroking Harry’s ego sometimes.

“My mum,” he answers. “And lots of practice. I could teach you…”

“I’d rather not.” 

Harry chuckles at his wife’s hatred for cooking. “Luckily for you, it brings me great pleasure to cook for beautiful women,” Y/N narrows her eyes at him, “I mean you. My beautiful woman. Don't give me that look.”

“Are you gonna make baby food from scratch, too?”

Harry raises his eyebrows in consideration, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Y/N’s nose. “There’s a thought… hadn’t even thought about that. I can do that.”

“I mean, you did say you love cooking for beautiful women.”

“I do,” Harry smiles at his wife for a few moments before the look on his face changes to one of accusation. “Are you trying to tell me something? Did you look?”

“Okay listen, I may have taken a tiny peek at the monitor when we were at the check-up on Tuesday…”

“Y/N!”

“I couldn’t help myself, Harry! I don’t know how you haven’t been going crazy over it,” she absentmindedly rests her hand on her stomach. “If I didn’t know I’d probably be so annoying right now.”

“That’s true. I’m sure you would be.”

Y/N playfully reprimands Harry by swatting his bicep. “You love how annoying I am. It’s why you married me. You said it in your vows, remember? There’s no going back now.”

Harry kisses the side of Y/N’s neck, then travels up to the sweet spot right below her ear before moving to the apples of her cheeks and then finally, her soft lips. “I wouldn’t dream of going back on it. Tell me more about this baby girl we’re having, since you like to ruin surprises.”

“I can’t help my wandering eyes!”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Harry responds sarcastically. “Are we telling people?”

“I think it’ll be fun if we kept it our little secret,” she reaches up to play with the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. “Maybe we’ll tell your mum and mine. We’ll see.”

“You’re right,” his hand travels up the back of Y/N's shirt. She shivers at the feeling of his cool rings against her warm back, “Instagram post instead?”

“Harry!”

“I’m joking, love!”

“Help me down from here. My butt’s numb.”

“Have you been thinking of names while you’ve gone all this time knowing without me?” Harry easily lifts her off the counter, not removing his hands from her waist even once she’s steady on her feet.

“H, it’s only been two days.” 

“Two days longer than I’ve known,” he bends down just enough to ghost his lips over yours. “Come sit on my lap. Let’s brainstorm.”

Harry gently guides her toward the direction of the living room, plopping down first on the couch so he could pull her into his lap. There was no other place Harry preferred Y/N to be than in his lap whenever he was around her. 

“Are you upset that I peeked when we were supposed to wait?”

His eyes soften. “Of course ‘m not mad. I guess since we’re being honest I may as well admit that I took a peek, too.”

“Harry! Why were you gonna let me think I was the only impatient one?”

“You’re just easy to mess with,” he pulls her flush against his body. “I was gonna see how long I could keep it up, but I can’t do it anymore. I feel too bad.”

“When did you peek?”

“Right after you did.”

Y/N lets out a dramatic gasp, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “You saw me? I thought I was being sneaky!”

“I’m sorry to say you’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” he fiddles with the strap of her tank top, pushing it down her arm slowly. “I admire the effort though - it’s very cute, love.”

“Thank you,” Y/N cocks her head to the side. “Are you happy? That we’re having a girl?”

“Y/N, I’m so happy that I don’t think I can properly put into words how I’m feeling,” his hands travel along her back. “I’m even happier I’m having a baby with you. I don’t care about anything but having a healthy baby with you.”

“H, you’re gonna make me cry,” Y/N says dramatically, a small pout on her chapped lips. “You’re very cheesy - I love you so much. How did I get so lucky?”

“Would you believe me if I said I asked myself that same question every day when I wake up beside you?” Harry taps her on her side. “C’mon, up you go.”

Y/N lets out a little groan. “Why? I just got comfortable. Your lap is the best seat in the house.”

“Wanna show you how much I love you and how happy I am that you’re giving me a baby girl,” Y/N’s eyes widen as she scrambles off her husbands lap and onto the empty space beside him, legs folding beneath her. “Can I have a taste?”

“I thought we were discussing baby names?” Y/N jokes.

“I think we should do this first,” Harry drops to his knees, “Turn around f’me, darling- on your knees- yeah, just like that,” and immediately attaches his mouth to her clit, giving a firm suck. He quickly moves to her slit and licks up it, collecting her wetness on his tongue. Y/N can tell by his quick pace and sloppy licks that he's feeling plain desperate, and she momentarily wonders to herself how long he's been in this type of mood. 

Almost as if he's read her mind, Harry pulls back and says, “Been wanting to get in between these pretty thighs since we were comparing all those bloody bottle warmers at the store…” before diving back in. She turns to watch as he pokes and prods at her holes with the tip of his tongue, working faster the heavier she begins to breathe. His palm rests on her ass cheek, which also aids in keeping her spread open for him. Harry places three pecks on her clit before removing his mouth from her core just long enough to turn her around so her bottom was on the couch instead.

Harry hooks his right arm under Y/N’s left leg and throws it over his shoulder, using two fingers to rub over her clit. He lowers his head back down and attaches his lips to her bud again, looking up through his lashes at her. Y/N uses her shoulders to support her body weight, using one hand to lift her tank top and tweak her nipples while the other tangles in Harry’s curls. His tongue flicks back and forth over her clit as he locks eyes with her before sticking his middle finger in his mouth and inserting it in her heat.

“Harry, I love you,” Y/N tells her husband breathlessly, voice filled with lust. “I love you so much. I’m so- oh!” 

She lets out a sharp gasp once Harry adds two more fingers in one swift push, easily accommodating to fit his digits. His fingers burn in the best way possible, and she can’t wait to feel his cock. The whole time Harry’s fingering Y/N he’s giving her sweet praises–telling her she always opens up so well for him, that she get so fucking wet, that she tastes sweeter and better than the finest desserts. It’s nearly too much.

“I can’t put into words how much I love you,” Harry whispers as he relentlessly curls his three fingers up over and over again to stimulate that spongy spot deep inside of her. “I want you to cum for me, my love. Cum for me so I can get inside you, hm? Can you do that for me?”

Y/N’s mouth falls open in a silent scream as she releases all over Harry’s fingers, clenching so tightly around him that he has to tell her to relax so he can comfortably pull them out. 

“S’fuckin’ tight…” he mutters moreso to himself, pulling his joggers and boxers down to his ankles in one swift go. “All mine?”

“All yours,” she responds so quickly she nearly sounds pathetic. “Please, H. Just give it to me please-”

Harry pushes Y/N up and back onto the couch so her back is against the armrest. “Comfortable?”

Y/N’s heart swells a tiny bit at her husbands concern for her comfort even when he was having her in such a filthy state. “Very. Please fuck me.”

Harry slips himself inside Y/N’s warm heat, letting out a quiet groan of relief at the feeling. Y/N whimpers and locks her legs around Harry and he takes that as his cue to move. He slides out nearly all the way before slamming his hips back inside her, grunting loudy in pleasure.

“That’s a good girl…just take it, darling,” he snaps his hips quickly into her, skin slapping against skin. “Lay there and take it like a good girl…My good girl…”

Tiny moans esacpe Y/N’s mouth and she doesn’t try to suppress them in the slightest, wanting her husband to hear how good he was making her feel. He always made her feel good, always put her pleasure first.

“My clit, p-please,” Y/N stutters out, reaching for Harry’s hand so she can place it at her core. Harry places his hand at her core and begins rubbing in hard, tight circles, knowing exactly how to stroke Y/N to bring her to her release.

“Tell me how good it feels.”

“So, so good. Gonna cum, H,” Y/N moans, bucking her hips up so they meet Harry’s. “Don’t stop H, please don’t stop!”

“Yeah? You’re there, angel?” his thrusts become impossibly faster. “Me too, baby. You first. Cum for me, Y/N.”

Y/N orgasms for the second time that night, waves of pleasure washing over her body that satisfy her in the best way possible. Harry’s not far behind her - his hips stutter to a stop before he lays his weight on top of her and cums, being mindful not to lay directly atop her bump.

The couple lay in silence for what feels like ages, basking in the afterglow of their sex and orgasms. Harry places a chaste kiss to the top of Y/N’s head before gently untangling himself from her, already thinking about which bath bomb he wanted to use when he went upstairs to run her a bath in a moment. 

“So, about those baby names…”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Please let me know what you think! and please buy me a coffee to celebrate! :D

[ghoulsister1]

🖤Being In A Relationship With Captain Kuro Headcanon: SFW🖤

Is a gentleman. Opens doors for you, pulls out your chair for you and seats you when dining in restaurants. Treats you like a proper lady.

He is very organised man. Expect him to remember important dates such as your birthday, anniversaries and date nights. He plans ahead and makes sure everything is perfect.

His love language inculdes giving you gifts. That necklace you were eyeing up? It's the first gift you receive from him on your birthday. Those gorgeous shoes you wanted but couldn't afford? Kuro has them custom ordered and sent straight to you for your two's anniversary.

Sweet endearing pet names. "Kitten", "Little Flower", "Sweetpea" and "Petal" are some of the pet names he calls you.

Takes out on picnics on top of a little hill, usually with a view of the sea so you both can admire the sight of the Bezan Black, sitting proudly in the waters of your private port. Packs a delicious picnic meal by the way. I'm talking a bottle of wine, a board with a variety of cheese to snack on, picnic cooked chicken, a plastic container with a mix of fruit such as blueberries, strawberries, grapes and apple slices.

"To us, my kitten" Kuro would toast and you'd both clink your champagne glasses together in cheers. "And to many more happy years together" You Would Add and you both would share a smile.

Fine dining at the best restaurants. A dinner for the two of you at the Baratie, candlelight and the best delicious food served to you. (Curtsy of Sanji, the best cook in the Baratie!)

At home, Kuro happily cooks for you. Sometimes you help him out and cook together. Kuro adores moments where you two cook together, you helping chop the veg while Kuro watches, making sure you don't accidentally hurt yourself with the knife and praises you for how well you chop up the veg and for your help.

Date nights including going out to dinner, a night at the theatre, watching a movie at the cinema. One time you guys just set up a spot outside and watched the stars together.

Quiet nights in inculde binge watching your favourite shows, movie nights or sometimes curling up together with books and read together, maybe have some podcast playing or some chill music in the background.

One night Kuro and you just spent an entire night just drinking some wine, indulging in deep conversations and eventually Kuro played some records and you two slow danced together in the middle of the drawing room, completely lost in each other's embrace and ending the night with a deep and passionate kiss.

Kuro will totally get jealous if another looks at you. He knows you ignore their advances and don't indulge in their games. However should one or two continue to harass, Kuro will dispose of them of course, in his own way. Nobody touches or takes what is his.

Same if anybody dares disrespect you. Kuro will defend your honour and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty....or his claws bloody.

"Nobody disrespects my kitten!" Are Kuro's word as he slashes at the offender, making sure people are watching so they know to never make the same mistake, should they end up on the other end of Kuro's claws.

To other pirates and Marines, Captain Kuro is a ruthless pirate captain that is feared by all who know him. But to you, you are his most precious treasure and he loves you very much. Kuro is a purrfect gentleman to his beloved sweetheart.

[grouptale-bits]

so I've noticed that the items of the six have changed slightly from the canon game. Would there be any differences I mean in fights? (Like would they have the same effects, like stained apron for example or the cowboy hat)

Yes! Things like lumens glasses or harpers hat don’t really add any real defense to they’re person. Just neat character details

But that doesn’t mean the characters don’t have stats at all!

——

Frisk

Age:8

Soul: determination

Item:

Sturdy stick +2 atk

(Sturdy for a twig)

—

Minette

Age:7

Soul: patience

Items:

Bright bow

( monsters surely won’t attack someone this cute)

Toy knife +2 Atk

(Some where in a orphanage home, a toy set is missing a knife.)

——

Lumen

Age: 10

Soul: perseverance

Items:

Glasses

( well taken care of)

Worn notebook book +5 def

(A thick note book you’ve had since you entered the orphanage. It’s seen better days)

—-

Fin

Age:10

Soul: bravery

Items:

Tough gloves +7 atk

(Couldn’t afford boxing gloves so these were the next best thing)

Mandanna

(A bandanna with abs cheaply printed on)

—-

Adien

Age:11

Soul: kindness

Items:

Burnt pan +9 def

heals +4 more when an item is cooked in it

(An old pan you found. Makes for a great shield )

Stained apron heals +2 def

( durable armor in the world of culinary arts)

—-

Harper

Age: 13

Soul: justice

Items:

Toy revolver +11 atk

(The bullets may be rubber but they sure do sting)

Cowboy hat

( a item you’ve had for a long time)

—-

Caleb

Age: 12

Soul: integrity

Items:

Tutu +5 fluff +5 df

(It’s surprisingly comfortable)

Ballet shoes +7 atk

(Worn from the constant practice.)

—- -

[goldnhourwrites]

heartsteel headcanons #1

moving in, kitchen, cooking

With their newfound stardom (and money), the members of Heartsteel move into a six-bedroom house (i'm trying to be cool not practical).

The whole house thing was originally Ezreal's idea, which the rest of the band brushed off as silly. Unfortunately, Ezreal would not shut up about it. The others warmed up to the idea slowly, until K'Sante admitted that it would actually be quite feasible and found a place they could afford.

The day they move in together is a nightmare. Piles and piles of boxes. Everyone claiming rooms. Desperately trying to figure out if anyone packed toilet paper (the answer is yes, but Yone was the only one who neatly labeled his boxes, so it takes them a while to find it).

On the first night, they order pizza because no one can be bothered to set up the kitchen. It takes at least 45 minutes to find a pizza place and figure out what exactly they're ordering, who's picking it up, and how they're Venmo-ing each other back.

Once the kitchen is functional, K'Sante becomes the primary chef. Everyone is quite happy with this - K'Sante is a remarkably good cook, and having one person take charge saves them from having to eat whatever Kayn considers "food". (Seriously, how do you burn ramen noodles?)

No one is allowed in the kitchen when K'Sante is cooking. Ezreal's tendency to dash or blink through the house, often chased by someone else, has led to one too many close calls with a knife or pot of boiling water. K'Sante rarely gets angry, but the glare he gives anyone who interferes with his precious cooking time makes even Kayn scurry away.

In the same vein, Yone and K'Sante typically take care of the grocery shopping. Yone is the official Grocery List Keeper, and dutifully maintains a perpetual note titled "Groceries" on his phone. K'Sante sometimes prepares ideas for recipes in advance, but often finds inspiration at the grocery store, so he'll often just throw things in the cart and make a plan for them later. This sometimes throws a wrench into Yone's careful budgeting spreadsheet, but the food always comes out so delicious that he doesn't really mind.

Once, they tried to send Ezreal grocery shopping. He came home with gummy bears, an absurd amount of ice cream, and whatever else struck his fancy. He glanced at the list once and then forgot to look at it for the rest of the trip. Much boxed mac and cheese was eaten that week. Yone did not allow Ezreal to go grocery shopping alone again.

Occasionally they'll have sit-down dinners together, but more often than not, K'Sante makes a ton of food and the band just grabs it whenever they're hungry.

Once they've figured out how the kitchen is going to work, they have to set up their bedrooms...

(heartsteel headcanons #2 is gonna be about their rooms and decorations!)

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Yandere Radiz and Platonic Goku with a Female Sanji Reader?

Bulma’s latest invention teleported Reader from her world to theirs (It was a total accident) despite this Reader joined them on their adventures and later opened up her very own restaurant (Bulma bought it for her as an apology until she can find a way to send Reader back home) which she named ‘The All Blue Baratie’ (It became instantly popular and famous

When Reader also became Gohan’s ‘Aunty’ (She’s definitely not crying, nope, she’s definitely not crying everytime he calls her ‘Aunty’, her heart is definitely not being squeezed in happiness whenever he gets really happy to see her)

However when a man named Radiz enters the picture and reveals Goku’s origins as well as kidnap Gohan, there’s no way Reader isn’t going to stand around and let her precious nephew get hurt (She’s ready to kick ass, more specifically, Radiz’s Sayian ass

Unknown to her, she’s the definition of ‘Attractive’ to the Sayian Race (Her confidence, power, and savagery is very attractive)

The one thing I can’t stand about Dragon Ball is how the timeline constantly skips a few years (I don’t even know what year or how old everyone is, and they don’t even reveal their age either, so that doesn’t make it easier)

-It had been almost a year since you arrived in this new world, arriving with a bang, literally, you appeared as a result of an explosion after one of Bulma’s inventions backfired.

-You had no idea where you were and after a time, you realized you were in a completely different world!

-Bulma was so apologetic, doing everything she could to send you home, but you weren’t upset, as it was an accident.

-You had been given a chance, thanks to an apology gift from Bulma and her parents, to own and run your own restaurant, The All Blue Baratie, and it instantly became a huge hit, people were coming from all over the world, including celebrities, to try your cooking.

-Your portions were described as ‘healthy’ but affordable meaning Goku and his family were constant visitors, alongside Bulma and Krillin, as you would always give them a five-star meal on a two-star budget!

-You became friends with all of Bulma’s friends, whom she brought to your restaurant quite frequently, Roshi learned very quickly that despite your bright smile and slight boy crazy attitude, that you were not to be trifled with.

-You were way stronger than you looked, your kicks were some of the strongest any of them had seen, even Goku who asked to spar with you.

-Your favorite of the whole group, besides Bulma, was Gohan! He had quickly adopted you as his auntie and neither Chichi or Goku minded, until you started crying, hugging Gohan close, so overwhelmed with happiness that he saw you as his auntie!

-Chichi liked you because you would always give them a discount when Goku would bring you crops from their fields and animals he had hunted, providing his own food, while you just cook it, and she happy that she can get a break from cooking for their huge appetites at least twice a week, sometimes more.

-It a normal Thursday for you, you were preparing for the dinner crowd, prepping vegetables and some of the slow cooked dishes ahead of time when a loud pounding was heard on the front door to your restaurant.

-Normally you would ignore it, but it sounded frantic, and you set your knife down and went to the door and your eyes widened to see Bulma, looking scared and frantic.

-As soon as you opened the door Bulma launched herself into your arms, “Gohan’s been taken!!” you froze, only for a moment before your eyes narrowed, “What?”

-She explained that a man, an alien, named Raditz showed up, attacked Chichi and Goku and took Gohan, to force Goku to fight him, as they were brothers.

-This was almost unreal, until you remembered Gohan’s tail before you demanded to know where Gohan and Raditz were.

-Bulma gave you the coordinates, telling you that Piccolo, Yamcha, and some of the others were on their way too, as well as Goku, to get Gohan back.

-Bulma agreed to give you a ride on her motorcycle, which you thanked her for, “Once I’m there, get out of here as fast as you can.” She nodded, as she had already planned on it.

-You glared as you saw Yamcha already down, and Tien was quickly losing against Raditz and you leapt up, “Get out of here Bulma!”

-Raditz heard a shout and looked around to block another one of these weaklings, waiting for his brother and was stunned when a flaming leg swung into his face, sending him flying back.

-He landed hard, rolling and was quick to stand with a grin, realizing it was someone strong, before he froze, seeing a woman!

-You were wearing your normal outfit, a collared top with a vest, sleeves rolled up, a black pencil skirt with a slit in the right thigh, and black heels, and a tie that you were currently loosening.

-Gohan gasped, as he had been crying, seeing you, “Auntie!!” your eyes narrowed harshly, feeling fury that your darling nephew was upset and scared.

-Raditz charged and you froze as Piccolo and Tien tackled him from the side, keeping him busy and you immediately ran to Gohan, who was in a capsule like spaceship, “Close your eyes and turn into a ball Gohan!”

-The boy did as you told and you swung hard, breaking open the capsule, destroying it with a well-placed heel kick.

-Raditz was stunned, seeing your raw strength and fury, a feral grin on his lips as you picked up Gohan, holding him on your hip before you had to leap up, dodging his swipe.

-A guillotine kick stunned him, but only for a moment as you leapt back, blocking one of his punches with your knees. The fire in your eyes seemed to entice him more and more as you blocked his blows, but he didn’t seem as serious compared to when he was fighting the men.

-It was almost like he was toying with you. He tried to grab Gohan, to toss him aside so you could have a real fight and you kicked up hard, your leg coming up almost perfectly straight into his chin, throwing him back.

-Yamcha then shouted at you, “You need to use your hands to fight Y/N! He’s too powerful for just kicks!”

-You sent an icy glare to Yamcha, and everyone felt it, even Gohan, “These hands are for cooking only!” and as you shouted that, you swung your leg at Raditz, fire covering it again, “Diable Jambe!!” and it slammed into Raditz’s midsection, sending him flying back, completely knocked out, stunning everyone, including Goku who had just arrived.

-You were panting softly, holding Gohan close with one arm as he was hugging you around your neck, sniffling softly and you instantly softened, stroking his cheek gently as he pulled back, whimpering out, “Auntie?” as the men all quickly came over to apprehend Raditz.

-Everyone went back to your restaurant, and you put a sign on it, telling everyone that it was closed for the day due to a personal issue.

-Raditz wasn’t as scary when he woke up, completely bound and unable to move, just loud, demanding to be set free and making a ruckus.

-You walked by, carrying food for everyone and you shoved a meat stick into his mouth, shutting him up, not seeing his eyes sparkling at the tasty food as he ate his way through it.

-You passed by Roshi who thank you warmly, putting his hand on your rear like it wasn’t anything and you squeaked and went to kick him before a meat bone came shooting across the room and hit the old man in the head, sending him flying.

-You turned to Raditz who was glaring harshly while Goku was laughing hard, finding it funny as you picked up the bone, “Oi- don’t play with your food!”

-Raditz grinned at your anger, as if he thought it was attractive, “Just staking my claim- you’re my mate!”

-Jaws dropped and everyone turned white in shock at his bold claim as he demanded more food like what he said was no big deal.

-Raditz was calmer once he had more food and surprisingly, he was very forthcoming with information, in exchange for even more food, telling you all about the looming threat coming and he was willing to vouch for this world, so that Vegeta and Nappa, who were scheduled to be coming as well, wouldn’t attack, in exchange for help defeating Frieza, a powerful alien warlord.

-Now that there was time to prepare, preparations could be made with the hopes of preventing the slaughter of innocents and preparing to defeat Frieza.

-Goku decided to trust his brother, which was shocking to most everyone in the room and Gohan ran to you, clinging to your leg as you trusted Goku, but if any damage came to your restaurant, you were gonna break Goku.

-Raditz behaved and you were stunned, learning that the way you acted in the fight, being so angry and fierce, was actually how Saiyan women were, and to him, you were the perfect mate.

-You were irritated with his jealous tendencies, growling at other men, treating you more like an object than a person, and claiming that you were his.

-You gave Raditz a part time job for your restaurant, hunting and fishing for you, in exchange for food and getting to stay with you, as he liked your cooking and threw a tantrum when he wasn’t allowed to be with you, and you just allowed it to avoid more headaches.

-Raditz crossed the line wen Goku and Gohan came for a visit and a meal, and the little boy ran to you, “Auntie!!” and you were quickly kneeling, all smiles to hug him close, before you heard Raditz growl at him.

-Your glare was hotter than the sun and instantly Raditz was showing throat to see, seeing the flames of hell behind you, “Did you just growl at your nephew?!”

-Goku froze, trying not to draw any attention to himself with hopes he would be safe from your wrath. Raditz could see how soft you were with Gohan, with a child, and his eyes seemed to sparkle at the realization.

-You fed the three Saiyan men, who all thanked you for the food, something Raditz learned to do that you appreciated, and you would give him warm, bright smiles.

-Once the father and son were gone for the day, Raditz approached and wrapped his arms around you from behind, spooking you, but at the same time surprising you, as the embrace was soft.

-You turned to look up at him, seeing the heated look in his own eyes, “I’ll give you what you want, Y/N. I’ll give you a child!”

-Your face turned bright red before WHACK!!! You stomped away from him, your face bright red as he was now on the ground, several large lumps on the back of his head.

-He sat up, seeing you holding your cheeks and he couldn’t help but grin, seeing you acting so shy with the idea of having a child. It made him desire you more.

[rafent]

✦ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 ✧

There is a cottage in the woods.

Nil watches it through tiny breaches in the briars, like the peepholes of a starving white wolf. A nuclear family nests inside consisting of father, mother, and child; picture-perfect, as quaint as the humblest aspirations can hope to be. The hardworking father descends the mountain to peddle cut lumber. The diligent mother rises early and fills the forest with smells of plain but revitalizing cooking. The lone child plays all by her lonesome, quietly and causing no trouble, asking after no toys her parents cannot afford.

Each is hard at work in their painted-on roles, but the mother especially. She dabs away her sweat with the bone of her wrist, tidies her spilling bun and adjusts the straps of her apron when they fall loose amid midday labors. Her chemises and linens air on the clothing line, brought in before the preparations for supper.

These pristine appearances are what throw him off, of course, the singular child that induces pause. Is it not all too mundane? Should there not be a second wretch to frolic in the garden beside the first? Over the course of several days, Nil gleans what he can for the simple act of confirmation. On the fourth, he approaches. He learns there are many allowances the littlest ones will make for a kind and studied smile.

“Do you know my mama, mister?”

“I do. I am friends with her, from long, long ago, but it is very cold outside. Can I wait for her in there with you?”

“Okay.”

It is the most innocent that let the devil into their home. It is the most innocent that is the devil, after all. Kindly Nil sits and waits, his fingers drum thoughtfully against the naperon, studying the stains of spilled, ill-dried broth. The smell of washed millet and dank wood. It is a pleasant home, a proper home; that is the reality; the truth, in the same way that Nil does not really know who this child’s mother is, her face, her age, or even her name. He knows only that they have the same eyes.

She arrives eventually. She sees his eyes, too. How? her chalk-white expression asks. At this distance there is no mistake for either of them. After a moment he rises from the chair with a severe set of his mouth, there is nothing of Nil in it anymore.

“Outside.” On his demand they go together. As one might estimate the age of an oak tree by its quantity of rings, the length of existence for a Fell Child can be judged by different visual parameters; the cocked alertness of her spine, the clenched fingers down at her side, the primordial readiness of fight and flight. But it is futile, Rafal has made sure of his advantages from the moment they stepped out, the defective Child leading and Rafal at her back. It does not stop her from trying.

“I’ve left Gradlon behind. My ambitions, my dragonstone—everything. I have a family. You don't have to do this.”

His lips twist, amused, bitter, disbelieving, everything at once. He laughs with all his chest and says to the pleading red eyes that have damned her, neither gleeful nor triumphal, merely factual: “But I will. Did you think laying with a human and birthing his pups would absolve you of this struggle? Never.”

Those born of Gradlon cannot run even from the enemies they have never made. The dice their blood has cast for them from the moment each drew breath, hissing in the viper pit hundreds and thousands strong, wanting with all their wicked hearts to be the last and only one. Revanche, a conferred axe from Divine Dragons, points at her like a wielded guillotine, like Rafal is judge, jury, and executioner. The reality is only that he is rightful heir over it all.

And ultimately, like it has been for countless others, it is easy. She is nothing like Nel. Her atrophied strength does not compare, not the pitiful tooth she straps to her thigh - a single knife batted away - or the futile scrabble of her nails down his arm in her final throes. Her face is not remotely alike, too plain without the dragonkin's trappings of gold, that it evokes nothing when he stares into it, rips into it. So it is easy. 

“Mama! Mommy! Momm—”

Hair topples fully from the struggling bun, the apron like Rafal is white now freckled and stained. Rafal looks down at a homely brown-haired niece; a nameless, wretched, sorry inheritor of Fell Dragon legacy and sees nothing of her mother in her; there is everything of her human father about her. That does not leave him satisfied. He is the one that will not take chances.

...

Too soon, the truant father returns home from cutting wood, catching a young man in his home with an axe in his hand, his two greatest treasures shattered on the floor. His mouth opens to yell, to scream, to say anything at all. This noise stirs the wolf, startles him, provokes him, and for that there is movement—

. . .and then there is silence.

There is a cottage in the woods and no family inside.

[savageshoppers]

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[fuckkbrunch]

Strap in. This is a long one.

I could have broken this into three posts, but it was all served on one plate, so it's all going in one post. Logic.

I bought my meat from a local place, and I do think it improved the quality. Going to try to do that as often as I can afford to for these recipes.

So this meatloaf is fucking massive. Tony says to cook it in "a loaf pan" but I don't know who has a loaf pan big enough for that much meat. Splitting it up would mean fucking with the cook time, so instead I just built myself a loaf pan...

This is a 2:1 mix of beef and veal. I could have diced the onion and celery a little finer, but my knife isn't so hot and I was honestly doing too many things while cooking this meal. People were texting me time sensitive shit while I was prepping, it was a whole thing. I can find excuses for anything.

Couldn't find the fresh version of the herbs I needed, so I used dried marjoram and some thyme springs I had in my freezer.

Pretty typical mushroom gravy. Beef stock instead of veal stock. Dicing a pound of mushrooms is quite possibly the most annoying prep task ever.

Now this one is 2:1 potato and butter. It called for a ricer or a food mill, which I don't have. So I took one for the team and I pressed the cooked potatoes through a perforated strainer. By hand. It took some time. Well worth it though.

This one, I had the recipe roughly in my head. Hadn't checked the book right before shopping, and I thought it needed pancetta. So I bought a 9 dollar bag of pancetta that I didn't need. Luckily I almost always have bacon at home.

These are the most butter filled mashed potatoes I've ever made. This meal used an entire pound of butter.

The sprouts were a tiny bit over done, but that's totally on me and my timing being a little off. Will definitely be making these again.

Next time I really need to do my prep the day before. My kitchen is too small for this shit...

I have to resort to using my toaster as a shelf, and my sponge holder to set my salt down on. My beautiful no name��� brand kosher salt. It'll likely be a recurring object in more than a few of my reviews.

Everything just about done, kosher salt still at the ready. It feels illegal to take ground meat out of the oven when it's only at 150°, but it really turned out perfectly after resting.

Not gonna lie, that mushroom gravy looks like a pile of cat puke to me. A few of my friends reassessured me that once you know it's mushrooms, it looks better. I think they're being nice. Look at the fin on those potatoes though. These babies are holding so much butter, it's insane.

| Meatloaf and Mushroom Gravy + Sides |

Taste is a 5 out of 5. Yep, I said it.

Difficulty is a 4 out of 5. If you do all three simultaneously. The potatoes are the hardest part.

Time was about 3 hours, give or take.

This was an amazing plate. The hint of lemon juice on the brussels really cut some of the fat and butter flavour nicely.

Even as leftovers, freaking delicious. It kinda looks like a sad tv dinner - which is totally what he was going for with this recipe - and he nailed it. In the end, I'm not mad that it made such a monster meatloaf. Leftovers for daaays.

[hinge]

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[tales-of-midden]

A Quiet Night

The sun was just barely still peeking over the trees as Ander finished insulating his shelter for the night from the breeze. A fire was burning not too far from the entrance where some of his game was cooking on stones. The following morning, Ander would begin his trek back to town, a modest pack of pelts in tow, and afterward retire to his home further south for the winter.

If he were to be honest, he’d say he’d already stayed too long. The first snows were beginning to come in, and a white curtain invited unpleasant things out into the woods. He hadn’t detected signs of anything dangerous so far, but, nonetheless, he was certainly ready to be away before he did.

As the hunter ate his meal, his hands and knife his only utensils, he took in the sights and sounds of his last night in these woods until next year. Leaves blowing in the light breeze, rodents scampering through the brush. If you listened well enough, you might hear wisps singing bears to sleep. Ander took a long drink from his waterskin and settled snugly into his shelter. He looked up to the curtain of night as it fully covered the sky, stars winking awake and shining brightly.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, Ander saw something large drift silently across the night sky. His gaze darted to the fire, and relief settled over him as he remembered he had already snuffed out the flame. That relief was short-lived.

A gust swept over the camp as the great beast landed nearby, with only rustling branches and shifting underbrush reporting its presence. The hunter knew this beast. It could only be a Snow Wing, a large drake known for their stealth. 

Ander suddenly became very aware that his hands were still greasy. As fast as he could while still being quiet, he grabbed his waterskin, opened it up, and tried to wash the fat off his hands. The drake advanced into the camp, leering over the smoldering coals of Ander’s campfire. With his hands cleaned of the scent of meat and the winged beast looking away, Ander started to peek out of his hole, hoping to escape. As he crawled forward, his foot slipped as a clump of dirt gave way, making a thudding sound. 

The Snow Wing turned toward the noise and let out a low growl. Ander slowly slid back into the shelter and caught an eyeful of the beast’s full form. Two massive feathered wings attached to its back with a set of claws at the end of each. Its entire body was covered with the same thick down of its wings except for its toes and talons. Its tail was long and slender. Two massive yellow eyes shone in the starlight and between them jaws lined with long thin knives.

Ander could barely hear the creature creep toward him, the seconds growing longer as it walked, until the sound of cracking branches and a cloud of dust warned him far too late of the burrow collapsing atop him. He couldn’t help but let out a yelp of pain as the weight dropped onto him along with the stab of a talon.

The beast pushed itself backward with a beat of its wings, giving Ander a cut up his side and into his armpit as the talon slid backward. He pushed himself free of the debris, standing up to flee, but just as his heels touched the ground, a blunt impact struck his shoulder, sending him flying for a short distance. Ander was left breathless, but he knew he couldn’t afford to lie in pain. Again, he pushed himself up and began to sprint through the forest, adrenaline pushing him forward, hoping to lose the monster in the trees. The sound of the Snow Wing taking off reminded him that even if the thing couldn’t weave through the trees, it could most certainly follow him overhead. Even so, he continued to run, hoping to find somewhere it couldn’t reach.

He would not be so fortunate as to stumble immediately into safety, however. As he pushed through a thick wall of brush, Ander saw before him a wide open clearing at the foot of a cliffside, a river flowing through the center. The drake immediately took the opportunity it had been waiting for. It dove at the hunter as he tried to run toward the cliffside, knocking him onto his back and pinning him down. The beast opened its jaws, snapping at Ander’s face. He desperately grabbed for his knife, slipping the blade into the flesh in the corner of the Snow Wing’s eye. It screeched and stepped back, trying to beat the blade out of its eye with a wing.

Ander rushed to his feet and bolted. He could see an opening at the base of the cliffside. If he reached it, it might mean escape. The Snow Wing’s screeches of pain had stopped, the sound of beating wings following soon after. Ander tried to push himself to run faster, but the blood loss was beginning to affect him, and he faltered. Seconds before he could reach the cave, he was gripped by the talons of the predator. Ander grabbed at his sides for anything to help him escape, finding nothing. He gripped the appendage holding him and found grasp onto feathers. Ander gripped them as hard as he could manage and pulled.

The hunter fell, landing hard on a large bush. He scrambled forward, his foot catching on a cluster of roots, bringing him back down. As he tried to get up and a sharp pain ran up his leg. Ander managed to stand and limped into the small cave. He looked around, then collapsed against the wall, laughing. 

It was too shallow, he’d be picked out. He closed his eyes hoping his end would be swift. He listened to the sounds of the woods once more, rodents, breeze, wisps, stone grinding, drake roaring, wings flapping. His eyes came open slowly. He saw the cave entrance partially covered in spikes of rock, leaning slightly outward. Three small green wisps hovered nearby, singing their strange melody. He felt a warmth at his side as he fell asleep.

[elenagold236]

Find the Best Discount Kitchen Knives

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Ignoring Blade Material Choose a blade material that matches your cooking habits and maintenance preferences.

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Frequent Meal Prep Invest in durable, high-performance knives like a chef’s knife and a paring knife.

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Meat and Fish Lovers Opt for a boning knife and a carving knife to handle meats and seafood efficiently.

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Quality knives elevate your cooking skills and bring precision to every dish. From creating paper-thin slices to expertly deboning meat, the right knife transforms your kitchen experience.

Conclusion

Discount kitchen knives allow you to equip your kitchen with high-quality tools at affordable prices. By considering key features, types of knives, and maintenance tips, you can make informed decisions and enjoy a seamless cooking experience. Explore the range at Global Gear to find the perfect knives for your needs.

[sharponsight]

Discover Proven Techniques to Keep Your Blades Sharper, Longer!

Whetstones: The Gold Standard of Sharpening

What Are Whetstones?

Whetstones, also known as sharpening stones, are flat stones that come in various grit levels, ranging from coarse to ultra-fine. These stones allow for manual control, making them a favorite among knife enthusiasts.

Best For:

Japanese knives

High-carbon steel knives

Knives that require precise edge angles

How It Works:

Sharpening with a whetstone involves soaking the stone (if water-based) and carefully sliding the blade at the correct angle against the stone. Coarser grits remove material and reshape the edge, while finer grits polish it to razor-sharp precision.

Advantages:

Provides excellent control over sharpening angles

Works on a variety of blade types

Ideal for creating compound bevels and micro bevels

Considerations:

This method requires patience and practice. If you’re new to whetstones, starting with cheaper knives is a good idea before tackling your prized blades.

2. Electric Sharpeners: Convenience at Your Fingertips

What Are Electric Sharpeners?

Electric knife sharpeners are devices with pre-set sharpening slots that guide the blade through rotating abrasives.

Best For:

Kitchen knives (especially stainless steel)

Home cooks seeking quick and easy sharpening

How It Works:

You pull the knife through the sharpening slots at a steady pace, letting the device do the work. Some models even include multiple stages for coarse sharpening, fine honing, and polishing.

Advantages:

Fast and user-friendly

Requires minimal skill

Great for everyday use

Considerations:

While convenient, electric sharpeners may not work well for specialty blades like Japanese knives. They can also grind away too much material if overused, shortening the knife's lifespan.

3. Leather Strops: The Finishing Touch

What Is a Strop?

A leather strop is a strip of leather, often mounted on wood, used to refine a blade’s edge after sharpening.

Best For:

Maintenance between sharpening sessions

Polishing razor-sharp edges on kitchen, pocket, and hunting knives

How It Works:

You draw the blade backward across the strop (opposite to the cutting direction) at a controlled angle. The leather smooths out micro-serrations on the apex, enhancing sharpness.

Advantages:

Gentle on the blade

Extends the time between sharpenings

Perfect for maintaining high-performance edges

Considerations:

A strop doesn’t replace sharpening; it’s a maintenance tool. Use it regularly to keep your knives at peak sharpness.

4. Honing Rods: Misunderstood Yet Essential

What Are Honing Rods?

Often mistaken for sharpeners, honing rods are designed to realign the knife’s edge rather than remove material.

Best For:

Kitchen knives used daily

Stainless steel blades

How It Works:

By running the blade along the rod at the correct angle (usually 20 degrees for Western knives), you realign the bent edge, restoring its cutting performance. Ceramic honing rods, which are harder than most steel, can also lightly sharpen the edge.

Advantages:

Quick and easy to use

Ideal for regular maintenance

Keeps edges aligned and efficient

Considerations:

Honing rods cannot fix a dull knife. For that, you’ll need proper sharpening.

5. Pull-Through Sharpeners: A Simple Solution

What Are Pull-Through Sharpeners?

These compact tools have fixed abrasive slots where you draw the blade through to sharpen it.

Best For:

Budget-friendly kitchen knives

Novice knife owners

How It Works:

The abrasive surfaces within the slots grind the blade edge as you pull it through.

Advantages:

Extremely easy to use

Affordable

Small and portable

Considerations:

Pull-through sharpeners can be too aggressive, stripping away excessive material. They’re not ideal for high-quality or specialty knives.

6. Guided Systems: Precision Made Easy

What Are Guided Sharpening Systems?

These systems hold the blade in place and guide it against the sharpening surface at a consistent angle.

Best For:

Beginners who want precision

Knives that require consistent edge angles

How It Works:

The blade is clamped into the system, and you use guided rods or tracks to move the sharpening stones along the edge.

Advantages:

Ensures consistent results

Easy to learn and use

Works well on various blade types

Considerations:

Guided systems can be expensive and less versatile than freehand sharpening methods.

Matching the Method to Your Knife Collection

When choosing a sharpening method, consider the following:

Knife Type: Japanese knives, often made from harder steel, benefit from whetstones. Stainless steel kitchen knives, on the other hand, pair well with electric or pull-through sharpeners.

Frequency of Use: Regularly used knives require frequent maintenance with honing rods or strops, while specialty blades may need occasional whetstone sharpening.

Skill Level: Beginners might prefer guided systems or electric sharpeners, while experienced sharpeners often gravitate toward whetstones for their precision.

Knife Value: High-quality or heirloom knives deserve careful sharpening with whetstones or guided systems.

Why Multiple Techniques Matter

If you own a diverse knife collection, no single sharpening method will suffice. A whetstone may be perfect for your Japanese chef’s knife, but your everyday pocket knife might benefit from a guided system. Similarly, a leather strop can maintain the razor edge on your hunting knife between outings, while an electric sharpener can quickly restore your kitchen blades.

Understanding the strengths and weaknesses of each technique allows you to tailor your approach, ensuring every knife in your collection stays sharp and functional.

FAQs About Knife Sharpening

Q: How often should I sharpen my knives? It depends on usage. Kitchen knives used daily may need honing every few uses and sharpening every few months. Specialty knives may only require sharpening a couple of times a year.

Q: Can I use the same method for all my knives? While it’s possible, using the right method for each knife type yields better results and prolongs the blade’s life.

Q: Are pull-through sharpeners bad for knives? They’re fine for inexpensive knives but can be too abrasive for high-quality or specialty blades.

[naturallybroken]

"Be prepared" shouldn't just be a catchy saying—it should be a way of life. For those in severe weather zones (think tornadoes, snowstorms, hurricanes), prepping becomes an annual routine. But with shifting weather patterns, that's no longer enough. Weather is breaking old patterns, just look at North Carolina. And natural disasters aren't the only disruptions we might face. Infrastructure failures, like the Francis Scott Key Bridge incident, tech issues (think CloudStrike), animals on power lines, fallen trees, pandemics, strikes, civil unrest, and government shutdowns can all throw off our lives with little to no warning.

This isn't meant to scare you, it's about being ready. Here’s a list (not complete) of essentials to keep on hand, along with a few tips.

Important Documents Keep important paperwork like birth certificates, marriage licenses, etc. handy. It’s also smart to keep a list of account numbers in case you need access them away from your home computer. Have photocopies of any identification you carry daily, and consider storing a second set somewhere else. Like my partner says, “belt and suspenders!”

Cash Have both bills and coins, primarily $20 bills or lower. You don’t want to be flashing $100s in a crisis.

Dry Goods & Can Opener When you have extra funds, invest in non-perishables. My mom would buy meat for the freezer, but after a couple of power outages, I switched to dry goods; grains, pasta, legumes, veggie protein mixes, granola bars. Avoid pricey “prepper" and camping meals; you can cover your nutritional needs for much less.

Water Get bottled water, any brand. When you’re thirsty, you won’t care what the label says.

Candles and Matches Candles aren't just for light, they can provide heat and even a cooking flame. And while lighters are convenient, they run out at the worst times, so keep wooden matches in a waterproof container.

Batteries and Power Banks Beyond AAs and AAAs, stock extra batteries for medical devices, and have power banks for electronics. You’ve seen people crowd around the sparse outlet available to charge their phones, don’t be that person. Affordable power banks are everywhere, and don’t forget spare cables.

Medications Prescription and OTC. Try to get 90-day refills and renew as soon as you’re able. Don’t wait until you’re down to your last dose.

First Aid Kit You should already have one, ideally a few. You can buy pre-made kits, but they often lack essentials. Tailor your kit to meet any specific allergies or medical needs in your household.

Ice Packs Get a few reusable ice packs. Keep them in the freezer so they're ready when needed. I’d suggest a minimum of ten if you have the space.

Backup Glasses If you've seen that Twilight Zone episode, you know how disastrous broken glasses can be. If you wear contacts, still keep backup glasses in case you lose access to solution. When you get new glasses, save the old pair as a backup. Store-bought readers might even work in a pinch, so pick up a pair if they’re affordable.

Basic Tool Kit & Car Kit In a crisis, things break, and there may be no one to help but yourself. A basic toolkit should include a hammer, screwdrivers (flat and Phillips), box cutter or knife, small saw, good shears, and a box of general-size nails and screws. For your car, have jumper cables, a funnel, bungee cords, a window breaker, an ice scraper, gloves, an emergency blanket, and one of those first aid kits from earlier.

Helpful Tips Check Supplies Regularly: Every 3-6 months, rotate and replace anything close to expiration. Mark Expiration Dates: Use a permanent marker to write expiration dates clearly. Those tiny printed dates are hard to read at a glance. Pool/Share Resources: If you can afford it, pick up extra supplies for friends or family. Consider pooling funds to buy in bulk and split the savings. Crisis brings out the best in togetherness; "every person for themselves" rarely ends well. Helping each other with preparedness, lifting heavy items, making copies, or teaching someone how to use tools can make all the difference

Quote for Today “Shared pain is lessened; shared joy is increased—thus do we refute entropy” -- Spider Robinson

Music for Today People Like Us (Doom Patrol version) https://youtu.be/xJ5XK4k5vtA?si=boJb9NQPZpzD74xv

[homekitchenary]

Top Kitchen Essentials Every Home Cook Needs

Having the right kitchen essentials can make all the difference in your cooking experience. Whether you’re a beginner or a seasoned chef, these items are must-haves for any functional kitchen:

Chef's Knife A high-quality chef’s knife is the cornerstone of any kitchen. It’s versatile and perfect for chopping, slicing, and dicing everything from vegetables to meats. Investing in a durable, sharp knife will make meal prep smoother and faster.

Cutting Boards Having a sturdy, easy-to-clean cutting board is a kitchen essential. Opt for separate boards for meats and vegetables to avoid cross-contamination, and choose materials like wood or BPA-free plastic for durability.

Cookware Set A good set of pots and pans is essential for everything from frying eggs to simmering sauces. Non-stick or stainless steel sets are great choices for even heating and easy cleanup. Make sure you have at least a frying pan, a saucepan, and a stockpot.

Measuring Cups & Spoons Precision is key in cooking and baking, so having measuring cups and spoons on hand is a must. Stainless steel or plastic sets are affordable and last for years.

Mixing Bowls A set of nesting mixing bowls in various sizes will make it easy to mix, whisk, and prep ingredients. Look for durable stainless steel or glass options.

Utensils (Spatula, Tongs, Whisk) Having the right utensils like a spatula for flipping, tongs for turning, and a whisk for mixing ensures that you can handle any recipe. Silicone and stainless steel are popular options for heat resistance and durability.

Baking Sheets & Pans Baking sheets are not just for cookies! They’re great for roasting vegetables, baking chicken, and more. Non-stick or aluminum sheets are durable and versatile.

Colander A sturdy colander is essential for draining pasta, washing vegetables, and rinsing grains. Stainless steel or plastic models are easy to clean and maintain.

Storage Containers Keeping leftovers or prepping meals ahead of time is easier with a set of airtight storage containers. Glass containers are great for reheating, while plastic options are lightweight and portable.

Blender or Food Processor Whether you're making smoothies, sauces, or chopping vegetables, a blender or food processor can be a game-changer. Choose one based on your cooking needs and kitchen space.

Having these kitchen essentials ensures you’re prepared to tackle any recipe with confidence and ease!