#deep freezer for sale

[koolbokssolarfreezer]

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[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Missed Connection AU

feat. Craigslist-trawling-wingwoman!Robin + earnest-LA-transplant!Steve + rockstar!Eddie ✨ inspired by this actual Craigslist love story

It’s always about a 50/50 shot when Robin starts making her little back-of-the-throat squealing noises. Up to a certain pitch, Steve could pretend he had his AirPods on noise cancellation mode.

Once she reached fire-alarm-screeching levels, it overrode the settings and boom: he lost his fall guy.

Thanks, Apple.

But that’s where they are, and the squealing plus the screen in her hands, plus the way her leg’s bouncing against the table they’re both sitting at—which would have overrrode Steve’s AirPod excuse in about a minute because she’s gonna start splashing his glass of orange juice in a hot second—but all of it lumped together?

He’s lucky he’s retained his athletic reflexes post-high school—maybe only because of being joined-at-the-hip with this particular platonic soulmate, really—because by the time she’s swinging her iPad from its case to plop right down in front of him?

At least he’s quick enough to save his overnight oats from becoming aluminum-flavored when she drops the goddamn thing down without warning—caseless, the heathen—and makes indecipherable noises Steve thinks he’s maybe only heard at the zoo as she taps her nail with an migraine-inducing click on the screen.

Steve…supposes this means he’s obligated to look.

He sighs, fully expecting a dumb meme or a ‘cute TikTok’ because he knows who he fucking lives with; he reaches across the table and unfolds his glasses—really, assaulting him with this before he can even get his contacts in…

And it’s a…webpage. Like: just a webpage. A boring webpage, even. Definitely not matching up with the…squealing and table-sized earthquake of bouncing knees. He squints, tries to make it make sense.

Oh. Wow. He didn’t…

Steve did not actually know Craigslist still existed, let alone that people still used it. He was pretty sure the things for sale were always just kidnapping plots with extra steps, and then also that finding a person you walked past that one time was an FYP problem to solve. But.

Here, in front of him, in black and white and honestly like no other color:

Steve squints; it was posted this morning, but only just. Like 4am. So the last afternoon for there to be a one o’clock hour was—

Yesterday.

His yesterday was uneventful. Went shopping with Robs. Filled up the freezer and overbought shit again so they had a kind of massive and wholly mismatched dinner with the leftovers nearly popping open the fridge door. Can’t take the Midwesterner out of the man or woman, apparently.

Definitely nothing like the day this poor soul on a maybe-less-dead-than-presumed website had had. But Steve won’t pretend his heart doesn’t clench a little when he finishes reading because…it’s cheesy.

But Steve’s always been into that romantic…stuff.

“That’s very sweet,” he lands on commenting before passing the tablet back to Robin, who’s staring at him with frankly terrifying eyes. Like: lost-your-fucking-mind eyes.

“Steven.”

“What?”

“Steven.”

“Robin.”

He won’t even pretend he doesn’t jump with the metal slams on the wood where Robin narrowly misses flipping his bowl of sadly-abandoned oats with her iPad again when she slaps it down in from of him and points frantically yet again.

“Look at the location.”

Steve tilts his head.

Oh. He’d just looked at the time. And it’s not like the location in the title was…unique on its own.

“Huh,” he huffs with a shrug when he sees their part of the city listed in the main link up top. “Coinkydink.”

Robin’s growl starts deep, like a diaphragmatic thrum and Steve would be terrified of her if she were anyone else.

As it is: he’s only mildly unsettled. Specifically because the growl rumbles so…long.

Like at least a minute before she screams bloody fucking murder:

“My hair was in the buns!”

And the way she screeches it, and the maniacal twitch of those eyes…she’s saying more than those words, with those words.

Which means Steve has to put in effort to follow her coded message style of communicating, fucking hell. He hasn’t even eaten his breakfast.

He tries to think it through, at least manages to down his glass of OJ so it can’t be a sacrifice to flying iPads when he thinks he…

“Wait.”

Steve frowns. Robin just blinks.

“You don’t,” he shakes his head, or starts to, it’s a slow motion thing; “you don’t like honestly think,” but even as he’s saying it, the look in her eyes starts to make sense, and answers for him:

“This is not about me.”

Because: seriously.

“We were laughing!” Robin is immediate with her rebuttal, still in her screeching era. “No one else was there!”

“Because we specifically time our shopping for when people are at lunch on a weekday,” Steve counters quick, tries to cut her off at the pass; “a statistically slow window of opportunity for us to debate the list!”

“We write the list to avoid debating,” Robin answers in a more sedate, be reasonable now, dingus tone before she shakes her head and scowls and:

“Stop distracting me!”

Yep, back to the screeching.

“Why were you even on that fucking site?” Steve sighs as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“Steven,” Robin says again in that fucking tone that always means he’s missing the biggest, far-more-important point but does jack shit to help him find it.

“Robina.”

“Not my name, eww.”

“Well, now you know how I feel when you make up a middle name for me,” Steve sticks his tongue out very maturely to her scrunched up face: “they’re never even nice ones,” he adds, because they’re really not; “and I do know that was your next move so,” he smacks his hands opposite the screen on the table in front of him in victory as he crows:

“Denied.”

“This isn’t basketball,” Robin’s working her tongue around her lips inside her mouth, which is always deadly foreshadowing; “you didn’t block my shot or whatever—“

“Didn’t I?” Steve pushes because, well, one, he did, and two, the original conversation was absurd even for them.

“Maybe it was so empty because his security was there.”

Steve frowns. The tone’s too…even. No. No: too haughty.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I said he looked like a rockstar,” she leans to grab back her tablet and poke near the top, obviously switching browser tabs: “so I did some digging.”

“Robin, what city do we live in?” Steve asks as she works, because yes, Steve remembers seeing a very hot fucking dude staring less in their direction than looking dumbstruck-lost as hell, and he’d considered walking over to ask if he needed help—Midwestern transplant to the bone—which was accompanied by the stray I’d fuck that gorgeous toothpick silly, but in the paper product aisle, like on the 48-count pack of Charmin, he looks soft under all that leather—then both thoughts were swiftly abandoned when the toothpick’s eyes met Steve’s and Steve maybe had to force himself to finish laughing at a joke he can’t remember now, that Robin told, because his skin felt like it was burning a little except the sun had poked behind a cloud, and his throat, it had like, it had just, it—

It just felt…weird.

He does remember that.

“But we don’t see rockstars every day,” which is fair, their neighborhood in particular is less music biz than others.

“Plus, look at this!”

Then she’s shoving the iPad back in front of Steve: it’s a TMZ shot or some other pap photo that’s more than half blur. It is indeed the parking lot at their Costco. And it does…feature a toothpick-esque figure looking similar to the one Steve remembers, but it’s more from the back than the side. And like, anyone can wear that much black in the summer. It’s a free country.

“And look at him!”

She split-screens to a Wikipedia article about a band even Steve’s heard of, if not for listening to them himself. It…he glances at the paparazzi shot.

Lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin Sighted Getting Groceries Just Like Normal People in Mar—

And then he looks back to the wiki: okay. Same band name. The guy with the guitar in the photo looks…

He has the same hair.

“Don’t tell me it’s just coincidence.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“It is just coincidence.”

“Steve.”

Steve feels his face sour.

“I know that tone,” because he does. It never leads to things he enjoys.

“You’ve thought about him.”

“He was gorgeous,” Steve thinks he surprises her with his honesty but like, what does he have to gain by lying? Plus:

“LA’s is like the plastic surgery capital of the fucking world, it’d be kinda sad if a lot of people generally weren’t pretty.”

“He wasn’t that kind of pretty.”

And fuck if they don’t share a brain cell; fuck if she doesn’t see right through him.

“And that’s not why you’ve been thinking about him.”

And fuck if she doesn’t know Steve, far too well.

“I never once said I’d been thinking about,” he hears the words and knows they’re weak, goddamnit.

“You never had to,” Robin smiles a little and taps an annoying finger at the screen again, that’a somehow flipped right back to the Craigslist ad thingy.

And she’s actually not entirely right, because he hadn’t thought much about the gorgeous toothpick man with curls Steve wanted to be smothered by, suffocate in like a pillow. But when he did?

He’d thought most about how he looked soft, on the inside. Thought wild and idiotic things like maybe his soft could match Steve’s soft when no one else’s ever had and he was always left bruised for it, more than once near-unhealable, and maybe they could, like, if their softnesses matched, then like—

Something.

But Steve always comes on too strong, wants too much, hopes to hard and way too fast, though this shit might take the cake, there: so it was idiotic and he’d left that train of thought to derail on its own and—

Did that come on too strong?

His gaze snags on the words, those exact words up on the screen and he’s very tempted to start growling deep in the pit of his stomach, take a cue from Robin’s absurdity.

“Don’t you have a class to get to?” Steve asks, looking pointedly at the clock on the microwave: he knows she does. Pottery making. For self-edification.

She scowls but looks—swears colorfully because it’s later than she thought as she jumps up and goes to presumably…do whatever she does in the bathroom to get ready to leave and look her lesbian-luring best before she gets smattered in wet clay.

Steve remains unclear on whether that look’s more or less attractive to the specific ladies she’s trying to bait.

Either way: it prompts Robin to drop her one-woman campaign insisting Steve’s soulmate of the romantic flavor is calling our desperately into the void of the internet. But it also, however, has the…side-effect of making the time itself an obvious thing. 11:09.

Rob’s gonna take the car, she’s got…supplies and stuff.

Why that’s important is…lost on him.

He could debase himself and brave the bus, if he got off at Washington and—

What the fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

Steve very forcefully shoves Robin’s iPad back across the table and doesn’t think about anything, especially not the numbers, like the number 214, like two hours and fourteen minutes until—

Steve nearly chokes himself on his fucking spoon with how violently he shoves it, full of oats, between his lips. As if he can shut his brain up as easy as he can his mouth.

It…actually kinda works. He might have chipped a tooth.

——————

In the end, Steve is proud of himself for being reasonable and having standards. He doesn’t take a fucking bus to meet a stranger in a Costco parking lot, Jesus Christ. Come on.

He books an Uber.

(And yes, he and Robin agreed no solo Ubers for a month to save up to have the air conditioner looked at before it copped out on them because their landlord only gave a shit if it was dead-dead and yes, maybe she’d gone so far as to put their account on a hold you had to call and remove to avoid temptation—though of the two of them, she definitely had the bigger problem—but little did she think on the fact that while you had to link a phone number, you could just use Google Voice and make a new account and no, Steve’s not insane, or a hopeless romantic, or almost-asking-for-heartbreak-on-the-regular, thank you very much.

He is resourceful. And it’s only like $15 with tip. It’s a quick ride.)

He asks to be dropped near the back of the lot, and takes the walk up slow. Almost goes the long way, straight into the store. Almost turns back entirely.

But then he sees those curls.

And his throat does the…the weird tight thing for no fucking reason, and his feet don’t ask permission to walk in the direction of the man standing…less dumbstruck, now. Even from the back it’s clear.

Now: he’s waiting.

Steve can barely breathe, can’t fucking swallow for the state of his throat, but his feet still aren’t waiting for permission, so it’s only fucking seconds before he’s close enough to catch a whiff of cologne and then—

“Sorry,” Steve ducks around the man from behind and reaches out automatically to steady him when he startles. “Hey, sorry, you just looked like maybe you were looking for something?” Steve smiles as open, as reassuring as he knows. “Just wanted to check if you needed any help.”

Keep it casual, Steve, keep it fucking friendly and extra polite and—

“Oh my god.”

The guy barely breathes it out, his eyes so wide, and Steve doesn’t know why he hasn’t moved his hand from the guy’s arm but Steve can feel the electric current that runs through him, like the finest grade of trembling. And electricity, right, it travels. Conducts.

In case you felt your heart skip just one beat, didn’t even have to full-on stop—

And even that proximity to this man is nothing compared to hearing his voice, low and a little syrupy even as he stares in shock, in disbelief—and oh. Oh, but what was it the guy had written in his post? About feeling the earth move a little, or like, rewiring your cells just for meeting eyes?

Steve, he’s…

Yeah. Yeah.

Okay.

“You’re here.”

Steve blinks, rocked back to the moment to deal with the new tilt of the globe and the spontaneous realignment of his insides later. This guy’s looking at Steve like he’s unbelievable, like he’s miraculous, like he’s…

Sunshine.

“I’m here?” Steve asks, a little breathy, a little curious.

“I,” the guy swallows, lips shiny as he bites at them, fucking adorable; “I saw you, umm, yesterday and I maybe, well, possibly I wrote some,” he fumbles and sounds like he’s building up to eventual hysterics, so Steve acts wholly on instinct and reaches further now to catch at both his hands.

“Relax,” Steve breathes out with a smile, and doesn’t overthink smoothing his thumbs over the guy’s knuckles, just in case it soothes him.

“My friend,” Steve lets go with one hand and grabs his phone to show the page he’d loaded on the ride here; “she was convinced it was you, about me. I wasn’t, so,” he shakes his head quick when something falls in the guy’s face, something dims: oh, umm, no.

He cannot have that.

“Not trying to catch you out or something,” Steve exhales it warm, as reassuring as he can, with his whole chest as he grabs the guy’s hands in both his own again—since he seemed to not mind; “just,” and Steve shrugs even as he smiles a little, less self-deprecating with it than he’d probably have landed on if the guy hadn’t reacted to Steve’s hands on his by clinging back so tight:

“Just a little hard to believe, is all.”

The man barely lets the words settle before his jaw drops almost comically and he demands, high-pitched and somehow still rumbling, something commanding in it nonetheless:

“How?”

Like it’s unimaginable. Like Steve reading that post and walking into this lot and striding up to a perfect stranger—who may or may not be very famous but that’s actually not even a little bit of the point—but a stranger who would want to see him—

But then Steve’s meeting the guy’s eyes again; hadn’t wholly realized he’d been staring at their hands more than anything. Those eyes are like the night sky, swirling and endless and sparking in the right slant of light, and Steve feels them like a welcome, like a cushion of the stars, like a safe landing in a chaotic universe.

He doesn’t even know this man.

But he thinks…yesterday. Yesterday, his heart didn’t stop, not like this guy had written, but Steve understands now what it did do instead, the thing he did remember, the tightness in his throat: his heart didn’t stop.

It just surged upward and took up residence to pound at his trachea where it tripped instead. Which is kinda where he’s back to right now.

“Could I,” the guy’s voice is rough, shaky, and so is he, Steve feels it where he’s still got his hand gripped firm; “would it be too much to ask if I could hug you?”

And he huffs a breath, and it sounds too….too small, like he’s afraid or ashamed and it pings something hateful, but so much more protective in Steve’s blood just to hear it as he confesses on a end of an exhale:

“I just want to know if you’re real.”

And Steve didn’t grow up a hugger, but he sure as shit’s grown into one; he’d be one of those people standing in the city with a ‘Free Hugs’ sign without much convincing. But this guy.

This man in front of him who may or may not be famous, is definitely a stranger either way save that he poured out some lines on the internet that maybe exceeded the term ‘heartfelt’ by a mile, who may or may not be standing in here, inside this moment, for something like fate because…Steve did feel it.

Maybe he didn’t think twice about the immensity it could have, not in the moment, because he’d been shopping, and Robin’s story was funny and maybe he was just struck by his luck in living a life with his platonic soulmate and knowing joy; surely your heart can trip for that and just because it never had before, just because it did this one first time when he crossed eyes with a genuinely beautiful man who left Steve with half-a-second’s certainty that looking any longer would flay wide this unknown person’s soul for Steve to sift through: but Steve felt things like that easy, always had. Romanticized nothings like it was a profession.

But it never hit like this had, has—is—before, if indeed this is actually anything—

And Steve’s heart is still tripping but it’s back in his chest, and he knows it because where he’s pressed against this guy’s kinda-gasping chest, now, close and tight? Maybe Steve’s never paid attention before, or maybe Steve’s just never…touched like this before, even if all they’re doing is hugging in a fucking parking lot.

But.

He’s pressed there and his heart’s tripping in his chest and he knows it wholly and fully because he can feel this man’s heartbeat next to his own—and where it should be a battle, because it’s pounding, both of them are, one side literally against the other?

It feels like a caress. It feels like, like…

Steve closes his eyes tight because they start to sting with the single word it feels like: impossible, absurd, but…

Here he is. He’s never felt someone’s heartbeat pressed up against his own before. Definitely never felt—never dreamt—that it could feel like it fits.

He leans back when he thinks he’s got a hold on the hopelessness of his tender-hearted absurdity, but the guy is staring at him already when he does and suddenly Steve’s got a handle on absolutely nothing except his pulse jackrabbiting some more but then also feeling…like it lost something. Like it’s not complete.

And the man, he’s staring with those eyes so wide again but now it’s like he’s…it’s kinda like he knows. He knows his eyes are going to let Steve flay him wide open.

It’s like he’s begging Steve to…look. To look and less to take, and more to…have.

Maybe, maybe to keep?

And…how?

“Do you feel it?” the guy whispers, those deep dark eyes so big: just these vulnerable, bleeding hearts on main. “Even just—“ he tries to walk back, to open it all up wider, desperate and hopeful and Steve hears all of it because it’s all written in the same key as all that Steve knows, all that Steve is. Somehow.

Somehow.

So Steve blinks, too many times before he grabs the man harder and drags him in again to hold, hold, hold until the heartbeat on either side of Steve’s ribs is reaching for the other, touching. Until they’re holding on, too, and once they do, then he can whisper, warm and maybe wet in the crook of this man’s neck, this stranger who’s holding onto his heart now, unfathomable, as he speaks words he doesn’t have to think about first to know they’re going to shift the world again, this time so they both can know it in the souls of them together, all at once:

“I feel it.”

For @hbyrde36, who requested 'Missed Connection AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth

divider credits here and here

💫 ao3 link here

[froody]

Last night I had a strange vivid nightmare that I was an elderly woman who had murdered my husband after he attacked me and lived with his body concealed in the deep freezer until my death. I was a ghost watching the subsequent estate sale and discovery of the murder.

[heartfullofleeches]

dude abby is so fire can we get more hcs or a snippet i beg

It's been a hot minute since I've done HCs and they give me excuse to flesh out my characters so we'll do with that-

Abby [Rental Zombie Spouse HC]

Warnings: Dismemberment, Mentions of death

-

Abby doesn't remember much about himself before he died. Everything predating the night he woke up in the back alley behind a restaurant witu a hole in his head is a blur to him. All he had to his person was a wallet, his phone, and the keys to an apartment - none of which helped jog his memory as the man the ID inside the wallet couldn't possibly be him.

As recently established, Abby earns money by hosting services where he will be the customer's partner- There are a handful of male options, but he prefers to pose as females in his disguises because those usually pay more and he likes the dress up.

While Abby doesn't require human flesh as his only food source, he can eat chunks of it to repair rotting or damaged tissue. He can also swap out parts that are no longer useful with fresh ones which is a major factor to how successful his business is since changing a few features makes him a completely new person. He has a deep freezer in his apartment where he keeps his "accessories" until they expire.

When it comes to what he likes in a Darling not even Abby knows. He's very easily distracted by things and an encounter with him trying to cut out a part of you he likes can instantly switch to yout first date of many just by him seeing you like that peeks his interest as well.

"Hey, You! Cute eyes you got... Mind if I borrow them?.... Oh! What are you listening to?... I love this band! I think.... Maybe the old me did. Let's listening to more songs together and find out!"

Since you would probably like to keep all your limbs, Abby steals physical objects that belong to you to feel closer to you. He would insist on something like matching tattoos or piercings since if you can't share the same flesh - you can at least have the same branding. Do not leave any jewelry or clothing that may fit him unattended.

Any body part that was at one tethered to him will still be usable even if it's separate from him as long as it's functional. There's a reason he always knows what you're thinking- he's got eyes and ears everywhere. Please don't throw them out if you happen to find any. :(

You'll almost never meet him when he isn't "Abby". When he doesn't care about his appearance or how bad the state of his decay is and just slaps on a hoodie and a face mask to get around. It's how he keeps watch on you without use of his spare eyes and sorta feels like how some people without their makeup.

He/him, but doesn't care about whatever pronouns his clients use for him.

Spends his money on brand new items for you, but goes broke buying second hand goods from yard sales and thrift stores because he loves older furniture and giving things a new home... Will pawn his junk off on you when he has strength in your relationship that you won't leave or make fun of him for his odd purchases.

"Why do you mean "why did I buy twenty cassette players"?? If you use the one I bought you already are a diary, I wouldn't have to stalk you as frequently!"

[stvrlightvngel]

As the seasons transition and the days grow shorter and cooler, it's the perfect time to embrace a fall refresh! Much like we enjoy a spring cleaning, a fall cleaning is essential to prepare for the cozy months ahead. Let’s dive into the key areas to focus on during your autumnal tidying spree. Remember, you can tailor your fall cleaning to suit your unique needs and preferences, making it as detailed and delightful as you wish!

🍂 Forgotten Spaces

With more time spent indoors, it's crucial to improve your home's air quality. Make sure to dust all those often-overlooked areas: nooks and crannies, ceiling fans, the tops of cabinets and refrigerators, vents, air returns, and blinds. A thorough dusting will help ensure a fresh and clean environment throughout the season.

🌰 Clean Your Linen

As we cozy up more during the colder months, don't forget to give attention to all your linens. Freshen up your curtains, rugs, blankets, sheets, pillowcases, furniture covers, and mattresses, along with any other fabric-covered furniture that may have been overlooked during the warmer seasons.

🍂 Deep Clean

Give your home a thorough deep clean by tackling the walls, baseboards, doors, door handles, light fixtures, and appliances. Don't forget to clean your fridge and freezer, washing machine, dryer vent, and replace your shower curtain as well as batteries in any detectors in the home for a fresh start.

🌰 Outdoors

Don't forget about the exterior of your home as the weather changes. While I don’t worry too much about the yard after the last cut (leaves are great for the ecosystem and fun for kids), it’s important to keep walkways clear. Keep a rake and broom handy for this task. Consider power washing your house and sidewalks, cleaning out your gutters, and hosting a yard sale to declutter. Additionally, check your pantry and donate any food you no longer plan to use.

[fox-bright]

Oops, Poultry Version

So I Got Paid on an invoice I've been nagging about for the last three months or so, and while it has to last me a while, and cover many needs, it is a long tradition of mine that the first proper shop after Getting Paid is the purchase of meat. I've spent too much of my life starving to break that habit now, regardless of the fact that these days things are more comfortable; I feel the precarious nature of life at every turn, and so it gives me comfort to get high-value food. Having Enough has been such a relative rarity in my life that it gives me a deep contentment to know that not only is my belly full tonight, but it will be tomorrow, too.

Also, it's just fun to be able to see a food and buy it.

So the Magical Flying Husband and I hied ourselves to the Chef Store where we can buy things in bulk, and I tooled around in the big refrigerated meat room, looking for the elusive and subtle 50% Off stickers. There were discounts on various large pieces of beef, but I made thirty quarts of beef stew last month that now sit, gleaming, on the canning shelf in my basement; I didn't need any large pieces of beef. I made ground beef chili last month, too, and pork butt chili so tender that it made me gasp when I bit into it, but what I didn't make was chicken anything.

Bird flu being what it is, chicken prices are only going up. And I haven't canned chicken stock since late 2022; typically I do a big run of stock in the autumn every two years. I'm getting low. So, I looked for chicken.

I wanted cheap thighs; there weren't any on sale.

Cheap breasts would have done; there weren't any on sale that looked good.

But then I saw that little one-by-one-and-a-half inch sticker on a waxed box of whole chickens. I haven't broken down a raw whole chicken before, but that would do nicely; breasts, thighs, drumsticks for soup, wings to fry for the MFH, and wingtips, bones, skins and tag-ends for stock. Perfect. I slid the box off the shelf (heavy!) and onto a lower stack of boxes so that I could see into it, and lifted the lid. It looked like it held seven or eight chickens. Probably eight? They were piled over each other a bit awkwardly. Eight chickens for a bit under forty dollars. These days, I'm not going to find better prices. I had the MFH heft it into the wide shopping cart and moved on. Two ten pound tubes'o'burger, to be split into one pound portions and frozen in vacuum bags. Soy milk for the MFH's breakfast, and a luxury for me in the form of large, firm green grapes. Five pounds of mushrooms, cheap, to put into chicken cream soup. One bag of frozen jiaozi. And then out into the bright Autumn, feeling quite good about my purchases. I half-daydreamed about chicken soup all the way home.

We got home and I hauled the heavy box of chickens upstairs to my little kitchen where I do all my canning. The refrigerator is also quite small; the box was two inches too big in any dimension to let the door close. But the chickens were, I remembered, sealed in a plastic bag inside the box, to prevent them drying out or leaking. I could put down a baking tray and pop the bag onto that. I could slide the chickens around and close the door.

Removing the bag, I realized I'd made an error in my calculations. It was so cold in that big freezer room. I have always been very sensitive to the cold (thanks, starvation and hypothyroidism), but it's gotten a lot worse since the brain injury. I hadn't lingered. I'd pulled the lid off the box, looked in and said "Seven or eight chickens! And they all look good! Let's get this." and moved on.

I did not notice that the chickens were stacked in the box. Two deep.

I had a lot of plans for seven or eight chickens. But I don't have seven or eight chickens. I have fourteen or sixteen.

I have never broken down a whole raw chicken.

Wish me luck...

[dearabby1990]

Chapter 42: Rockin reception

Running down the aisle hands clasped together giggling like school children you both run to the side of the property where your reception is being held to see how absolutely gorgeous it looks the koi pond is to die for the gazebo has hand carved roses and vines down the pillars the yard it perfectly decorated & at the middle of it all is a one large table surrounded by the small round ones for your guests. Your wedding party table Jeff & Grant have the DJ station set & ready to go. You know it’s gonna be awhile for everyone to find their assigned seats so you decide on giving Eddie one of his gifts while you both wait. “My love?” He turns to you eyes of a child full of excitement love & adventure “yes princess?” Pulling his hand to your lips kissing his knuckles “I got you a few wedding gifts & id like to give you one of them since we have to wait a bit anyway” “well what the hell are we waiting for let’s go beautiful” you tug him around to the front of the property he starts to look very confused “uh honey I think it’s a little too early for us to leave our wedding just yet I still have to dance with you beautiful” you giggle “we’re not leaving goof ass come on” pulling him up to the front drive way to the newly built mailbox that you purposely had gareth wrap in wrapping paper so Eddie couldn’t see what was on it. “Go ahead Ed’s take the paper off this sucker for me please?” He furrows his brows “why in the hell would you wrap this mailbox in paper” he’s laughing but starts tugging at the tape and paper anyway as you stand eagerly to see his reaction as soon as he’s got it fully unwrapped he stands there emotionless the black mail box with purple numbers & lettering etched across the bottom “The Munson’s” he turns to you eyes brimming with tears “honey does this mean?…” you wrap your arms around his neck “yes Ed’s this our new home” you step back twirling his own set of keys to the house you made sure to fill the loop with loads of skull & d&d dice homemade keychains tossing it to him it bounces off of his chest & into his hands. “Come on handsome let’s take a quick tour” he smiles grabbing you pulling you to the front door “sweetheart I can’t believe this is ours I don’t even remember this place being up here” “baby I bought the property & built it from scratch well the contractors did” his jaw drops “honey are you fuckin kidding how much was all this?!” “Eds it doesn’t matter but to make you feel better it was cheaper then you think this area has been for sale for 30 years I got a deal now hush no money talk let’s go see” you tug him inside all black leather furniture black marble tables and lamps to match cherry hardwood flooring plush lavender carpets. Heading into the large kitchen with big marble island & countertops two fridges and a deep freezer because you know the guys will be over a lot. “Wow honey this is absolutely insane I love it” “love that’s not even the best part” you take him through your large dining room towards the stairwell “okay big gift first the second door on the right” he opens it to see a room painted black with a large table made of an old burnt tree & a custom thrown & every edition of all the d&d manuals you could get your hands on a closet full of dice & blank new figures for everyone to paint loads of pre set character sheets & an art station off to the corner along with a small bar “holy fuckin shit!! Holy shit baby what the fuck?!” He picks you up spinning you around the room before kissing you crashing his lips into yours “thank you princess this is the best gift I’ve ever received” tears in his eyes “that’s not all honey let’s go” you pull him into your new bedroom California king sized bed a mirror on the ceiling all black marble dressers & night stands leading into a master bathroom with a large jetted tub stand in shower & his & her sinks “honey this is absolutely gorgeous you did amazing” “no problem handsome anything for you this is our forever home so it had to be just right” hugging him from behind “come come still more” pulling him to the other 3 bedrooms.

Tugging him into the bedroom next door to yours painted yellow & already set up a full nursery with a beautiful round crib with canopy Eddie walks around the room at all the stuffed animals & books gets to the crib & turns to you “there’s a gift in the crib eds” he tilts over the top of the crib to see a pregnancy test & picks it up “princess does this mean?..” “you’re gonna be a daddy” & with that he sweeps you off your feet into a hug sobbing into your shoulder “I love you thank you sweetheart for everything I’m gonna be a daddy & without you that wouldn’t be possible I love you so much. Wait… does anyone else know?” “No I figured we could tell them together I just found out this morning I wanted a nursery set regardless for when we were ready I just didn’t think it’d happen that quickly haha” he pulls you back down the stairs you both look out the back door to see all your guests seated “ready princess?” “You know it” opening the door grant sees you both & grabs the mic “may I present to you the new Mr & Mrs Munson!!” Everyone standing clapping & whistling as you both make your way to the clearing for dancing as “My eyes adored you” by Frankie Valli & the four seasons starts to play you & Eddie wrapped in each other your arms around his neck his rested at your waist foreheads touching swaying to the music. Your ankles start to feel cold & you turn to see gareth with a fog machine giving you a thumbs up you mouth a thank you to him & he mouths an anytime back at you. You turn back to kiss your husband as your fairytale becomes a reality the song dies down at you both head to your table as Jeff finds an appropriate mix of music to play so everyone can be seated for food & drinks. “That cake looks great sweetheart where’d we get it?” “Oh no my aunt made it for us Ed’s she’s amazing I mean just look at it it’s art you can eat” you laugh together his hand resting on your thigh you both have been smiling at each other since you set foot on that aisle & just couldn’t stop yourself finally knowing what happy feels like you never want the feeling to disappear. As everyone enjoys their meal Eddie keeps his one hand on your belly & the other with fork in hand eating every so often kissing your cheek & whispering sweet nothings in your ear “that dress is gorgeous sweetheart but I bet it’d look even better on the floor” his breath tickling your ear sending chills down your spine. You lean over to reply to his naughty statement “oh yeah well you look good just sitting in that chair but I bet you’d look even better with me sitting on you instead” he groans “keep it up sweetheart you’re gonna pay for that later” “I’ll be looking forward to it” & with that you graze your fingers across his inner thigh watching him shift & squirm in his seat making you giggle but also excited to bless every room in the house as soon as this is all over. Everyone enjoys their meal & it’s almost time for speeches but first you want to make your announcement. You stand up brushing down the skirt of your dress & clear your throat while tapping a butter knife against your glass of sparkling cider everyone turns to you & you gesture for Eddie to stand up “Firstly I’d like to thank everyone for coming today & celebrating with us. You have no idea how much each of you truly mean to us. Now before we get into speeches & getting all sappy or goofy depending on who’s speaking but with that being said me & Eddie have some new news for you all & we figured what better time to tell everybody than now. So I just wanted to tell you that we’re…. HAVING A BABY!!” Eddie screams the last part with you his eyes sparkling with something that makes your heart race but melt all at the same time. Everyone is cheering & a few people stand up to head to our table. Wayne is full on sobbing along with Joyce & Robin who’s full on sprinting towards you to wrap you in a vice like hug “congratulations oh my god I’m so excited I’m gonna have a niece or nephew!!” You cry with her Steve’s next in line giving you a warm comforting embrace “I’m so happy for you both” to be continued…

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Seven - Bake Sale

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - The calm after the storm.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

8.7K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: i think im super proud of this one omg guys also...I put a little note at the end cause i didn't wanna spoil anything by saying what i was gonna say. also i fixated so much on each section of this as i wrote it so its like half proof read and then i was like ok the rest is up to god

Masterlist

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The storm subsided at around 2:00 AM and it would go down as the biggest storm in Hawkins’ history to date.  The flooding was unlike anything anyone had seen in years and the poor unequipped town was drenched to its roots.  Minor water damage affected homes and businesses, nothing too devastating but an inconvenience nonetheless.  A few trees had been struck down, if not by lightning then by the high winds that coursed through the night like they owned it.  Streets were blocked off with caution tape and traffic cones as the damages were assessed and Hawkins Square was littered in deep puddles that would soak you up to the knee if you happened to misstep.

It was fitting.  The world seemed to look just as you felt.  Mutilated.  Tarnished.  The calm after the storm, indeed.  Although things that night looked up between you and Eddie, an invisible peace treaty signed by the ink bleeding on the coffee cup, the scars didn’t just vanish.  This wasn’t a movie, this was real life and things didn’t just become beautiful again over night.  Pain didn’t just cease because you wanted it to or because someone said the right thing.  Someone could say a million of the right things but it doesn’t excuse their wrongdoings and the harm they’re capable of.  And it doesn’t erase them as someone who would pull the trigger on you if given the chance.

The sun flowed into the room at just the right angle, the kitchen countertop illuminated with the faintest rainbow in the morning light.  Beauty after tragedy.  It was cold, god was it cold.  The apartment might as well have been a walk-in freezer at this point, a place where you could store cold cuts and popsicles without hesitation.  But it was hard to complain about your living conditions when there was a warmth blossoming deep within your very being.  Whiskey colored eyes had the same effect as the real thing.  Warming you up from the inside out, relaxing every tensed muscle, melting away every stupid problem.  It pooled deep within you, a buried desire that was clawing its way out of your chest.  You’d been without a glance of those rich and honeyed irises for at least six hours, well into the beginning of the hour of 8:00 AM and yet it felt like you’d drank them in seconds ago with the way your veins heated.  The way your blood pumped and your nerves mellowed out.  If he was like a smooth shot of whiskey, you were at risk of becoming an alcoholic if you weren’t careful.

Snap out of it.

This was not a fairytale, things could not be fixed overnight.  He was still a stranger to you, a shell, you could not settle into comfort so easily, no matter how good it felt.  It didn’t matter that the buzz lingering beneath your surface was far more powerful than the first time at sixteen.

It didn’t matter.

All you knew was hurt by the hands of those closest and you weren’t going to let it happen again.  Never again.  Not even for boyish dimples.  Not even for the stupid cup of hot chocolate.  And certainly not for the way it felt to be pressed against his back when you begrudgingly accepted a ride home on his death machine of a motorcycle the night of the storm.  But that didn’t mean he didn’t have prime real estate in the back of your mind.

–

His hair.  Several curls falling from the confines of the low messy bun that should warrant a lecture from you on the food safety guidelines but you can’t bring yourself to do it.  Soft brown tendrils framed a concentrated face, tongue poked out in deep thought at the simple task of blending ice and coffee.  The grinding of the blades against the ice for longer than necessary should have you in shambles, causing an uproar, at the very least scolding him under your breath.  You don’t.  Instead it’s as if you’re under some kind of spell, a spell that continuously draws you to the insufferable but absolute Disney prince of a man before you.  It had been years since you’d seen him in such a light and it made everything all the more conflicting.

I hate him.

Several curses escaped his delicately pink lips as the blender came to a halt, the consistency of the liquid was long overblended and almost became a thicker milk but all you could focus on as his back came to face you was his broad shoulders, far more adult than you’d ever realized.  He was no longer a lanky high schooler, his frame had filled out and it filled out in his favor.  Had his arms only recently become a touch manlier or did your subconscious automatically blur it out all those times you encountered him only to end up with even more distaste after each interaction?  A distaste which would only blind you to the man he grew into.

No, I hate him.

But the moment you would tear your gaze away it would only gravitate right back to his hands which you guessed were noticeably larger than your own but you were in no position to find out.  With his rings more than likely temporarily abandoned atop the table in the back, his fingers seemed bare.  It only further made you appreciate them, a flash of a daydream posed in your mind where large hands decorated with chipped black polish rested at your waist.  

No, no, no.

He was not yours to daydream about nor would you want him to be.

Although…it was okay to think of him as physically attractive all while still keeping him at a distance wasn’t it?  After all, he was still awful.  You force yourself to recall the horrible things he’s said to you but you can only counter it with the appalling remarks you’d made in return.  Though he committed a horrendous act years ago that would make you bleed for years to come, you knew it didn’t warrant some of the comments you’d snapped at him in passing.  Especially those about his social status.  It was becoming apparent after the previous night’s conversation that you both struggled verbally and that his crude comments were always met with your degrading criticism.  You were both instigators.

But it was proving difficult to keep him in such a villainous light when he was so radiant.  So effortlessly alluring even as he tossed his liquified concoction into the sink with his brows knit tightly together and profanities falling from his tongue, thankfully quiet enough as to not alert any customers.  In all honesty, all he’s proved was that he was an awful barista.  Even then, it didn’t bother you as much as it should, your desire to scream at him would’ve been off the charts 24 hours ago.  That desire hadn’t even been simmering beneath your surface, the only desire burning within your depths was something unspoken and something you could never let bubble over ever again.  You wouldn’t.

Reality began settling back in, an enraged customer snapping his fingers at you, demanding your attention as your eyes widened at the realization that he’d been waiting on a simple black cup of coffee for the past few minutes.  Had the shop been busier you would’ve found a polite way to shut him up but in all fairness there were only three other customers at the moment, two of which were already enjoying their drinks.  Regardless, it didn’t seem to warrant the entitled behavior of the frowning middle aged man, a simple where is my order? would have sufficed.

“I’m so sorry, let me check on that for you.”

Customer service served with a smile.  And a side of sarcasm.

“Oh, you’ll check on that?  It’s a cup of coffee.  How hard is it to make—“

“There was a mix up with the orders, here’s your coffee.  My fault.”  Eddie slid the cup across the to go counter to its awaiting consumer, eyes slightly narrowed.

There was no mix up.  You really did forget all about the bland coffee up until you were rudely reminded.  And it definitely wasn’t Eddie’s fault.

—

1 Week Later

There was no escaping how absolutely enchanting a mundane task such as scrubbing the sink was.  It didn’t make sense and yet you lingered, pretending to rinse out the blender one time too many with the hope of catching Eddie’s forearms flex in his movements as he maneuvered the sponge around the sink.

Pathetic.

Which is why you tried so hard to snap yourself out of it.  Though you told yourself a week ago that you could admire from afar, even that was starting to not feel like enough which is why it needed to stop.  Eddie Munson had finally apologized to you but that didn’t mean throw caution to the wind.  You don’t just suddenly trust someone that for years only gave you reasons to steer far from them.  The key phrase was that he finally apologized.  Meaning he took far too long.  Fucked up too long ago and prolonged inexcusable behavior so far into the future that it was beyond repairing.  He didn’t deserve your sympathy or your persisting gaze.  Sorry meant nothing in the face of years of destruction.

Keep telling yourself that.

Because all you did was remain fixated on those stupid bats decorating his forearm for as long as rinsing out the blender would allow.  You had no idea how big of a breath you were holding in as you stood there next to him until you pulled away, snagging a rag from beneath the coffee bar to dry the container.  Lungs suddenly exhausted, you attempted to regain a semblance of your composure.

Every conversation since that one night had gone the same.  A few words exchanged pertaining to work only, some on his behalf coming off as silly banter only for you to keep your focus on any task you could grasp nearby, acting as if he bored you.  It killed him but he respected it.  That didn’t mean he’d stop trying to make nice.  If the only positive response he received from you all week was an accidental crack in your smile he would take it.  It’d be gone quicker than it came but he cherished it all the same.  In the last few weeks he came to terms with the fact that he could be on his best behavior but that didn’t mean you had to accept it which in turn meant that he would have to accept that.

So your muffled answers of ‘mhm’ and ‘yeah’ to everything he said felt like the end of the world to him but if it meant peace for you then he’d endure it.  The way you’d avoid his eyes made him miss you.  You were an arms length away but he missed you.  And no, it didn’t mean he necessarily missed prodding at you because you both had this sick game of who could throw the worst insult for years, it meant that he missed your attention, whether it be in spiteful phrases or aggressive stares.  He’d take what he could get and now, he was getting nothing.  He was starved, absolutely deficient of your gaze even if it did hold such a hateful fire for him.  Eddie supposes avoidance feels even worse than face to face conflict that was never even meant to be.  And it’s only because the way you shut down made him feel non-existent in your world.  At least before he had a place.

—

1 Week Later

Before every night shift at The Under-Ground was a grueling eight hours at the auto shop.  Hours that Eddie would spend mentally ripping himself to shreds even more so than before your more recent communication with him.  Although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he’d sometimes wager the idea of picking a small fight with you just to earn a fraction of your recognition, even if in a negative light.  Then he’d quickly acknowledge that doing so would only provide further evidence that he was never worthy of a moment of your time in the first place.  And he still fully believed that.  But he was eager to someday become the guy that was.

So when Steve Harrington strolled into the shop, twirling his keys around his finger, Eddie’s grip on his wrench tightened as he pushed himself further under the Chevy he’d been working on.  He’d never forgive Steve for all that happened, he’d take responsibility for his side of things but Steve inflicted a kind of pain on you that he could read in your eyes every time he saw you.  Though you hadn’t said much about Steve to him directly, the way you fixated on him and Eddie being ‘together’ dulled a certain light within you.  How could Steve let it happen if he knew the outcome?  The same could be asked of himself but he was concentrating on Steve right now.  The best friend.  The last person in the world you’d think to hurt you.

“Hey, Munson.”

At his feet stood the man in question.  The one that he’d swear to never associate with again.  Ignoring him wasn’t going to accomplish anything however he tried regardless.

“Munson.”

Figures.

“Get outta here, Harrington.”  Eddie remained monotone, uninterested in any persistence Steve was forcing upon him.

“Please, I need-“

“Need what?  Need me to get you off again?  Get out.”  It was said between clenched teeth, patience no longer a virtue.  There was rage bubbling under the surface and if he wasn’t careful, it would boil over and create an even bigger mess.  His conscience silenced his true inner monologue though that didn’t completely shut down his capabilities of biting back.  It was just much more stifled.

“No—what?  No, of course not.”  Steve’s nerves were fried and Eddie could tell just by the shake in his voice.  Fluorescent lights did him no favors, his usually radiant glow now dull in the stuffy garage.

“Then what, what are you doing in my bay?”  A seething Eddie slides out from underneath the sedan, sitting up to glare at the king himself.  “‘Cause I don’t have time for—whatever this is.”  He gestures between himself and Steve, fingers covered in grease.

“Just—I—have you, have you talked to her?”  Distraught.  Steve has the audacity to come off as distraught.  Eddie’s deep breath only furrows Steve’s brows, the vein in his neck straining as he focuses on the nearly irate mechanic before him.  

“Listen.”  Eddie’s coveralls are further tarnished with the oily substance from his hands as he wipes them on the rough navy material, frustration evident in the way his eyes squeeze shut for a mere second.  “You two seem to think communicating through me is going to fix this whole thing but it’s not.”  If he could run a hand down his face out of habit he would.  Instead he offers another sigh, a disappointed one.  “You need to talk to each other.  You keep using the enemy as a pawn and it's just gonna blow up in your face.”

“Munson, you’re not the enemy–”

Steve attempts to make nice, tries to let Eddie know that he’s not what he claimed him to be all those times.  Truth be told, Steve was always jealous.  

“Don’t try pitying me, dude.”  

It’s silent aside from the clanging of some tools a few bays down, the two staring at each other, one displaying an expression of warning while the other creases his forehead in some form of a plea.  An unsaid call for help.

“I’m not, I’m not!  I think we’ve both fucked up.  Bad.”  Way to go, Steve.  That’ll really help your case.  “Only difference is you fucked up in high school, we were all still kids.”  His words are lost on Eddie, he can tell by the way he reaches back to release his unruly curls from the confines of a bun, his head shaking around like a shaggy dog.  “I fucked up now so there’s no–no excuse of ‘we were so young!  I was dumb!’”

His excuse was that he’s selfish.  That was really all there was to it, no bigger picture, no hidden meaning that might bring justice to his name.  Steve was a horny guy and he in all honesty hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions.  Not even after Robin just about tore him a new one after she found out about the first time.  It’s like he’d forgotten all about the absolute heartbreak you went through, the fact that Eddie harbored a sore spot in your barely beating heart was miles away from his thought process.  King Steve must not have been buried that deep beneath his surface after all, not long forgotten back in junior year like he’d thought.  He was right here all along with the knife in his hand, unintentionally but still brutally stabbing you in the back.  And in the aftermath he was forced to bathe in the product of his egocentric ways.  No amount of self help books could remedy what seemed to be another broken heart, but even worse, platonically.  

This wasn’t like when he and Nancy called it quits back in senior year.  This was in a way, more gut wrenching and possibly pulled more tears from him than Nancy’s cutting but truthful words ever could.  And that’s saying something.  He shed a lot of tears that dreadful night but he’d go as far to say that he shed more the night you caught him hopping out of Eddie’s van.  Repercussions slammed his very existence and all he could do was blame himself because you had done nothing wrong and yet he went and severed the very friendship of someone who stuck by him through every questionable thing he had done.

And it was all over someone he never had any feelings for in the first place.  And over someone you did.  At least at some point.  

“Steve, I don’t have an excuse and you know it.”  Eddie was aware that he sounded borderline pathetic but what else did he have to hide?  His gaze lowered to his filthy boot, eyes as tired as his brain was before exhaling in defeat.  “I still keep fucking up whether I mean it or not.”  His pupils seemed to dilate in mourning, of what exactly, Steve couldn’t pinpoint.  Then Eddie shook his head, resentment etched into his features as he ran his tongue behind his teeth before clicking it in displeasure.  “Why are you even searching for an excuse?  What we both did was shitty.  But for you it might be even worse because while I was the ‘bad guy’ the whole time, you were still her best friend.”

Steve was well aware.  He craved the bliss that came with being ignorant but that was no longer something he could allow himself to do.

“Yeah.”  He breathes out, earnest eyes dropping to the scuffed floor below him.

“Yeah?  That’s it?  You need to like, go beg for mercy or some shit.”  

Receiving advice from Eddie Munson was the last thing Steve ever thought he’d be doing and yet here he was.  Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was schooling him and suddenly everything felt so backwards.  But maybe that’s how it needed to be in order for things to go back to how they were.  For you to at least talk to him, if not to beg for your mercy then to apologize profusely before leaving his fate in your hands.

“I know, man.”  A pitiful sigh escaped his lungs, too pitiful for Eddie’s liking.

The smell of fumes throughout the shop lingered in Steve’s nostrils which left him with a tinge of discomfort but nothing could prepare him for the way Eddie almost instantly stood to tower over him despite being around the same height.  It was his demeanor that made him feel inferior.  Dark eyes, deepening even more so from aggravation, lips contorted into a condemning scowl, fists clenched at his side, knuckles white.

“I don’t think you do, ‘cause why are you coming to me?”  Flared nostrils declared a new vendetta against Steve.  

“I-I…”

“Man up, Steve.  Say whatever you’re trying to say to me, to her.  I’m not the one who needs an apology.”  It was fair enough.  Steve wasn’t sure why he walked into that garage just minutes ago.  Maybe it was because despite what everyone says, Eddie was fairly level headed.  Maybe it’s because Steve needed someone stubborn to mentally beat some sense into him and Eddie was the only one he could think of to do it with no remorse.

With a noticeable gulp, Steve felt his eyes sting but didn’t dare let any tears surface.  He was not throwing a pity party.  “I don’t know how.  She won’t even talk to me–I–every time I try–”  

“That’s not my problem is it?  ‘M just your boy toy, remember?”  

Ouch.  

Among the turmoil Steve had created, he failed to understand that Eddie could be just as affected.  And what Eddie wouldn’t willingly reveal was that he was genuinely hurt.  Because you were hurt.  And because Steve seemed like the most oblivious idiot on the planet.  Sure he had his words with you and he wasn’t proud of most of them but that was another beast.  He had always been the opposing force, Steve was your right hand man the entire time.  In all honesty, Eddie couldn’t care less about Steve using him for pleasure, he cared that he did it at your expense whether he bothered to know that or not the few times they met up.  He knew he was just some guy so what was there to lose but Steve?  Steve had a lot to lose.

“Eddie, you wanted it too.”  Steve’s head shook in contemplation, longing for the right words but always finding the wrong ones.

“Yeah, well not anymore.”

Eddie’s harsh front faltered, exhausted as his shoulders slumped.  Steve ran a nervous hand through his stupid big hair and for some reason it put Eddie on edge.

“Obviously.”  Steve exhales, nodding before his eyes give away that he was lost in thought.  

“So why are you here?”

A valid question.  A question that Steve was finding he didn’t want to answer.  But he had to.

“Because–because I feel like I, I owe you an apology.”  He babbled at first, humiliating himself further before finding his footing and grasping the words that he knew would ground him.  Even if he didn’t like it, he knew this was the start of putting the pieces back together.

“Again, you’re talking to the wrong person–”  Eddie appeared worn out, head tilted back and gaze fixed to the ceiling as he let out a self soothing breath before being interrupted.

“I’m sorry for trash talking you for as long as we’ve known each other and then using you.”  He never thought he’d hear such words from Steve Harrington.  Which made it all that much more awkward to respond to.

“Thanks?”

Eddie expects that to be the end of it, waits for Steve to press his lips into a straight line in the silence and then stride out the large bay door without another word but he doesn’t.  And he kind of wants to kick his ass as more words begin to pour from his mouth. 

“I know…I know she should be the first person I apologize to, and, and I’ve tried to but she’s not my biggest fan right now.”  Boo hoo.  That’s the only response Eddie can conjure up so he keeps his mouth shut.  “And I guess, I feel like I can’t until I fix this first because Eddie…”  Steve sucks in such a large breath that Eddie feels like he may have been on the verge of passing out.  But he also senses it’s because all of this is very difficult for Steve to say aloud.  Within the same breath, Steve releases the rest of the words he was clutching so tightly to in his chest.  “She was so head over heels for you back then and I fucking spit on your name no matter how much she talked you up.  And I know you ruined things on your own but I went and fucked things up on my own and I don’t know how I could’ve done it so easily knowing, knowing how much she liked you and then how much she was hurt by you.  And then I went and did what I did, it just–it doesn’t make sense, I know.”

It’s quiet again.  Neither man speaking, only looking at each other in anticipation.  And after several moments of distant metal clanging against metal a few bays over, Eddie finally clears his throat.

“Harrington,”  He starts, eyes flashing with the most intimidating fire you’d ever see.   “You’re throwing the biggest pity party I’ve ever seen and if this is how you plan to apologize to her you should just give up now.”

The sentiment was cruel but beneath it was a plea of ‘get your shit together, please’.  And god, he hopes Steve picks up on it.  

“Yeah…yeah.”  Steve’s eyes were glazed over, the thinnest sheen of tears coating them before he blinked them back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Eddie guesses Wayne is rubbing off on him because his next words come off more wise than cruel.  An unexpected empathy resonated within him though he doesn’t fully believe it’s well deserved.

“What you need to do is just admit you messed up.  No excuses.  If she really matters to you, you don’t need to sit here and apologize to me and get all up in your feelings.  You need to talk to her and if she doesn’t wanna listen…”  He sighs, a sort of calm overtaking him.  “Well, respect it.”

Steve seemed to ponder, the advice overwhelming him but still penetrating through his thick skull.

–

Steve👸: Hey

Steve👸: Can we talk?

Sox🧦 : No

Steve👸 : Five minutes.  And then you’ll never have to hear from me again.  Promise.

“Who are you texting?”  Will leaned over to view your phone screen, ever the nosy boy.  Quickly clicking the off button, you refrain from sharing any messy details of what happened between you and Steve.  Sure he’d seen the initial smack down in the parking lot which you regret but he didn’t need to know anything more.  Hell, he didn’t even know that Robin was out of your circle.

“No one, I was just checking something for one of my assignments.”

“Liar.”  What you always forgot was how much of a bloodhound he was.  Could sniff out anything that smells slightly off.  It always caught you off guard although it only made you look like a fool since he did it time and time again.  Throwing a surprise party for his sixteenth birthday was impossible with the way he was such a detective.

“Nuh uh!”  You defended, placing your phone face down on the flour coated counter of the Byers kitchen, an egg taking its place in your hand as you cracked it against the off-white ceramic bowl.  

“Yuh huh!  Give me that–”

“Knock it off!”  Waving Will off, you threaten in a simple gesture to let the slimy egg white and yolk ruin his newest Hellfire shirt, a special edition design created just by him.  It was quite impressive actually, dragons symmetric on the front, breathing fire onto the logo overlaid with a skull and crossbones.

With a scoff, Will surrenders with his hands thrown up and eyes wide, amusement prominent across his face.  “It’s Steve, I already saw it.  So what are you trying to hide from me this time?”

“What–I’m not trying to hide anything.”  You were just further certifying yourself as a liar, but you felt this one time it was for good reason.

“Then why can’t I see it?”

An intense stare burned into the side of your face as you attempted to resume your unfinished baking, barely even started but the kitchen showcased several dirty bowls, some housed in the sink piled high in soapy water while others were scattered across the laminate.  Brownie batter, cookie dough, cake mix, the works.  It would appear as if you were preparing for a bake sale if anyone were to walk in.  But was just a Friday night turned into a full fledged baking frenzy on a whim.  Which was much needed after a particularly stressful shift at The Under-Ground, it had been busier than most days, mostly because fall activities began to ensue.  Hawkins’ famous hayride had started up for the season and dropped off several families in the square who only trickled into the shop for hot drinks and buttery yet sweet pastries.  Screaming children were not something you were anticipating hearing all night but it made you appreciate the calm of closing up after, only the sounds of you dropping change into the register mixed with Eddie humming under his breath as he swept up graced your tired ears.

“Just leave it alone.  Please?”  An eggshell is tossed into the makeshift scraps bowl you’d set aside nearby, a bit too aggressively for comfort.  A telltale sign that Will should not leave it alone.

“I’m not a baby.  You don’t need to protect me from all the ugly shit that happens.”  He was seventeen, still a baby to you.  But the irritation was apparent in the way that he grabbed the bowl of brownie batter from the counter, glaring at it like it owed him money, however you knew the glare was meant for you.  “I wanna be there for you like you’re there for me.”

Fuck.  That just about ripped your heart in two.  He was such a sweet kid, always wanting to do right by those he cared about.  You bounced the idea back and forth, should you enlighten him or continue shielding him?  Your decision was made for you when the words tumbled from your lips, your subconscious declaring that Will could forever be the baby of the group but he was growing up regardless and you couldn’t hold him to that standard for eternity.  He would eventually have to face uncomfortable situations and hiding them from him completely might do more harm than good, he deserved to be in the know and to feel like an equal rather than some naive child.

“Okay.  Um–yeah, it’s uh, it’s Steve…”

“And…?”

“He just wants to talk.”

Your wooden spoon scraped against the bowl, combining the dry and wet ingredients together, your concentration never leaving the forming batter.  Red velvet.  Will set down the brownie batter he had been inspecting, reaching for a glass dish and proceeding to butter it up generously, the oven already preheated behind him. 

“You haven’t talked to him since…”  He cocks a curious brow at you, momentarily looking up at you from his current task.

“No.  No, I don’t even wanna see him.”  Your admission is quiet, almost ashamed.  “But, um, let’s just, let’s just finish this up.”  The attempt to change the subject fails, the boy dropping his head down to catch your averted eyes.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No.”  You tread carefully, ever so cautious of the fact that Will had the ability to catch the slightest hesitation in your tone.

“Really?  Cause I smell bullshit.”  Such a damn bloodhound.

“Why would I want to talk to him?  Didn’t you see what happened?”  Though it was a fair point, you knew you were being avoidant and that it wouldn’t necessarily help anything, only prolong the pain and the awkwardness that would come with finally speaking to him.  It had been weeks which would already create a nasty film between the two of you, something grimy and difficult to just scrub away.

Will offers a sympathetic sigh, and unspoken ‘I know you’re hurting but isolating yourself is only going to hurt more’ and you’re fully aware that he knows that feeling all too well.  “I did see and it was really bad.  But you’re not even gonna hear what he has to say about it?”  His gentle approach was appreciated though it was just the way you talked to each other about these things.  No judgment, only the right questions.

“Will, you have no idea of some of the other things that happened years ago that make this so much worse than it already is.”  You’d regret how whiny you sounded except he’d seen you at your most vulnerable before so it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before.

“Okay, then what do I not know?”  The gooey chocolate batter is poured into the glass dish he had prepared, resembling how your feelings were about to ooze right out of your very being.

“I’m not getting into all that now.”

“No, you don’t get to do that!”  He doesn’t sound unkind but not the friendliest either, slamming the now empty bowl on the counter.  You had it coming, you suppose.  “You’re visibly stressed out, even worse lately, I’m one of the only ones that notices and I’m not even allowed to know the full story?”

“Will.”

There’s no saying no to his expression, blue eyes blinking at you and brows raised in anticipation.  There’s no trace of judgment, just curiosity and worry.  And just as you’re about to dive in head first and reveal all that you tried to withhold, the ring of the doorbell shuts you up just as fast.

The digital numbers on the stove read 10:46 PM, an ungodly hour for anyone to be ringing someone’s doorbell which is why you and Will share the same puzzled look, eyes shifting from each other toward the front door just off the kitchen.  Will doesn’t necessarily live in the most populated area so there’s reason to be concerned over a visitor at such late hours.

“You get it.”  Will rushes out.  “Nose goes!”  A speedy finger touches the tip of his nose, your cheeks flushing in irritation as the doorbell chimes once more.  “Go!”  He whisper yells, gently pushing you toward the door.  A scowl remains on your face as you take your time.  Will would do anything for you.  Except sacrifice himself to the serial killer knocking at his own front door apparently.  You’d never cursed a door so harshly for not having a peephole.

Deep down, you knew it’d more than likely be someone like Jonathan.  It was the logical explanation, he’d lost his key and since he didn’t live here anymore, now residing in an apartment closer to downtown with Nancy, he didn’t have the urgency to replace it.  But Jonathan would usually be pounding on the door, announcing that it was him.  Could it be Joyce?  Doubtful.  She always knew where everything was and keys were the most important out of everything you’d come to learn after she scolded Jonathan for not replacing his old key to the house just in case of an emergency.  Maybe it was Lucas?  He never screamed or announced his presence when showing up.  Couldn’t be Dustin or Mike, they were too rowdy and would never wait this long before jiggling the handle and yelling that they knew Will was home and to ‘answer the damn door’.  It could be El?  But never Max.  Max had a distinct knock, firm and heavy, no bullshit, never rang the doorbell.  The build up was only making you more anxious by the second as you’d reached for the doorknob.  You’d probably be the first one dead in a horror movie, you had no idea why you let Will force you to answer his door.  Regardless, you ever so slightly twisted the knob and the door creaked open, only a sliver of the outside visible as you tried your best to peek around the crack.  And before you could even begin to make out any figure awaiting entry on the porch, a large hand splayed across the wood and pushed it effortlessly, sending you stumbling back as the wind knocked out of you.

“Okay, Byers.  Where’s my dice?  And my game controller?”  

Eddie.

He’d side stepped through the door, forcing his way in obviously only expecting Will but still not realizing you stood before him as he glanced around the house.  

“C’mon you knew I’d be stopping by after work, little Byers.  I’ve been looking for that controller for fucking weeks–”

You could pinpoint the moment realization hit him that he was mouthing off to you and not Will.  His eyes seemed to almost soften.  Pupils dilating so suddenly.  And then he was speechless, mouth opening and closing but words never spilling out.  Then it hit you that you probably looked ridiculous in the Mickey Mouse apron you had been strutting around in, various types of batter smeared on your cheeks and chin, maybe some on your nose too but you couldn’t remember.  And god, you were wearing your fuzzy pajama pants littered with pumpkins and bats finished off with some fuzzy socks that were striped like candy corn.

Eddie had never wanted to fall to his knees for someone so badly in his life.

He’d never seen you like this before.

Tacky.

In the most adorable way.

“I–um, I was looking for–”

“Will?”  You finish for him, desperately trying to pull our eyes away from him but finding it impossible.  And then you realized what he was wearing which only spurred on your need to drink him in.  A black Metallica shirt cropped just above his happy trail, sleeves cut off to display his tattooed arms and black sweats that hung just right on his hips complete with a pair of black converse on his feet.  For a second you wondered how he wasn’t shivering.  You could only hope that he wouldn’t notice your drooling,  praying that the dim lighting would cast enough shadows over your face that any fondness you were displaying would be hidden.

“Y-yeah.”  He swallows, fingers tangling in a few of his curls before resting back at his side, keys dangling in his other hand.

“Kitchen.”  You mumble, pointing.

He nods, the silence taunting you both as you trail behind him into the kitchen.  Will is already staring wide eyed as you enter, looking between you with something amusing behind his expression.  And in that moment the awkwardness melts off of Eddie, his usual cocky self returning.

“Dice?  Controller?  Man, I told you I was gonna come by–”

“I forgot but I have both–”

“Oh, you forgot?”  A mischievous grin overtakes Eddie’s face, Will playing along with it as they both brace their palms flat against the kitchen island, staring at each other instantly but with playful intention.

“Ed, don’t do this.”  Will warns, unable to maintain a serious face, corners of his lips pulling despite his best efforts.

“Oh, I have to.”

Eddie fakes him out, body about to move to the right but instead quickly changing to the left to which Will screeches in mock fear, rushing to the other end of the kitchen.  Any time Will goes to make a move, Eddie is seconds quicker than him.  When Will tries to make his big escape he’s instantly caught in a chokehold, the metalhead’s arm secured around him as he ruffles his hair with a fist, the classic noogie.  Will’s laughter is contagious, a few ‘stops’ littered throughout and you can’t help but join and giggle as you watch the scene play out before you.

“Dice?”  Eddie halts his movements to ask, side eyeing the boy.

“On the desk–in–in my room.”  He answers out of breath, clutching onto Eddie’s forearm.

Eddie continues his torture on Will, rough housing a little more before stopping once again.

“Controller?”

“Coffee table!  Are we done?!”

“Nope.”  A full on wrestling match takes place in the small confines of the kitchen, both boys stumbling around and bumping into cabinets.

It was weird.  You knew Eddie and Will were pretty close but you’d never seen them like this and maybe it's because you refused to linger in a room long enough if Eddie was there.  Now you didn’t really have the urge to leave.  All you could do was watch.  Eddie’s dramatics flared as he cackled in Will’s face, Will telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ between gasps for air.

“Tap out.”  Eddie demands.

“No!”

“Tap.  Out.”

At some point you hadn’t even paid attention to the way Will hesitated in surrendering, you were too caught up in the way Eddie’s already cropped shirt rode up in the position he was in, his waist looking all too enticing, lower back on full display however you refrained from trailing your eyes up his spine.

Stop it.

“Okay, I tap out!”  Will smacks his hand against Eddie’s forearm that was secured around him, instantly granted relief after saying the magic words.

“Eddie The Banished reigns supreme.”  He pumps his fist in the air in triumph, face scrunched in victory.

You roll your eyes but in all honesty, it’s not out of pure annoyance just this once.  It feels more like when a friend does something stupid and all you can feel is warmth flush through your body and your initial reaction comes naturally.  Effortlessly.

“Okay, now get your precious things and go.”  Will points at the door, sass overtaking every movement, the playful energy still buzzing between them.

A pang in your heart says don’t go.  But you remain quiet as a mouse in the corner between the sink and the microwave.  You don’t mean that.  You try to bargain with yourself.  Seeing him in this light does not excuse his past no matter how much of an ache you feel in your chest.  The good kind.  

“Okay, okay.”  Eddie sighs, catching his breath, a grin still stretched across his face.  “Hey, what the fuck happened here?”  He stops in his tracks, gesturing to the atrocity that has become every surface of the kitchen.  Batter and dough of all kinds smeared along the countertops, eggshells discarded along with balled up foil on Will’s side of the mess, and of course the towering bowls just about ready to tumble out of the sink, filled with suds, wooden spoons and whisks.  And of course the bag of chocolate chips that had spilled, sprinkled across the surface, some even dismissed on the floor, there was even some kind of dough caked onto the handle of the fridge.

“We’re having a bake sale.”  You break your prolonged silence from the corner, mouth upturned in almost a smirk but not quite, it’s more like you’re holding in a laugh.  At the sound of your voice, Eddie’s head snaps in your direction, molten chocolate eyes landing on you in such a way that has your breath hitching.

“A bake sale?”  He questions, doubt written across his handsome features, his tone hinting at the fact that he knows you’re bullshitting him.

“Mhm.”

“Aren’t you like–aren’t you bad at baking?”  

How does he know that?  

Will’s eyes widen and he sucks in the most subtle breath.  That’s how.

“Can’t I be bad at something but also still try?”  You argue.

“I dunno, can you?”  It’s almost mean, almost.  But it doesn’t feel the same as when he’s usually ridiculing you.  The dimple peeking out at you provides evidence of an opposite intention.  He’s teasing but not to be a dick, unless you were reading him wrong.  And there was very little chance that you were since the past few weeks at work, he had almost left you alone all together save for a few questions here and there and maybe a few bad jokes.  But other than that he was solely a coworker who you held no personal ties to.

“Well that’s how you learn.  You keep trying until you get it.  So far nothing has burned and the batter tastes good–try it.”  You don’t know what you’re trying to prove but your body had already been on autopilot, it’s sole mission to keep him from leaving.  A wooden spoon coated in red velvet cake batter is offered to him, you twirling it to keep it from dripping everywhere.  Eddie glances from you to the spoon a few times rather quickly, almost as if he’s waiting for you to psych him out and tell him to go to hell.  In a way he wishes you would just so he knows he isn’t dreaming.  He makes his way around the island, standing next to you, not too close but just close enough that he can steal the spoon from you, his tongue licking up the back of it.  The sight is strangely erotic.

“Not bad.”  He hums, continuing until the spoon is halfway clean.  You want to mention that he’ll risk getting sick from eating too much, raw eggs aren’t exactly ideal to eat even if disguised as a delicious batter, but that would show that you care.  Which you don’t.

“What am I missing?”  Will addresses the elephant in the room, containing a smile that might be too big for his face if he were to let it take over.

“What?”  You ask, head tilted in a way that has Eddie’s eyes lingering for a moment before turning his head and copying your actions, tongue still committed to the spoon, licking up every ounce of sweetness.

“Are we–did we–end up in a parallel universe?  Why aren’t you threatening to kick his ass?”  He points an accusatory finger at you.  “And why aren’t you making snarky comments?”  He points to Eddie who is still too busy licking any remnants of the mixture.

All you can offer is a casual shrug before snatching the utensil right from Eddie’s hand, tossing it into the overflowing sink.  “I’ll kick your ass if you were even going to think about double dipping that spoon in my bowl.”  You warn, a touch mean.  “There, are you happy?”  You look to Will for approval, skepticism still painted all over his face, his arms crossed in uncertainty.

“I wasn’t done.”  Eddie frowns, ignoring your threat to instead dip a daring finger into the bowl of artificial red.

“Hey!”  Both you and Will begin to reprimand him.

“Just one more–”  He doesn’t finish his thought as you grab the bowl, holding it behind your back.

“Say I’m good at baking.  Both of you.”

Eddie and Will look to each other in perplexity.  Will can’t comprehend the sudden playfulness you have for both him and Eddie.  Usually this would end up in an argument, one saying something a bit too offensive for the other’s taste and from there it would spiral.  Instead neither party is engaged in conflict but rather play and it’s not unwelcome, just…weird.

“Excuse you?”  Eddie takes the bait.

“The two of you seem to talk trash about my baking skills behind my back but I didn’t see you complaining two seconds ago while you salivated all over the spoon.”

You only receive a scoff in response, Eddie crossing his arms as if to appear more intimidating.  He only looks more like a misunderstood teddy bear.

“Say it.”

“Anyone can make cake out of a box.”  He retaliates, Will releasing a small gasp as he hides his smile under his hand.

“Oh, okay.  I’d love to see you out of all people bake a cake.”  You challenge him.

“This is more like it.”  Will mumbles, though he knows this is not at all the usual bickering that happens between you.

“Oh, you want me to out-Betty Crocker you?”  Eddie threatens.

“You can try.”  You shrug, setting your bowl back onto the counter.

“No, no.  I will.”

“Guys it’s literally cake from a box.”  Will intervenes.

And so started the greatest bake off the Byers’ kitchen has ever seen.  

–

“Okay, wait.  I have a grievance with this competition.”  Eddie speaks up, abandoning an uncracked egg on the countertop only for it to roll off and crack at his feet.  “Damn.”

“What’s the matter now?”  Will asks in mock annoyance.  Every other minute Eddie had a near microscopic complaint but it only entertained you.  Curses at wrong measurements, that his bowl wasn’t as pretty as the others, or that he wanted the whisk Will was using.

“Why don’t I get matching pants?”

You glance down at your Halloween themed pajama pants and then to Will’s.  They were a steal at Target and you couldn’t resist, knowing Will would love them as much as you did.  That, and every year you bought a matching pair for both fall and christmas.  You can’t help but feel a huge smile pull at your lips, the sight of Eddie pouting with his hands on his hips is all too endearing.

“For one, you weren’t even invited to this sleepover.”  You sass, pouring your newly mixed chocolate cake batter into its pan.  “And two, this is our thing.”  You gesture between you and Will standing a few feet next to you, Eddie directly across the island sporting an even bigger frown.

“Yeah, you kinda crashed our party.”  Will adds, snickering with you.

“Wow.  I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that and instead you pledged your undying loyalty to me.”  Always a drama queen.  “Whoa–wait, wait!  How are you already done I haven’t even–”  He quickly realizes you’re already setting your masterpiece in the oven while his bowl still contains both dry and wet ingredients, unmixed.

“Guess we can already tell who’s gonna ‘out-Betty Crocker’ who.”  You smirk.

“Oh, hell no.”  He mutters under his breath, suddenly focused on mixing.

While Eddie just about buries his head in the bowl, Will graces you with a look.  A knowing look.  You claim innocence with a lift of your brow but you both know.  You’re just too ignorant right now to acknowledge it.

–

Seeing Eddie Munson dancing and screaming to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift was something you could never even fathom and yet here he was.  Unapologetically singing every word and putting on one giant show with Will, singing into random kitchen utensils while the speaker blared the song.  He knew every word.  You didn’t dare interrupt the choreography they had come up with on the spot, watching from your comfortable perch on the stool at the counter.  

Will sounded like a dying animal and it occasionally had you reaching up to cover your ears but your smile never faltered.  And Eddie was unstoppable.  He didn’t sound that bad though he was shouting along with Will at the top of his lungs so you figure if he actually tried he would sound angelic.  Once the song reaches the bridge you can’t help but drown in your own laughter, both of them strutting in between where the living room meets the kitchen as if it were their own personal runway.

Your eyes open, nearly crying only to find Eddie just feet away extending his ‘microphone’ to you with a raised brow and a cocky grin.  Your immediate reaction is to shake your head, your nerves instantly on edge at the mere idea of holding any kind of attention.

“C’mon, you’re gonna miss the bridge again!”  Eddie waves you over in a rush.  You don’t budge, a flash of worry washing over you and it seems that it was written all over your face.  “C’mon Roadkill, don’t make us finish off without ya.”  He half jokes, Will still screeching like a banshee behind him.  “Do it for little Byers.”  He cocks his head toward the boy, pleading eyes begging you to change your mind.

Slowly, you emerge from your comfy perch, snatching up your own ‘microphone’ with a bashful gleam in your eyes.  Just in time for the bridge again, you strut toward Will who excitedly starts jumping and nodding at your participation. 

“I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you!”  You yell in each other’s faces, wheezing as you continue dancing–if you could even call it dancing.  Your confidence skyrocketed.  Turning toward Eddie, you sing to each other the last line of the bridge.

“And I screamed for whatever it’s worth, I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard!”

Chests heaving and mouths hung open, his eyes swallow you whole, dark honey slowly pulling you under.  Your first instinct is that you should run but he feels too much like home to ever willingly leave.  If it’s so wrong, why does it feel so right to stare into pools of deep amber?

~end~

Author's Note: okay if you're reading this TY SO MUCH. The scene where reader is kinda admiring eddie at work, i had 1 step forward 3 steps back by olivia rodrigo playing along with it for me and rather than something super sad, it's kind of the opposite in this case as theyre coming out of their angsty era so if you just listen to that and imagine her admiring him with a little content smile on his face as he works it makes me want to SCREAM lmk if it does the same for you ok BYE <3

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tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface @rustboxstarr @3rd-conchord @eddiessteady @lightcommastix @kittydeadbones @shadows-echoes @str4ngerthingsslut @winchester-angel @elegantkoalapaper

[kana-daydreams]

𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲

summary: the anger of the general is quelled by the power of a cute black-and-white bear?

𝐏𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Days off. 

One of the most anticipated days of many, if not every, employed and unemployed individual’s life.

They were days most cherished by Warumono and days which held his most fondest memories.

But today?

Today is a day off the general loathes.

Today is a day off he despises. And will never in his life cherish for as long as he lives. He swears it on the existence of every panda past, present and future of this ill-fated earth. 

Why? Because...

Today he was having a very bad day. 

First, it started with all the liquified ice-cream in his freezer from the sudden power outage at his apartment complex. No power also meaning he was unable to stream any panda videos on the internet.

Second, to resolve his ice-cream problem, he'd made a trip to the convenience store only to find out that the strawberry ice-cream, his second favourite to the sweet potato flavour, was out-of-stock. 

But the worst case of them all? A nightmare? 

The zoo was closed.  

And work called.

Now, as his day off reaches close to nearing its end, Warumono aimlessly trudges along a narrow stretch of road with sluggish footsteps, slumped shoulders and face set into a deep frown. All while, he unintentionally wards off any passer-by with his gloomy and menacing aura.

He manages a few more paces, slowing his steps when his eyes latch on to an item displayed behind the storefront glass window of a small shop to his left. His eyes glimmer, gaze riveting on the panda-themed tea set, before flickering to the sign beside it that reads “limited stock.”

Promptly, he’s inside the store and in front of the checkout counter voicing his request.

“I’m sorry sir, but the last one was sold to the couple behind you.”

At the sale clerk's words, a tense and unsettling silence engulfs the room, and Warumono’s body shudders violently as he feels all rationality elude him. 

He feels his human disguise succumbing bit by bit to his formidable true nature, his mind narrowing in on one thought, and one thought alone. A self-made promise.

That today is the day he will single-handedly rain hell-fire upon earth.

That today he will enact his vengeance on every. living. creature— excluding pandas—for ruining his special—

 “Step away from the counter!”

Warumono snaps his head around with a growl at the demand of a familiar voice, anger and annoyance burning in his yellow eyes. All instantaneously doused at a sight that causes his breath to hitch; and a sight he deems the most adorable in all the galaxy, standing a few feet ahead of him.

“I told you. One slip up and—”

“Y-You’re…half panda.” Warumono’s voice, laced with genuine surprise, interrupts. 

Your face contorts into utter confusion. “Huh? What nonsense are you spouting, villain. I’m not half panda. I’m human.”

“But…you have panda ears.” He points an index finger at your head.

“Dim-wit, these aren’t real. It’s just a headband.” You remove the fluffy, panda ears headband from your head. “See.” You say before fixing it back to your head.

Warumono makes a beeline in your direction, his sudden closeness catching you by surprise. More surprised when he reaches his large hands towards your head to tug on the black ears of your band.

“They’re so soft.” He murmurs, a soft blush painting his cheeks.

“Stop doing that!” You groan in annoyance, swatting his hands away, before distancing yourself from him; and you swear you notice a sad pout on his face. Or maybe you’re just imagining it?

Warumono clears his throat, attempting to compose himself. “Uh…where did you get it?”

You quirk an eyebrow at his question. “ …Three stores down.” 

You’re barely finished with your sentence when you feel a rush of wind lash against you— making you, for a second, clench your eyes. 

And when it subsides, you open them to see Warumono nowhere in sight.

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[bomberqueen17]

farm life

Am at the farm. Just gonna witter on uninterestingly about that behind the cut because I"m too tired to be interesting.

Initially we were going to make chicken sausage this week but BIL decided not to, but then when I said I was coming anyway, he decided to cut up some chickens.

In past years they've always sold out of chicken parts way before they've sold out of whole chickens. But a couple of years ago a chef friend told him there was nothing really wrong with thawing a chicken, cutting it up, and refreezing the parts, and initially we were just thawing whole chickens to cut up to grind into sausage, but we did some tests and determined that actually, no, there's really no discernible loss of quality in the parts. So now we don't sell out of chicken breasts in December anymore, but can keep bringing them to market all winter.

So this year we took the whole chickens out of the store, stopped bringing them to market, and are *only* selling the parts, and are saving the whole chickens to thaw and cut up and refreeze as parts. It's working great. It's more work, but it's more profit, and also more sales. People just don't buy whole chickens that much.

So anyway we cut up 88 chickens, and saved like 60 of the carcasses into a pair of huge stock pots. Packaged all the parts up, labeled and weighed them, then put the stock pots on to boil. Today we packaged 89 quarts of chicken stock. I was going to deep-clean the commercial kitchen, but it's not ready for the full spring treatment: we're still washing eggs in there, which means baskets full of chicken-shitty eggs are coming in and getting set on the floor. So I just cleaned and sanitized the heck out of the stuff we were using, and also the floor drain, but have held off. In April when the temps don't go below freezing at night anymore, when the vegetable washing station can move out of the eviscerating room so the egg washing can move back in there, *then* I will haul all the big equipment out and wash the whole room from the ceiling to the walls to the floors to the back of the grinder, under the mixer, under the fridge, under the freezer, all of it is getting powerwashed within an inch of its life.

But not this trip.

Next week we're making pork sausage.

I have been taking my dose of adderall at 8am immediately before I go out to work. It's hard to judge the efficacy, actually, because I'm so busy and so rarely totally self-directed. The real test would be to have me have a day of idleness and half a dozen things I need to accomplish. But I can concretely observe that I don't get a sort of dizzy head rush when it kicks in anymore, and I don't crash around 3 or 4 pm anymore. No, instead I'm just physically exhausted at that time, but it's understandable that I would be, because despite my best efforts to work out all winter, I am in no way prepared for the amounts of heavy lifting, repetitive movements, and sheer mileage you have to walk around here.

Today I finished cleaning the kitchen and then spent a couple of hours with my trusty old pruners, helping Farmsister and Veg Man harvest pussy willows to sell at market in decorative bundles. They just chainsawed the trees off a couple inches above the ground, and then we went at them with pruners and only took the nice branches, and the rest are going through the woodchipper to be mulch. VegMan pointed out the line they'd cut back to last year: this is how you coppice willows, and you can harvest them like this every year. They were fifteen feet tall, all new growth.

Soon we'll have daffodils. Mom had too many at her house, and a couple years ago she and Dad dug up buckets and buckets of them and brought them over and we dug a trench in the hillside and tipped them in. And now they're about ready to be divided again, LOL.

We have pullet eggs too. The chickens are laying pretty well, manageable amounts. We've started packing the eggs by weight, which is a little time-consuming.

OK that's enough wittering. Have I got any photos? Hmm.

the view from the little creek down into the Quackenkill, alongside the back of the old granary. Morning, sun coming through the trees and lighting up the red-stained old siding, the neighbor's house visible at the other end of the cut.

2. A pig friend, muddy snoot questing toward the camera in the sunshine of the winter livestock barn, which has a plastic south-facing roof to let in all the light it can.

3. Farmsister, in her chainsaw chaps and safety gear, chainsawing down the pussy willows in front of the solar panels. (They measured, before they planted the little trees; they'd have to be 40 feet tall to block the light on the solar panels in any season, which I don't think a pussy willow would do, but it's still important to prune them back whether we harvest them for the catkins or not.)

That's all, happy spring. I'm so tired.

[koolbokssolarfreezer]

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[sawyerslvt]

Two Sides To The Devil - Johnny Slaughter (Episode 3)

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Completed series :)  Summary: Johnny Slaughter kidnaps you and you wake up in his basement. You negotiate your way out of death by offering to lure in male victims with your beauty. Johnny entertains your desperate offer. He ends up having to protect you and slowly starts to fall in love with his victim, and so do you.  Word count: 3,176 Warnings: MDNI, starvation, dismembered body parts

You didn't get a deep sleep, it's not really possible in a situation like this. You did feel the car come to a stop but didn't think much of it and tried to fall back asleep. This time it was something less ignorable. Johnny was carrying you in his arms, bringing you somewhere. You become significantly more aware of your surroundings realizing you're in his arms. However, you don't feel scared, he doesn't seem to be in the same rush like he was when he yanked you up the stairs before the bar. He was calm, he walked carefully but determined to his destination. 

You don't recognize where you are, and you carefully open your eyes and are met with Johnny’s chin hovering above your nose. He notices you've awoken, “good morning princess” he gives you a sly chuckle and his smirk was as big as ever. “don’t worry, I'll take you somewhere you can sleep in peace” you couldn't tell if he was being genuine or if it was hinting towards something sadistic. He looked back to where he was headed, and so did you. You walked past a house with beautiful sunflowers scattered around the entrance. He continues down a driveway towards a shack situated towards the right. It was a big property, with bushes and scrap cars scattered around, presumably for sale. He walks towards this worn down shed led by a weary dirt trail. It had, what seemed to be, some form of animal skull hanging over the door entrance.

He places you on a couch right by the door and locks the door behind him. It had a big lock as well as a latch, whether it was for privacy or not, one thing was for sure… nothing could get inside- or outside for that matter. You look around the small shack and besides the cigarette packs, bottles of booze and insta-food packs scattered around, it was kinda cozy. He had his own little kitchen with a stove and some cabinets to store pots and pans. He had both a fridge and a freezer which insinuated that he had fresh groceries and loads of ingredients, which was surprising. You didn't take him for someone who cooked, especially with the ‘meataroni’ boxes you had caught a glimpse of. You try to get his personality through his residence, you come to the conclusion that he really needs a woman in his life. The dishes were piled high and the dirt was unbearable, surprisingly not the worst smell… he gains points in that aspect. 

“Cozy place you got here, Johnny” you tell him with a hint of sarcasm. He walks over to you and hovers over you sitting on the couch. You look up at him with your doe like eyes, waiting for a response. “Good, you’ll spend your time locked in here until I decide what to do with you”, you gulp at the innuendo. “Where will you stay?” you ask him. “Right here on the floor, I will keep an eye on you. So don't try anything, alright sweetheart? Wouldn't want you getting hurt now, would we?” he puts his hand on your forehead, making your head tilt backwards. He examines your beautiful and unique features, it's not often to come across someone bearing beauty like yours. You nod and your bent back head makes your mouth slightly open, you don't know why, you felt like you were preparing yourself for him. 

He looks to your lips, open and ready for him and places his other hand on your chin. He adjusts his stance, wide legged and neck hunched forward to look at you. “In all my years, I've never met a woman like you.” His eyes are looking deep into your soul through your eyes, eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to figure out what you wanted. You knew what you wanted. You wanted him. The way he was observing you made you feral. "Oh yeah?" the words escaped your mouth more like a breathless moan rather than words. And with that, he was positive he knew what you wanted.

He pulls himself closer to your face and lets his mouth find yours. It felt so right, you cup his face with both your hands craving his saliva to mix with yours. You pull him towards the couch, guiding him to sit on the couch next to you. He does as you please while never breaking contact with your lips. Once he’s on the couch you pull away briefly and in one swift motion place yourself on his lap, then reconnect with the passionate kiss. You were hungry for him and he was nearly starved to death. Your little scene at the bar was too much to handle but finally you got to be the one with your arms around his neck.

You arch your back, grinding into his crotch. His hands are stroking your sides and you feel how his big hands grip your waist. You feel his shoulders, they’re so broad, you know being held by his big arms would feel euphoric, like nothing could hurt you. Small moans escape your lips while you kiss him, making sure he knows how much you love this, how much you love his tongue swirling inside alongside yours. The rhythm you create was like no other, you've never kissed a man with such accuracy, you figure it takes years of practice. 

He places both of his hands on your ass and gives it a tight squeeze. You take a sharp inhale, not because it was anything you were opposed to, but the opposite, it's exactly what you wanted. Your inhale made him let out a deep groan from his throat. You break away from the kiss and lean back, placing your hands on his knees behind you, it helps you grind rougher and deeper into his crotch. He bucks his hips into you and pulls you in from your waist, making your head shoot forward and he aims for your neck. He takes a small bite, rough enough to leave a mark that’ll last, but not enough to draw blood. 

You let out a restrained moan, it felt too good. “don't hold back on me darlin’” he was quick with his reaction, you could tell he was alert and hooked on every single thing you do. He gives you another chance and takes another bite in another spot of your neck, and this time you moan without holding back. He groans with pleasure knowing what he’s doing to you, loving how obedient you are.

He tugs on your top, you get the hint and raise your arms and let him slide it off your body and over your head. You’re exposed with only your flowery, pink lace-bra underneath. He admired your breasts and cups one with his hand, playing with it, while supporting your back with the other. You stare into his eyes while he uses the hand behind your back to unclip your bra, making it fit your body loosely and let your breasts recoil. Your breasts were not massive, they were average, maybe even smaller than average but it never mattered. 

The way he was watching you, you understood how desperate he was to have your nipple in his mouth. And you? Equally desperate. You tug on his shirt, giving him a hint. He takes it off and you stare at his bare torso covered in scars. The scars were big and red, some indented, you could tell they were deep ones. You brush over one on his shoulders and he flinches at your touch for that specific spot. You didn't mean to startle and look back into his eyes, “im sorry, i didn't mean to pry” you look at him with apologetic eyes. “It’s alright Mikaela, i don't mind you prying” he looks back at you and you give him a warm smile, feeling cared for. The way he says your name makes it feel so genuine and intimate. 

You place a kiss on the scar you had just touched and wrap your arms around his neck again to pull yourself in for another passionate kiss. You went straight back to where you left off and he pulled your bra all the way off until both your breasts were exposed. You feel your nipples tickle as it comes in contact with the air, Johnny’s eyes are locked onto them. He puts both of his palms facing your back and pulls you in, wasting no time. He goes for your right one and makes slow and wet circles around your nipple, you can't help but moan as you hold his head, closing your fist, pulling his hair slightly. 

Without warning he wraps his lips around and sucks on your nipple, you take another sharp inhale, he was good and kept you on your toes for what he was about to do next. He uses his right hand to play with your left nipple, pulling on it and massaging it between his thumb and index finger. His sucks gets more aggressive until he lets go and it makes a ‘pop’ sound, now he's ready to focus on the other. He pays equal attention to detail on your left nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue. He even gives this one a bite, making you moan louder. “You like that sweetheart?” his words come out as groans, you feel his dick getting harder and bigger in his jeans. “Yes, Johnny. I love it” you grind on his dick, feeling his tough jeans rubbing your clit, you needed him now. 

You place your hand on his bulge and start stroking it, you see the print of his shaft and make sure you're stroking alongside its edges. He leans his head back and lets out a groan, not wanting you to stop. But he had enough of this teasing. He stands up picking you up like you weighed nothing and places you back on the couch. Once again he is standing above you, but shirtless, and you can't help but admire how majestic he looks. He smirks down at you, taking turns between looking at your sore nipples and beautiful face, while unbuckling his belt. You place both your hands on his thighs and get closer to his crotch, getting yourself ready, your mouth salivating.

Suddenly, you jump at a harsh banging on the shack’s door. Both of your heads shoot to look at the door. “Get on out here boy!”. Johnny lets out a loud frustrated sigh. “What does he want now…!?” he mutters to himself. You sense that he is furious but your interest is peaked, who could it be? You quickly grab your top to put it back on but Johnny stops you. “Keep it off darlin’ I won't be long. Promise to keep that pussy wet for me” he's waiting for a response. “Sure” you respond quickly, not wanting to hold him longer so he could open the door. “It’s a yes or no. Do you understand?” his expression gets slightly more serious. “Yes Johnny, I promise”. He smiles, “good girl”. 

Johnny told you to keep the top off but as he opens the door you cover your body with it, as to not let whoever was outside catch a glimpse of your vulnerable state. He tightly opens the door and squeezes through, making sure you weren't seen by whoever was outside, you appreciated his attempt at hiding you. 

Once he was outside you heard arguing, nothing was sound proof and you heard the full conversation due to the thin walls and their loud yelling. 

-What do you want, old man?!

-W’Need you down at the slaughterhouse. Them kids done got the idea to get loose and you're the one to blame! Not tying them up proper!

-Watch that tongue around me old man or you’ll lose it! That aint my doing, sissy was to be the on takin’ care of that! Now leave me alone, I have business to take care of. 

-What business boy? I told you we need you, don't make me repeat it now! Get a move on quick!

You hear the man stomp away and Johnny kicking some rock, making it hit the shack’s exterior walls while cursing to himself. He comes back in and you haven't moved a muscle. The top is still off but you're just barely covering your breasts with it, waiting for him to talk. He massages his forehead with his thumb and fingers clasped together, sighing as he does so. “I'm sorry, darlin’. I'll have to leave you to take care of something. But be a doll for me and just stay here as pretty as you are right now.” He looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, you understand and give him a reassuring smile as you put your top back on. 

You get up from the couch and walk over to him standing by the door, putting your palms to his chest and getting on the tips of your toes to place a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll sit and wait right here for you, Johnny”. You make your voice soft and his expression softens listening to your silky smooth voice. “Good. I’ll be back tomorrow, probably by sunset.” He places a kiss on your forehead, grabs his shirt and all too soon, he’s out the door, locking you in his cold shack alone. 

You feel a chill up your spine. It wasn't until now that you realize how cold it was here. You looked to the couch and thankfully there was a blanket and a pillow. You looked at the clock hanging on the wall, ‘2:03 AM’, it was late anyway and you needed to head to bed. You get cozy under the blanket and happy to find out that they smell just like him. His smell was enough to drive you mad and you felt your neglected clit ache for his touch. You were also exhausted and drifted away quickly. 

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You wake up to the sun hitting you in the face through the boarded up windows. You squint and put your hand in front of your face sheltering you from the sun, trying to adjust to the brightness. You look to the floor hoping Johnny might’ve come home early, he didn't and you found yourself being disappointed. You take a deep sigh and turn over trying to fall back asleep. Your stomach lets out a loud growl and it feels like it might start collapsing in on itself. It's been around two days since you last ate and you’re starving, you hoped Johnny would make you something when he comes back. You thought about opening his fridge and finding something to eat but that was a boundary you weren't willing to cross, that could have consequences and you weren't too keen on finding out. Any attempt at trying to fall asleep proved to be unsuccessful as all you could think about was your empty stomach. 

Feeling defeated, you sit up on the couch and look at the clock again, ‘8:43 AM’, so you got around 6 hours of sleep. It was decent, you've had worse nights with less sleep so the next question was, what do you do now? You're trapped in a small space with seemingly nothing to do. You looked around for possible escape options but there were none, the windows were boarded up tight and the door was obviously off the table. 

You look around searching for a possible distraction like a game or anything really. But all you see is the mess and it's killing you as someone who is a bit of a clean freak. You walk around the tight space and try examining the windows further, and if it was possible to pry it open. You get closer and try pulling them, they don't budge. You take notice of some  small flower pots with half-dead plants sitting on the window sill. “how sweet” you thought to yourself. You don't expect him to take care of his plants, well he doesn't really. The poor things are just barely clinging on for dear life.

You keep looking around and other than some stuff here and there, there wasn't much else to do. But you still needed a distraction so you decided to start cleaning. You saw a rag somewhere and dish soap by the sink so you pull up your sleeves and get to work. It should keep you busy for a couple of hours. 

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You wipe some sweat off your forehead with your sleeve, you're convinced some of these marks have been untouched for years. This was the last of it and it was unrecognizable to say the least. It barely looked like Johnny's shack, he’ll think he walked into the wrong place when he opens that door back up. You throw yourself on the couch, feeling exhausted but proud of your work. You look at the clock again, ‘6:51’, He said he’ll be home by sunset, that's not until another 2 hours. You take another sigh and this time your stomach refuses to be ignored. 

You thought that you probably could open the fridge at this point. You deserved it after deep cleaning his entire shack. You don't like the idea of opening other people’s fridges, it feels like an invasion of privacy. It's not like he could stay mad at you long, you cleaned his place AND cooked him a homemade meal, he would have to get down on one knee and propose right then and there. 

You practically skip over to the fridge, excited to finally eat something. You open it. The fridge was nothing like you expected. To your absolute horror you find dismembered body parts of humans. There are feet, hands, arms and other big chunks of flesh you couldn't even decipher. You lose your balance and end up on the floor, your ears are ringing and you feel stupid for forgetting who the man is. The man you lust for is the same man who tried to kill you, and by the looks of it, he also wanted to make you his dinner. You crawl to the fridge closing the door and feel yourself gag over the horrid smell spreading through the room. Not only was it human meat, but it had been there longer than it should’ve. 

You almost run back to the couch. That couch was the only safe space in this room. You grabbed the blankets and covered yourself as if it would erase the image scarred into your brain. On the bright side, you no longer felt hungry. You shakily lay down and close your eyes trying to fall asleep and hopefully wake up to Johnny being home. You didn't even know if you wanted him back anymore, but you hated the thought of being alone with dead people even more. 

Previous Episode ♡ Next episode

[seat-safety-switch]

The next time you go to buy a frozen pizza from the grocery store, pay attention to the price. It's lower than you'd think. In fact, the price of a frozen pizza is well below the cost that it would take for you to make it yourself. Even the more complicated pizzas, those "Deluxes" and "Delights," are cheaper.

There's a lot of reasons for this, and it doesn't even take much of a conspiracy. A big-shot corporate type at Big Frozen Pizza can simply call up his buddies at Big Green Pepper, and place an order for "a whole shitload" of green peppers. When you buy in bulk, you save. Everyone knows this. And if green peppers are expensive that week? Maybe he buys a few less of those, and a lot more pepperoni instead. It's all a numbers game, and thousands of people across the world have a job entirely based on trying to make a cheaper, yet still full-bodied, frozen pizza. How can you possibly compete?

Me, I didn't bother. What I did instead was put two and two together. If I can buy pizzas cheaper than the component parts, then in theory I'd be really saving on the component parts if I bought pizzas and then broke them down to their ingredients. In Canada, where I live, it's often colder than an industrial freezer just by going outside. If I chuck a few dozen pies on the deck, I can part them out at my leisure, and it doesn't even cost me the electricity required to run a conventional deep-freeze.

Of course, even though the ingredients are cheap, the resulting menu options are fairly limited. I've never been a Michelin chef – unless you include the fact that I parboil each and every tire I get my hands on, little burnout joke there – and maybe one can do a better job with what they're given. I just keep making pizza casseroles, and lasagna, and exotic skewers. Honestly, I eat pretty well, and it's all at a discount.

Sure, I get weird looks at the check-out aisle when I buy a hundred-and-eighty kilograms of frozen pizza on sale. They looked at Henry Ford like he was crazy, too. Actually, maybe he was. He probably wouldn't have eaten a pizza and instead chosen to say something racist about Italians.

[fandom-imagination-ss]

Imagine: Derek realizing he just put himself into the dog house.

It' wasn't often that you and Derek fought, Not since you met when you moved back to your sleepy town in Beacon hill, your Car broke down and He pulled over. at first. when a random man pulled up behind you, you were slightly terrified. but then you saw his face. you Lost the senses to speak. the moment you saw his face. every word you ever learned. just disappeared out of your mind. when he offered to help you could just nod. to agree to help. it was the third encounter with him that you finally found your voice. and the moment he heard your voice. He was a Goner.

Fast forward to a Now, Married. with a son Eli, and Derek having a successful business. you working and everything was good. Life was perfect. the Lacross team was having a fundraiser BBQ. you made cupcakes for dessert.. Seven different Kinds of Cupcakes. Not because you wanted to. but because they had to have Gluten free, eggless, (Vanilla and Chocolate), and also 2 different kinds of Egg and regular flour and Sugar free cupcakes . you've been up since three Am baking cupcakes. all before Going to work. As you walked out the door you asked Derek to bring the cupcakes. and he happily agreed. saying "it's the least i can do."

So you kissed him goodbye and promised to sneak out of the meetings to support the team as fast as you could. which turned into the last hour of the BBQ. before they all started wrapping up for the night. you arrived. hugging Eli saying sorry that there was a litteral Fire in the office. all was fine. but it just caused delay. when you looked for a cupcake curious how many you sold. you asked Susan who was a Mom if they sold out of your cupcakes.

"what cupcakes? we didn't get anything? didn't you just show up? were about to close everything up."

you weren't a fan of Susan on a good day, she was a Stay at home mon who's entire life surrounds her kids. cutting out shapes out of the sandwiches, Doing their kids homework and pretends their kid did it. Judge if you give your own kids cookies. as a treat. A Instragram mom who pretend to be perfect but you know.. She's probably has a bottle a day of wine alone to handle that. Normally you dont give her much attention but hearing her backhanded comment about Just showing up. made you boil she was older. she looked down at you often mainly because every mom has their eyes on Derek. and she hates you got him.

"what you mean? I made seven different kinds.. Derek was bringing them?"

She shook her head, "well- he didn't..." jsut then someone asked for a piece of cake she was selling as you were told to move aside. you turned seeing Derek was at the grill. flipping burgers, he noticed you and had a big smile on he's face. until you asked about the cupcakes.

Derek's face dropped as he realized. he forgot them. on the front porch. he had to set them down when Eli was stugglign to put something into the truck. and he completely forgot about grabbing them.

"Shit- Y/N.. I completely- I had them but then I got distracted. I left them at home."

taking a deep breath you counted to ten before answering, 'that sucks- but.. you know. Mom's church is having a bake sale in a week. we can just put them in the freezer when we get home."

Derek rubbed his neck, he knew that wouldn't happen. he left them outside and this heat. those cupcakes would be baking and all the icing would of melted into the bottom of the container. and tey would be a huge mess. maybe the cakes itself be fine but the icing? it be a complete mess.

"I- I was bringing them outside. when Eli needed a hand and I Put them on the front Porch...."

your body instantly tensed up as you spoke, "there Sweating in this heat?? Do you realize how- experience Eggs are?- I got up at Three blessed AM to make those Cupcakes and you LEFT THEM OUTSIDE!"

"Maybe they will still be okay?" Derek suggested but you just turned walking away. as he sighed heavily lowering his head. he knew. he screwed up. and bad. when you got home. almost two hours later seeing Raccoons were all over your porch. and gotten into the containers. and they scattered when you pulled up. you didn't even Save the containers. you just tossed it all into the bin. and walked inside. just when Derek and Eli pulled in.

"What did you do to mom?"

Eli undid his seatbelt as Derek spoke, 'I forgot your moms cupcakes onto he porch..'

"didn't she get up stupidly early to do that?"

Derek sighed nodding his head, "yea,"

"good luck with that." with that Eli bailed going to his room, he knew how your anger worked, and he wasn't going to be in the crossfire. Derek cursed softly to himself following Eli inside as you were eating some of the cupcakes that Derek forgot to grab. and were instantly dissapointed wehn you realized it was the Soybean Non sugar ones..

"it was a mistake."

looking up at Derek you spoke, "I know! But I'm still annoyed! and Cranky and So Tired. and you just- you left the crappy ones!" you tossed the cupcake at him. thankfully he caught it before it hit the wall as he spoke, 'what can i do?"

"Nothing! I'm going to watch a movie you clean up this mess.'

Derek Knew he would be spending the rest of the night cheering you up.

[dylanakamura]

Joe Pera Takes You To The Grocery Store

Breakdown

This isn’t a super in depth thematic analysis, just a breakdown of an episode I really like of Joe Pera and the details I think make it so great.

Opening/establishing shot 0-0:53

We get this small look into Joe’s neighborhood grocery store, a remarkably mundane store, nothing glamorous, but the music and direction brings the store to life. Not the brimming kind of life you get in a Disney film but a very real yet bright kind of life.

Joe’s introduction 0:53-1:44

Joe, like in most areas of life, has a well thought out philosophy on grocery shopping. It’s an “immersive theater experience” where we all play our parts as shoppers. It engages the senses in a familiar and comforting way that’s filled with all the same variables and goals but never plays out the same way twice. The role is fun yet challenging, something you could say about any walk of life.

Tackling the infinite options 1:44-4:03

The number of items in your average grocery store is unthinkably high and only keeps growing exponentially. That’s a lot to take in, so Joe has rules put in place to keep him in line. He has his three Yes’s, Should he eat this, Will he eat this, and Can he afford it, to keep himself within his budget of $70, which he writes out in a check to keep himself in check. You can think of these rules as part of his role as a shopper on top of giving Joe the necessary calories to fill his roles in the rest of his life. He draws the line himself to keep himself from “ruin” as he puts it.

Melskys 4:03-6:11

This section mostly focuses on Joe playing the role of a responsible neighbor and teacher to Sue and Nicole Melsky respectively, making small talk and inevitably listening to their issues, mainly Mike and his new Chicken diet which has been only causing issues. Joe tries to make the best of it for Sue but ends up just apologizing for Mike’s absurdity.

Samples 6:11-8:24

His next exchange is with Fred the sample guy, who’s job is to obviously sell samples. He convinces Joe to buy his Honey Ham, but Joe is always prepared with a $5 fun budget for purchases like this, keeping him flexible yet firm. Joe also tells us about how Fred was in jail for 14 years prior to the grocery store giving him a “second act,” which in my opinion makes him feel less like an annoying guy trying to sell a product and more like an entertainer wanting to bring joy to this experience.

Freezer aisle 8:24-9:47

Joe has to keep his eyes away from the temptations of Ice Cream since he spent his fun budget on Fred’s Ham, something difficult since Joe loves his Ice Cream. A guilt also sets in about all the waste and negative factors that come with a grocery store always being stocked to the brim. He feels these conflicting emotions of comfort, awe, and waste as he hurries down the aisle. He doesn’t necessarily like it, but some things you just have to go with the flow of and participate in, and without the supermarket he’d miss it. He finally makes it out the other side to the checkout.

Checkout 9:46-10:32

As Joe checks out his total comes out to under his budget because of a sale he happened to miss. He’s been rewarded for playing his role just right. This miracle is part of the joy and excitement he gets from the supermarket experience. He sprints back to the Freezer Aisle and grabs a tub of Ice Cream, triumphant music plays as he runs, and his total jumps up to an exact $70.

Ending 10:32-End

Joe shares with us how nice it is he’ll be able to have a few scoops of Ice Cream tonight since today is his Birthday which he doesn’t like to make a big deal of. I really like this detail because it shows how well maintained and rewarding it is for Joe to hold himself accountable and never drown in deep seated desires besides simple pleasures. He looks to the mundane for excitement but keeps the big news to himself, never disappointing and always finding beauty in the simple things which is an aspect I really commend Joe for.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Preparation

Why does preparation have to be so damn painful?

Groceries arrived, and it was ... a lot, but it was well-planned. I have emergency calories - raisins, peanuts, some yoghurt-coated raspberry things I like because they were on sale. I have tinned fruit because the fresh stuff goes off so fast - peaches because cheap own-brand, and fruit cocktail because, again, on sale. After much searching, I found some soups that aren't thickened with wheat flour, and got some of that for when I'm too tired and sore to even move and too ragged to have an appetite. Fixings for smoothies and some breakfast cereal, because maybe skipping breakfast is a bad idea. That shit is important.

I also have menu plans. I found a recipe for gluten-free cereal bars, so I'll be making those. There's some cooked chicken in the freezer that will go into risotto, and that'll last me quite awhile. I also have plans for chicken stew and beef stew. Well, the chicken stew can be immediate but the beef will have to wait a little because a substitution by the grocery store means I have less beef than I needed. But that's okay, because when I go out to get more, I can also get fresh green pepper and courgette for the bolognaise I'm planning. Basically this month is going to be a lot of batch cooking and a lot of stuff going in the freezer. With the way this month's been, having a variety of stuff I can just put in the microwave feels like a good idea. If it keeps getting hotter, I won't feel much like cooking.

However, all of this preparation? OW. Putting it away is one thing, but I also had to do a little bit of a clear-out of the cupboards. Because they're a bit high and fairly deep, I have a hard time reaching to the back of them, so there was some stuff that needed to be binned. But of course, since I do have a hard time reaching to the back of the cupboards, that was also made of ow. I already hurt when I got up today but now, just ... ugh. Still, everything's all set up tidily, and all I need to do is take the stuff that needed binning out to the trash. That's not going to be fun either, but the trash needs to not be in the house.

Preparation is also expensive - the sticker shock on the grocery bill, even when budgeted for, and even when it is an overall savings, is painful. But then again, everything is expensive. At least I can arrange the budget to do that and afford to replace my ancient Blu-Ray / DVD player, which I got second-hand from the parentals ages ago. The old one works, more or less, but makes wonky noises if I try to play Blu-Rays in it, and half the stuff I want to get (as I rebuild my video library because I no longer trust the streaming services) are more easily available on Blu-Ray. Thus, new player. And possibly a little left over to make a bit more of a dent in my Steam wish list, given the Steam summer sale. (Because I need more games, right? Yeesh. Someone needs to keep me away from the Steam Next Fest next year; giving me access to demos is bad for my bank balance.)

Not that there aren't reasons to be cheerful. The groceries? I will be making things with all that. Soup - as well as my usual potato soup, I will be attempting sweet potato soup, because I have become quite the fan of sweet potatoes lately, and soup is good to have around. The stew and bolognaise and risotto. Cereal bars. I might even attempt brownies. I do enjoy making things. As for the new Blu-Ray / DVD player ... well, for those times when sitting in the desk chair is unthinkable, at least I'll have entertainment.

So ... it's worth it. I just have to remind myself that it's worth it. Otherwise, all the pain and expense and everything just gets depressing, and I can't afford to be depressed on top of everything else.

On another note: Scarlet Hollow. Hoooooooooboy. Glad I sprang for that one, I have to say, but ... creepy. Which is good - I like creepy.