#salt and grease au

[fishbloc]

it's been a while

[missr3n3]

POV: Sam is making pancakes but Delilah makes a crucial observation

Enjoy this goofy comic that I just finished for you to start of the year ^^

i think sam just made her a nice warm plate of charcoal 💀

[emilieautumnarchives]

Orkus International (Nov/Dec/Jan 2007/2008)

This English edition of Orkus featured EA's "Mad Tea Party." It was printed in black and white, but colored versions have been floating around for a while. The magazine also included a Laced/Unlaced Poster.

Speculation: Because the scans I have are in German, I assume this also appeared in the December 2007 issue of Orkus Magazine.

Note: I typed out the German myself. Excuse any misspellings or weirdness; I don't speak German.

EMILIE AUTUMN: MAD TEA PARTY Taking time out from the madness to enjoy teatime doesn't mean you have to be sane...

Treue Fans wissen, dass Emilie Autumns Welt nicht hinter ihrer wegwelsenden Musik aufort. Mit ihrem Asylum hat sich die bildhubsche, arbeitssuchtige Victoriandustrial-Prinzessin einen ureigenen, geheimnisvollen und faszinierenden Kosmos kreiert, and dem man bisher nur auf ihren Live-Shows oder in den fabelhaften Booklets ihrer CDs teilhaben konnte. Nun jedoch offnet Emilie die Tore in ihre Welt und bittet die Orkus-Leser zu einer unvergesslichen Teestunde im einzigartigen Emilie Autumn-Stil. Kostliche Kuchen, unerwartete Dinge aus Marzipan, gar rosige Bonbonbs, Schoko-Schlemmereien... wenn Miss Autumn schon ze einer Teestunde ladt, dann aber bitte mit sehr viel Stil und Genuss. Und damit diese Teestunde im viktorianischen Asylum-Stil kein Einzelfall bleiben muss, hat Emilie gleich ihre Lieblingsrezepte mitgebracht, die wir fur Euch aufrgrund ihrer unvergleichbaren Sprache in unveranderter, englischer Form gesammelt haben.

Highly Doubtful Teacake with Very Suspicious Crème

What makes this teacake so very “doubtful” is the addition of fresh lavender, the historical meaning for which is “distrustful”. So be careful whom you share it with…

Teacake Ingredients:

1 cup milk

3 Tbsp. fresh chopped lavender flowers

2 cups all-purpose flour

1½ tsp. baking powder

¼ tsp. salt

6 Tbsp. butter, softened

1 cup sugar

2 large eggs

Instructions:

Grease and flour a loaf pan, and no, I won’t tell you what size because it won’t matter anyway. You’re going to use whatever pan you have, and I’m not holding that against you, I do the same. Half of my recipes were created entirely out of being on the road touring, and really needing to make tarts, but having not the proper equipment. Baking is an adventure, so do treat it as such.

In any case! After greasing and flouring, kindly preheat your oven to 325°F. In a small saucepan, heat the milk, adding the chopped lavender and bring almost to a boil, then remove from heat and let steep until cool.

Sift flour, baking powder and salt together in a bowl. In another bowl, thrash the butter about until it’s light and creamy and gradually add sugar, then eggs, one at a time, thrashing even more until the whole mess is light and fluffy and much prettier than you ever imagined raw eggs ought to be. Add flour mixture and lavender milk alternating between each addition, and mix until batter is just blended, no longer.

Spoon the flowery goodness into your mystery loaf pan and bake for 50 minutes, or until a wooden skewer inserted in center comes out clean. Leave your cake to cool in the pan 5 minutes, then remove to a wire rack to cool. When completely cooled, dust with confectioners’ sugar and garnish with sprigs of fresh or candied lavender. If you don’t know how to candy lavender, then read ahead on the section on candying rose petals and you’ll get the idea. Serve with a dollop of Very Suspicious Crème.

Crème Ingredients:

8 oz. cream cheese

1 Tbsp. heavy cream

½ tsp. fresh chopped lavender flowers

3 Tbsp. confectioners’ sugar

1 tsp. pure vanilla extract

Blend the cream cheese with the heavy cream until smooth and fluffy. Add in the lavender, confectioners’ sugar, and vanilla, beating until silky and very suspicious looking. Serve with Teacakes of all sort, but especially highly doubtful ones.

TEA TIPS: When serving tea to your guests, be sure to present a variety of sugars. Piping tiny frosting flowers onto heart-shaped sugar lumps and displaying rock candy sugar in various colours will set your table sparkling! Save some for the rats…

Cyanide Tea Scones with Clotted Cream

Ah, sweet cyanide…what can we say about cyanide? You surely know it’s historical impact as a popular ingredient of both murder and suicide. But did you know that cyanide is derived from almonds? Being my personal flavour, you’ll see a somewhat excessive if not altogether inappropriate use of it in the following recipes. And as for the clotted cream, well, that sounds bad enough. Doesn’t it?

Scone Ingredients:

4 cups all-purpose flour

4 tsp. baking powder

½ cup sugar

1 tsp. salt

8 Tbsp. very cold, unsalted butter, cut into ¼ inch cubes

1 cup milk

6 black teabags of the best quality you can find, I prefer Twinings

2 eggs, beaten

½ tsp. pure almond extract

½ cup sliced almonds

1 Tbsp. cream

¼ cup sugar

¼ cup finely chopped almonds

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 400°F. In a chilled glass bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, sugar and salt. Using your fingers if you know what you’re doing or a pastry blender if you don’t, cut in the bits of butter until the crumbly mess is the size of smallish bees. Set the bowl into you refrigerator or out in the snow while you carry on. In a small saucepan, bring milk almost to a boil. Add tea bags, cover, and brew 5 minutes. Remove tea bags and cool. Beat in the eggs, almond extract, and sliced almonds. Gradually add tea mixture to flour mixture, stirring until just combined, no more.

Turn dough out onto a floured baking sheet and pat into a circle. Slice the dough into 16 triangular wedges. Alternately you can use heart shaped baking pans like the one I used here. Either way, brush dough with cream and sprinkle generously with sugar and chopped almonds. Bake 20 minutes or until golden, always best to sit right by the oven the first few times you try out a new recipe just to verify that everything’s going along as it should. Your oven is a unique creature you really should get to know, because no two are alike. Once done, cool scones on a wire rack. Serve with The Asylum’s Own Clotted Cream. Makes 16 scones.

Clotted Cream Ingredients:

½ cup cold heavy cream

3 Tbsp. confectioner’s sugar

½ cup sour cream

¼ tsp. almond extract

In a chilled bowl, beat cream until stiff peaks form, and don’t think you can’t do this by hand, because you can. As the cream begins to stiffen up, sift in the confectioner’s sugar. Gently fold in the sour cream, and almond extract, and voila! Clots galore! Chill until use. This fluffy topping for scones and crumpets is also called “Devonshire Cream,“ but it doesn’t quite have the same ring to it…clots clots clots clotty clots…

Marzipan Leeches & Plague Rats

Yes, more almonds…but that is hardly important when it is merely a delicious modeling tool for some truly gourmet bonbons. Marzipan rats will charm your guests, marzipan leeches will horrify them. Just let them wait until you’ve given them all names…

Ingredients:

1 package (8 oz.) Marzipan (baker’s almond paste, available everywhere)

¼ cup confectioner’s sugar

2 Tbsp. Amaretto liquer

1 tsp. unsweetened cocoa powder

1 thin-tipped paintbrush

To begin with, open your Marzipan and cover it with a damp cloth as it likes to dry out and then what have you got? Next, add a bit of the cocoa powder to a few drops of the liquer and mix it with the paintbrush, experimenting with ratios to achieve a palette of lovely browns that you can use to accent your rats and leeches. Sprinkle some sugar onto your hands and work surface and you’re ready to begin a life-changing adventure! 

Leeches:

Leeches can be sculptured in myriad ways, but I will explain my method as a mere example.

Roll a small ball of dough until it becomes a rope, then roll the rope between your hands until it is thinner at one end.

Curl the rope to make your leech, posing him in whatever manner you find suitable, keeping in mind his station and lineage.

Roll two tiny balls of dough for the eyes, and attach them to the top of your leech’s head, then make an indentation within each eye with a very small object.

After waiting at least 30 minutes to let the leeches dry, use your cocoa-liquer mixture to paint stripes and details onto your leech, and place him in a bonbon paper to be displayed proudly in your best leech jar.

Plague Rats:

Roll the rat’s body from a small ball of dough into an oval with one end pointed for the nose.

Roll two little dough bits into ear shapes and press them into the sides of your rat’s head in an appropriate spot.

Roll a thin snake of dough and attach to the rat’s body, curling it over his back for the tail.

Using the wooden end of your paintbrush, make the indentations for the eyes.

After waiting at least 30 minutes to let the rat dry, use your cocoa-liquer mixture to paint shadows and details onto your rat, and place him in a bonbon paper to be displayed proudly on your tea table.

Cucumber Hatred Tea Sandwiches

If revenge is a dish best served cold, then this is the dish they were talking about. The Historical meaning of basil is ‘Hatred’ and these delicate finger sandwiches are loaded with it…who’s cool as a cucumber now?

Ingredients:

8 oz. cream cheese, softened

3 Tbsp. cream

½ tsp. salt

¼ tsp. black pepper

3 Tbsp. fresh chives, chopped

6 slices wheat bread 

6 slices white bread

1 English (seedless) cucumber 

1 Bushel of fresh basil leaves (approx. 24)

Beat together the cream cheese and cream until smooth. Add salt, pepper and chives, blending well. Spread 1 slice of wheat bread and one slice of white bread with cream cheese mixture. Arrange a layer of cucumber slices on the wheat bread and top with basil leaves. Place white bread slice on top and smash sandwich down ever so gently with a rolling pin. Trim crusts, and cut into triangles. Repeat with remaining bread to make 24 hate-filled sandwiches.

Rose Petal Poison Sandwiches

Poison? Well, not if you go into your garden and pick yourself some fresh, chemical free petals. Otherwise, you’ll get sick and the sarcasm will be lost…

Ingredients:

6 oz. sweet butter packed in fresh rose petals1 overnight, softened 

¼ cup confectioners’ sugar 

1 cup fresh, clean rose petals (from your garden, pesticide-free) 

½ sliced almonds

12 slices white bread

To assemble one sandwich, spread two slices of bread with rose scented butter. Sift sugar over buttered sides of bread. Arrange a layer of rose petals, followed by a layer of almonds. Top with the other slice of sugared, buttered bread, and press down with rolling pin. Trim crusts and cut into triangles, hearts, rounds to suit your fancy. Sift sugar over sandwiches and top each with a candied rose petal (petals dipped in beaten egg white and rolled in granulated sugar, then dried until crisp). Repeat with remaining ingredients to equal 24 sandwiches.

Royally Mad Tea

A standard British Royal Tea is served with a glass of champagne and one o’ sherry. Call me crazy, but for my Royally Mad Tea, I prefer champagne and absinthe.

[sweeterthanficstion]

— coast2coast (pt. one) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, featuring claire (and chris in later parts!), UNEDITED!! so far only fluff (unheard of...) i'll add as i go!

oh actually, my shitty attempt at knowing anything about surfing despite learning everything through youtube, google and malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid (what started this whole thing). i am NAWT a pro --- so if any of you guys actually know a thing or two abt surfing hit me up!!! i'd love to learn more!

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: AHH HI! i'm so excited to post this one!! it's currently summer here in australia and i've been down at the beach nearly every weekend, so it was only inevitable that my fixation on surfer!leon came back full force. i have this big story all set up in my head, but i was too excited to wait to finish writing it so i'm posting it in parts!! ++ oh also i had no idea corral beach was an actual place in malibu so my version is fictionalised. just. take everything in this fic with a grain of salt i have no idea what im doing lol

i also thought it'd be really fun idea since i'm so busy nowadays, that if you guys are interested at all, you can send in little ideas for blurbs for surfer!leon, and i'd love to write them! i'll figure out ways to fit them into the story, just as little extras, but obviously no promises on writing all of them!! i'll likely just pick the ones i think fit best into the plot. i just think that'd be AWESOME!! <3

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3 ⭑ series masterlist⭑next part (coming soon)

California is exactly how you’d left it. Exactly how you remember it. Nothing has changed between the sand beneath your toes and the palm trees lining the scorching hot tar roads, their shadows stretching long and thin like sleepy cats in the afternoon sun. The salt-kissed air wraps around you, sticky and warm, a gentle reminder that time moves slower here. Or maybe it doesn’t move at all. 

That’s the thing about California. A time capsule—sun, sand and sky.

June, July, August, Summer melts in your mouth like a sticky popsicle, one into the next, so quick you forget what it tastes like before it’s even passed.

No matter where you are in the world, what waves you're chasing, whether it be in Oceania, the Pacific, the Atlantic, summer melts, fickle and eager.

You’ve learnt to love it while it lasts.

“Another fish and chips!” One of the waitress staff calls from the front—Bunny’s Seafood Diner has been around for as long as you can remember, a weathered little gem perched off the coast of Corral Beach, Malibu. A quick and convenient right turn off the PCH, it’s a lighthouse for road-tripping families and sunburned surfers chasing their next ride.

You flip the fryer around your wrist with a practised flourish, “On it!” You call back, before you dip the metal back in the bubbling oil, the familiar sizzle of golden fries accompanying the bustle of the late afternoon rush. The kitchen smells of salt and grease and the faint tang of fresh-caught fish, a scent so familiar it clings to your skin like a second layer.

Claire breezes past with lazy grace, bumping her hip against yours. “Heading to the surf after?” she asks, her grin as wide as the beach outside, like her mouth was made for holding sweet oranges on hot summer days. She’s balancing a seafood basket in one hand and a plate of fries in the other, weaving through the bustle with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

“How’s the forecast looking?” You ask back instead, tossing the crispy fries into a basket lined with deli paper. 

“High tide in twenty,” Claire winks over her shoulder at you, side-stepping a counter corner like it’s second nature. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

You can’t deny that does sound perfect. After a shift as long as the one you’ve worked today, a surf might be all you need to feel alive again. You look back up at the foggy old clock on the wall—ten minutes left, five if you can sweet-talk your manager. You end up counting the minutes in your head, that familiar itch to feel the sand under your feet and the sun on your skin insatiable. 

By the time the clock hits four, you’re halfway out the door, ready to trade the smell of fried seafood for the briny tang of the ocean instead. Claire is hot on your heels, boards tucked under both your arms as she chases you across the tar road that burns under your bare feet, down the splintering boardwalk, and onto the powdered-sugar sands of Corral Beach.

The sun has already dipped far past it’s zenith, and the world feels washed in gold. Golden rays stretch out across shimmering waters, painting streaks of honey over the horizon, the heat settling into a balmy hum that sticks to your skin in a way you can only love.

You follow the shaded path of sycamore trees until the beach opens up to surfer’s paradise—a long stretch of sand, waves that swell and crash, aching to be carved into by hungry surfers. The path curves past a weathered wooden bulletin board, been there as long as you can remember, and you think it might be older than Bunny’s, if that’s even possible. 

“Wait!” Claire stops in her tracks, and you are helpless but to comply. Your eyes stay glued longingly to the beach while Claire’s squint at the array of flyers pinned up—some faded, some fresh. There’s a yoga class, a missing dog poster, and the usual surf report stapled to the corner, its ink smudged from damp fingers. But her eyes zero in on something bright and bold and new. 

“Here we go.” She plucks a flyer off the board, turning it toward you like she’s struck gold. The words Corral Beach Annual Surf Comp are printed in big, blocky letters, accompanied by a grainy photo of a surfer carving into a wave.

“Oh, no,” you groan, already shaking your head.

“Oh, yes,” Claire says, a grin spreading across her face.

Claire’s been singing the same song since you were fifteen and cutting through waves better than most kids your age here on Corral Beach. That you should be out there winning trophies and medals and 10k cheques instead of cleaning out the back of the greasy old fryer’s in Bunny’s. 

“C’mon, you have to do it!” She bugs on, waving the flyer around like some magic wand. 

You laugh, ducking under her arm as she tries to push it into your face. “Claire, come on.”

“I’m serious!” she insists, jogging to catch up with you as you head toward the water. “You’re out here every day. You’ve got the moves, the skill—everything they’re looking for.”

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. You’ve been surfing since before you could walk. You’d grown up right here on Corral Beach, knew these waves better than yourself. You’d watched your parents chase waves like it was their religion—Bali, Costa Rica, Australia, it was their entire life. Something they loved that was inevitable for you to love too. 

“I’m just not the competition type,” you shrug, gaze drifting out to the waves curling in the distance. It’s not that you don’t want to—well, okay, maybe it is. The idea of standing out there, under the scrutiny of judges, crowds, and strangers, feels about as foreign as the first time you stepped onto a board. Surfing, to you, is about as religious as it is to your parents. An outlet, an art form, the ocean calms your restless soul when you need it most. Putting a score to something like that just doesn’t feel right.

“You’re one of the best surfers out here.” Claire presses, she does it so effortlessly. Poking and prodding, always enough but never so much as to push you over the edge. “Half the people in those comps are just there for a shot at a new wetsuit.”

You meet Claire’s gaze, hesitate, the memory of your dad paddling out at dawn or your mom teaching you how to duck dive flickering in your mind. “It’s not about that. My parents taught me how to surf before they taught me how to say mom and dad. They’d enter comps now and then, but it was never about winning. It was about the waves, the adventure.”

“And you don’t think that’s in you too?” Claire asks, raising an eyebrow as she shields her eyes against the sun.

“Maybe it is,” you say finally. “But that’s their story, not mine.”

Claire’s gaze softens for all of a second before she snorts, shoving your shoulder with her own. “You’re so full of it. You’ve got more talent in your pinky than most people out there. Just think about it, okay? It could be fun.”

You do nothing of the sort.

The second your feet are in the water, you forget all about the comp, all about your job and any other worries on your mind. Salt water seems to have that sort of effect on you. Wasting no time, both you and Claire paddle past the surf, straddling your boards in the ocean, watching as the other surfers before you take off one by one with each new wave that rolls in.

It doesn't take long before the first wave in a gorgeous set comes in, Claire’s all but primed for it. She takes off, gets into position, and pops up on her board, carving into it like it’s breathing. You follow suit as the next one comes in, and just like that, you fall into the rhythm of the ocean.

Wave after wave, you don’t stop until the sun is cotton candy pink, purple, gold. Most of the other surfers have dispersed by now, and Claire’s traded shredding the bigger waves for wading through the calm waters with her back pressed against the flat of her board. 

You, on the other hand, feel like fate is decidedly on your side. You watch as another set rolls in, the first crashing just out of reach. It peels exactly as you’d hoped, slowly to the right, so when the next one rolls in right after, you paddle with it, catch the feeling of the tide underneath you, and like it's simply second nature, get to your feet.

This is where you feel most alive. There is not a second to spare for the other noise in your head, not about the past nor the future nor anything in between other than right here and now. Nothing but the instinctual insistence of how much longer can you stay on? How much longer can you keep your balance? Lean left, right, forward. Better, longer, more, more, more.

And when you’ve finally completed your balancing act, you dance up to the nose, hovering there on the tip of your board, arms out to steady yourself like sails catching wind, and then you close your eyes and let the crash of the wave topple you off.

It’s only once you’ve resurfaced, board nowhere to be seen, that you realise you didn’t feel the familiar tug of the leash around your ankle. By the time you drag yourself to shore, breath heavy and hair clinging to your face, you see it—the measly cord trailing behind you, frayed and snapped clean.

You huff a sigh, not surprised. It had been old crap for a while now. So had the board, but it carried enough summers in its scars to mean something. A history you weren’t quite ready to part with.

Claire’s already gathering her things by the time you meet her on the sand, shaking out her towel and tossing it into her worn tote bag.

“What happened to your board?” she asks, her tone casual, but her raised brow suggests she’s caught the fraying leash.

You lift your ankle and let the cord dangle, the sad state of it all the explanation she needs.

She winces, offering you a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. Guess it’s finally time for a new one?”

It’s only when you’re halfway up the beach that you spot it again. Your board? Your board!

It’s leaning lazily against the base of a lifeguard tower, looking as though it had simply wandered off and decided to wait for you all this while. Relief blooms in your chest, and you call to Claire that you’ll catch up.

It’s only when you’re closer that you notice him.

He’s standing by the lifeguard tower, a red rescue can slung casually over his shoulder. Blonde hair catches the light, tousled and damp like he’s been in the water himself. His broad shoulders are framed by the white-and-red uniform shirt that looks a little too crisp for someone who spends their day in the sun.

You can tell he’s new. There’s a hesitation in the way he stands, like he’s trying to look comfortable in a place he hasn’t quite claimed yet. But there’s something magnetic about him, the way he surveys the beach with quiet curiosity, like he’s soaking in every detail.

And you don’t mean to stare, but you’re caught in the moment, the way he looks like he belongs there despite it all, carved from the same sun and salt as the beach itself.

You’re still staring when his eyes meet yours.

They’re blue, impossibly so, the kind of blue that reminds you of the water when it’s so clear you can see straight to the bottom, the kind of blue you could fall into and forget how to breathe. His mouth quirks into a smile—easy, natural, like he’s been doing it all his life.

For a heartbeat, the world shifts, tilts ever so slightly, like the two of you are caught in some half-remembered dream. Something stirs in your chest, familiar yet unnameable, like déjà vu soaked in sunlight. You freeze, caught like a fish on a line, just before his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he lifts a hand in a casual wave.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice carries over the sound of the waves, warm and low, and you think there’s a hint of the coast in it—just not this one.

You blink, salt-sticky and sun-drunk, realizing belatedly that you’re still rooted to the spot. “Hey,” you manage, shifting your weight on your feet.

He doesn’t move, but his attention is all yours now, quiet and steady, as though nothing else on the beach exists, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Nice ride out there,” he says, nodding toward the water, his voice dipped in easy admiration. “That last wave—you made it look easy.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, unplanned but genuine, a flush to your cheeks at the notion of being watched and noticed. You hope he mistakes it for sunburn. “Easy? You sure you weren’t watching someone else?”

“Nope,” he says, the smile widening just a fraction. “Definitely you. The board gave it away.” He says, nodding towards the board that’s still propped against the lifeguard tower like a loyal dog.

“Ah,” you say, realising. “So it was you.”

He shrugs, sweet and boyish in his sincerity. “Figured it deserved better than drifting out to sea.”

You glance down at your battered shortboard, the paint long faded from years of sun and surf. The edges are chipped, and the wax is uneven, but it feels like a part of you. “Thanks,” you say, meaning it. “Guess I owe you one.”

And before you can really think it through, the words escape you all at once. “You surf?”

“Not like that,” he hums, tilting his head toward the waves. Not like you. “Still trying to figure out how to make it look as easy.”

“That’s how it starts,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips despite yourself. “You’ll get there.”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “We’ll see. I’m mostly here for this,” he hefts the rescue can with a crooked smile. “Started lifeguard training last week. Figured I’d better get to know the locals.”

“Locals, huh?” You arch a brow, a subtle quirk to your lips. “And I’m one of those?”

“Definitely,” he grins, his voice sure now, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like this is where you belong.”

The words hang in the air, sweet and sticky like the heat of the day. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“Well,” you manage, recovering with a nod toward the tower. “Welcome to Corral Beach. Try not to let it chew you up and spit you out.”

He laughs then, and it’s warm, golden—like sunlight filtering through the trees. “I’ll do my best.”

He steps back, making space for you to collect your board, though his gaze lingers, like he’s reluctant to go but knows he should. 

“See you around?” he asks, the question carrying a hopeful edge.

“Maybe,” you say, the word feeling light and easy as you turn toward the parking lot.

You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes linger, and it leaves a quiet sort of thrill in your chest, like the first rush of catching a wave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[friendo]

Have you or a loved one been plagued by horny visions of Anton Chigurh from the hit 2007 Coen Brothers film No Country For Old Men based on the novel by Cormac McCarthy???

Well buckle up for ANTON FRIDAYS, where I’ll be posting 1 to 3 reader x Anton fics every Friday for the rest of the year!

(There will be 31 fics in total! I can’t keep up with kinktober because work is insane for me this time of year and I have not had a proper rest in 2 months, so I decided to do my own thing!)

Each fic will either include a gender-neutral reader (i.e. reader can be read as any gender, no pronouns or specific genitalia descriptors are used), or will include 2 chapters both with gender neutral pronouns, with one geared towards an AFAB reader and one for an AMAB reader.

Each month will have a bit of a theme, as well!

For October, I decided to mash my love of horror movies and NCFOM together to do a lot of horror-adjacent fics, so gear up for some AUs featuring slasher Anton, vampire Anton, phone stalker Anton, and more, as well as general macabre-themed fics.

For November, the leaves are changing so we’re doing some switching – this month’s fics will have Anton taking on a more submissive position!

And for December, is it getting a bit cold in here? Or is it just Anton being Anton? This month will be focused on...well, Anton being a bit mean, for lack of a better word.

(NOTE: Titles and release order are subject to change!)

Here's the prompt list below the cut! I'll be updating the list with links as I post them to my AO3.

OCTOBER

5th: Blood Oath

Featuring: Vampire Anton, bloodplay, biting (of course)

11th: Trapped Under Moonlight

Featuring: Werewolf Anton, knotting, scratching scratching biting biting more scratching clawing etc etc

18th: The Reverend of Second Chances

Featuring: Reverend Anton, cheirophilia, religious undertones

Inspired by The Night of the Hunter (1955)

18th: It’s For You

Featuring: Phone stalking, breaking & entering, voyeurism

Inspired by Black Christmas (1974)

25th: A Haunting in Texas

Featuring: Ghost Anton, poltergeist shenanigans, wet dreams

25th: Beyond The Pale

Featuring: Necrophilia, questionable Anton behavior, disgust and desire are one and the same

25th: Moving in Shadows

Featuring: Nyctophobia, hate sex in the dark, predator/prey

31st: Your Pound of Flesh

Featuring: Cannibal reader, willing victim Anton, love hurts

Inspired by Raw (2016)

31st: On a Short Leash

Featuring: Petplay, collaring, vibrators

31st: The Thrill of the Hunt(ed)

Featuring: Slasher Anton, gore, predator/play dynamics

(Despite the 31st being on a Thursday, I couldn’t not post on Halloween!)

NOVEMBER

8th: To Ruin You

Featuring: Omorashi, watersports, bathroom denial

A loose sequel to my fic Self-Control

8th: Pretty Pleas

Featuring: Begging, orgasm denial, oral sex

8th: A Lesson in Self-Restraint

Featuring: Strip teasing, demanding, a tied-up Anton

15th: Three’s a Crowd

Featuring: Anton x Carson x reader threesome, bisexual antics, somebody’s getting spitroasted

15th: Sweet Release

Featuring: Lactation, nipple play

15th: Fingertips

Featuring: Tickling, dubcon

22nd: The Taste of You

Featuring: Lots of sweat, stuck in the heat, car sex, body worship

22nd: Your Special Project

Featuring: Emetophilia, medical play

Will eventually be made into a series

29th: A Job Well Done

Featuring: Sex toys, praise

29th: Chlorine and Salt

Featuring: Public sex, poolside, edging

DECEMBER

Featuring: Temperature play, shower sex, mutual masturbation

6th: Ice Water

6th: Firebug

Featuring: Fireplay, branding, arson

6th: Iron and Grease

Featuring: Boot licking, teeth pulling, face stepping

A loose sequel to my fic Lick the Boot That Kicks You

13th: Words Like Knives and Razor Wire

Featuring: Name-calling, humiliation, spitting

13th: Quiet in the Alley

Featuring: Public sex, against a wall, under pressure

13th: Backseat Blues (AKA The Gas Station Dick Pills Incident of 1983)

Featuring: Forced erection, insatiable urges, car sex

20th: Don’t Hesitate

Featuring: Consensual noncon, roleplay, Anton wants to try something new

20th: Performance Review

Featuring: Office setting, after-hours trysts, Anton in that suit at the end of the book

Inspired by Secretary (2002)

20th: Justified Rage

Featuring: Enemies, hate sex, violent sex, dubious consent

27th: Tears Are Not Enough

Featuring: Dacryphilia, high reader, manipulation, kind of a funny one tbh

27th: Tame You

Featuring: Massages, back scratching, happy ending (literally)

[viperrot]

⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 3

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au

you and your brother spend time together at a local diner. of course, you see leon there—with a pretty girl no less!

pt. 1 pt.2 pt.4

content contains: mild angst, mild enemies to lovers, mean leon, cliches, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!

not proofread i am sleepy

2252 words

song rec: "little nocturne" by hiroshi takaki

The little bell above the shop's wooden, yellow door jingles as Damien and I enter, and the smell of carpet and fresh paper fills my senses. The music shop is painted in a warm light, the wooden walls lined with an assortment of instruments ranging from guitars, drums, and a few brass, although very few. There's a few pianos tucked into corners, and shelves of lesson books and other arrangements are shoved into them. I've been here many times before, and the shop owner often gives me discounts with how frequently I visit. There's no one behind the register, so I assume whoever's working today is in the back.

"Mrs. Conaway?" I call out, eyes darting around the shop. From behind a shelf, a little head peeps out, revealing a frail woman in her late fifties. Her glasses make her eyes bubble, and her salt-n-pepper hair is tied up in a chaotic mess atop her head.

"Ah, good morning, you two!" Mrs. Conaway smiles goofily, waddling out from behind the wooden shelf. "I assume you're here for your oboe?"

"That 'n some slide grease. I'm running a bit low," I chuckle dryly, walking with the elderly woman to the register. To the left of the register is a glass case showing off a variety of wind instruments. There's flutes, a few piccolos, a trumpet mouthpieces, a single trombone, and finally...

The F. Lorée classic oboe.

My dream instrument since beginning junior high. A professional level oboe going for over three-thousand dollars, the Lorée company has been making them for almost a century, known famously for their beautifully crafted instruments. I had been saving up for one post-high school since my freshman year.

"Y'think daddy's money can afford that?" Damien nudges me with a joking smile, referring to the extra cash I'll be getting from tutoring the girls. I roll my eyes.

"Maybe," I chuckle. Mrs. Conaway pulls out a beat-up looking case from behind the register as Damien and I banter, setting it on top of the instrument display case to show it to me.

"It's an intermediate brand. I hope it isn't too bad," she gives me a sheepish grin.

"Don't worry!" I mirror her smile, popping open the case to give the double reed instrument a look. It's a little dirty and the corks look drier than a desert, but it was nothing I couldn't fix. "It's perfect, Mrs. Conaway. Thank you so much," I nod at her, clicking the oboe case shut carefully. She clasps her hands together happily.

"I'm so glad to hear that! And remember, you don't have'ta pay me for it. It's the least I can do for my sweetest customer!" The elderly woman says giddily.

"Agh, even so... I really appreciate it, Mrs. Conaway. I'll return it as soon as I get a new one," I promise her. She pushes the case toward me, eager for me to get on with playing it and also for me to leave so she can keep working. Damien and I walk out of the shop, stepping out into the sun that shun down onto the busy town centre.

"So...?" Damien looks at me with a wicked smirk. "We got the car for the day... are ya thinkin' what I'm thinkin', thumper?" He swings his arm over my shoulders. I eye him with a quirked brow. As if reading each other's mind, we shout in unison,

"ICE CREAM 'N JOYRIDES!"

Our cheer echoes down the street, but we giggle as if there's nothing wrong in the world. We jog over to the Impala, hopping in quickly before driving off to the best restaurant in the world—Hattie's. A local favourite, and everyone here swears that it sells the best shakes you could possibly imagine. Mrs. Hattie L. Parker started the old shoppe when Everglade was first founded in 1957 at the age of 22, and it's been a staple ever since in this old town. I can't name a single person here that doesn't frequent the place.

We pull into an empty spot with "Come On Eileen" playing lowly from the radio. As soon as we park, we throw ourselves out of the car, racing each other to the door of the diner while giggling all the way. I decide to bring my hand-me-down oboe with me, wanting to get some repair as soon as possible.

"You're cheating!" Damien yelps when he sees me get to the glass door faster than him.

"Nuh uh?! It's not my fault I'm just a lil closer to the door compared to you!" I cackle, pushing the door open with my back as I hug my case to my chest. My older brother gives me a rough pat on the head, jostling my hair around with his palm. I grunt at the affection, trying to pull him off of me as we stumbled into the bustling diner. It's almost packed, most of the booths and counter seats taken up. As Damien and I look around for a seat, I lock eyes with him.

In a booth is Leon Scott Kennedy, sitting with three other people. Next to him is the famous Ada Wong, known across the school for being the one of best lacrosse players in the county, as well as my graduate year's class president. I can't see the other two he's sitting with from where I'm standing, but I'm assuming it's someone from her little posse that's been at her feet since freshman year.

I feel myself shrink as I make eye contact with him, unconsciously drifting to stand behind my brother. Leon's got the same glare I saw him give me before Damien and I left to get my new oboe, which was clutched tightly to my front. I notice he changed his clothes, sporting a deep blue sweater with a white collared shirt beneath it.

Damien notices how quiet I'm being and follows my gaze.

"You good, thump- Oh..." The boy sneers at the sight of the ace. He squeezes my shoulder softly. "Ignore 'em, sis. Let's sit over here," he grunts, spinning me toward an empty booth at the opposite end of the diner. We settle into the red, leather seats, immediately ordering a sodapop and a banana-split to share between us. I keep my head down, eyes trained on the oboe case on the table.

Carefully, I open it to reveal the old thing. Rummaging through the case, I pull out a tube of cork grease and get to work. I'm careful as I apply the lubricant onto the dry corks, trying not to put too much on to avoid them get soft and even more flakey. All the while, I can feel the stares on me.

I look up hesitantly, eyes immediately settling on Leon. His arm is wrapped around Ada Wong's shoulder, fingers playing with the threads of her black cardigan. My fingers tighten around the lower piece of my oboe, an odd feeling in my chest as I watch the blonde be so casual with someone I assume he's only known for a day. Suddenly, he looks up at me, seeming just as confused as I am. I quickly look back down at the parts in my case, praying he didn't catch me staring.

"Can't believe he's hangin' out with Wong and her best friend," Damien huffs, fiddling with the turkey feather for my oboe. I remember that he and Ada had a thing going on before the summer. He never told me what happened—all I knew is that one night, he came home crying, and he sobbed about how much he loved her. I never brought it up since then, but tt finally occurs to me that Leon was most likely on a double date of sorts, and the ache in my chest worsens. Ada isn't really seen with boys outside of school unless she had some romantic interest in them...

"Are you really surprised, though? I mean, they're both heartless assholes with no personality," I sigh, setting the lower piece back into the case. I snag the feather out of Damien's fingers, stuffing it into velvet-lined container before closing it.

"Heh, I guess you're right," he chuckles.

Our order finally arrives, and I set my oboe in the booth next to me, making sure it won't fall again. Immediately, Damien tears apart the sweet treat we got, and I fear he won't spare me a bite. I laugh softly at his messy eating, the neapolitan ice cream smearing across his lips as he chowed down.

From the corner of my eye, I see my tormentor staring at me from his seat, and he's got this look in his eyes I can't quite place. His plump lips are pursed a little, and there's a small crease between his brows. I can't tell if he's looking here to judge me or if he's trying to brew up new ways to harass me. My heart pounds and I can feel a thin layer of sweat form at the top of my neck as I stress.

"Do you want to leave, (Y/n)?" My brother asks, looking up from the bowl of ice cream. His voice is stern, and I can tell he isn't playing around.

"Uhm..." I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking of what to do. "I... I think I'll be okay," I swallow dryly, reaching out for the glass of sodapop to take a sip. Damien seems unconvinced with the way he's narrowing his eyes at me.

"M'kay..." he grunts, going back to eating the sundae. I take a few nibbles as well, trying my best to ignore the way Leon watched me from his seat across the room.

He's on a date with someone... Why is he so focused on me?

Thankfully, Damien finishes off the ice cream quickly. With the way he's so jittery, I can tell he wants to leave, too. We stack our plates close to the end of the table so it's easier to clean up before we head to the register, wanting to pay and leave as soon as possible. I carry my oboe case behind my back, swaying back and forth on my heels as my brother pays for our treat. When we turn around to leave, we're face to face with the people we wanted to avoid.

"Dami, it's good to see you again. Couldn't you bother to say hello?" The girl in red smiled up at my big brother. Finally, I have a good look of the group.

Ada's dressed in her classic colours, the scarlet sweater-dress tight against her bosom that's accentuated by the cross hanging by her neck. Her ebony cardigan is kept over her arm as she stands with her hip popped out a bit, making her hourglass figure apparent.

Leon's sweater-collared combo was paired with mocha coloured dress pants, the sleeves of his shirts rolled up to his elbows to show off his muscle.

The other couple accompanying them, I gave no attention to, instead tugging at Damien's shirt in attempt to ground him

"That's rich coming from someone who didn't have the balls to say goodbye to me," my brother says through gritted teeth, his eye twitching lightly as his knuckles turned white. Ada gave him a hearty laugh.

"Oh, Dami, that was so long ago. I'm surprised you even remembered with how drunk you were," she chuckles, wiping a tear from her eye. This comment concerned me. My brother was drinking...?

"Don't fuckin' call me that," he seethed. I clutch the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling on it lightly.

"Damien, let's just go," I plead, not wanting the situation to get worse.

"You got a new clarinet, huh?" Leon states, pointing at the case I held at my side. I look at him, terrified that he'll snatch it out of my hands and shatter it just like the last. I hide it behind my back cautiously.

"Y-yes..." I squint at the blonde man. "Now, if you'll just... excuse us," I coughed, dragging Damien by his shirt as I tugged him behind me, squeezing between Ada and Leon to get through.

My side bumps into Leon's, and something within me feels... uneasy. The contact was quick, but I felt like I was burning up when I felt the skin of his arm graze against my own. I mumble a quick "excuse me" as we pass the two brats, my oboe case clutched tightly in my hands. Damien and I walk out the door, and I try my best not to look back.

I can feel Leon's piercing stare on the back of my head, following me as if I was some sort of prey.

What does he want from me?

"Are you okay, Dami?" I worry, my hand rubbing his arm comfortingly the moment we're out of the diner. His eyes are clearly droopy, and I just know he wants to go home now when he flashes a tired smile.

"M'okay, sis... Just... Didn't think she'd talk to me, y'know?" He chortles humourlessly. I hum in understanding, helping him to the driver side of the Impala.

"Let's go home, Dami," I say, sad that our day of fun was so quickly soured.

There was one thing on my mind on the drive home. Thoughts of Leon's odd behaviour threw me into a dizzy. Why does he hate me so much that he's willing to glare at me across the room? Why does he even care?

High schoolers are so weird...

is he actually dating ada? hmm... guess we'll find out :p pt.4

[frondere]

How goes, moth!

I LIVE!!!! LC Chapter is being edited....with a small oneshot/au fic I am providing you all that takes place between chappies 19-22<3 Here's a snippet 4 u!!

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, tangled up in each other on the couch, but he didn’t care. Every time Fidds moaned, soft and throaty, it hit Stan like a damn lightning bolt. 

That’s going in the spank bank. Real or not.

Stan shifted, his body moving almost of its own accord, grinding against Fidds. The friction made them both groan, and God, he wanted more. His lips trailed down to Fiddleford’s jaw, then his neck, tasting salt and warmth, the earthy scent of Fidds’ cologne mixed with something sharper—oil or grease, maybe—but it worked. All of it worked.

“Fidds,” he rasped, and his voice sounded wrecked even to himself.

“Hmm?” Fiddleford hummed, his hands still buried in Stan’s hair, holding him close.

“I...” Stan swallowed, glancing down, then back up. His fingers trembled as they traced the hem of Fidds’ shirt, but his mind had already decided. Stan pulled back, reluctant but determined, lowering himself to lie between Fiddleford’s legs. His own legs dangled off the armrest of the couch as he settled into place.

Fiddleford tilted his head, watching Stan with curious amusement. The slight quirk of his eyebrow said everything: Go on.

Thank God for sweatpants, Stan thought, his hands sliding along Fidds’ thighs to the waistband. It made everything easier. The fabric gave way quickly, and Fidds’ cock sprang free, already hard, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Stan’s breath hitched. Holy shit.

He swore he wasn’t one to beg, but right now, he was tempted to get on his knees and start pleading.

Stan licked his lips before looking back up. “Can I….is this okay?” Dream or not, he still had some manners.

Fiddleford snorted, a breathless laugh that only made him look hotter.  “Stanley, you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like a dog starin’ at a steak, and you’re askin’ me if I’m the one fine?”

[spnfanficpond]

November/December 2023 Angel Fish Awards

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words. (Click here to learn more about how to nominate a fic for an award!)

Nominated by @deanwinchesterswitch

Five-Finger Discount by @talltalesandbedtimestories

This story is so smartly written - so many fantastic descriptions and lines of dialogue and it flows so beautifully. I didn’t want it to end. If you don't already have an obsession with Dean's hands, you will by the end of this fic.

~*~*~

Nominated by @annahmiraculousmillenium

A New Form by Kenophobia (AO3)

I'm nominating this story because it introduced me to a new tag I really like now: "Shapeshifter Dean" Sam is bossy (and Dean actually obeys!) Bobby is in there! John dies! And other cool things I don't want to spoil. Also, it's gen.

~*~*~

Nominated by @glygriffe

Said the Salmon to the Sea by @bendingsignpost

A mesmerizing (or mermaid-rising?) Dean-centric story about change, about the fact that it comes whether we want it to or not, and how the heck we deal with it. “If this is as far as we can go, it’s as far as we can go,” Dean says with a heavy shrug. Slowly, Sam says, “It’s as far as I can go.” “Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

The Angel of Emetgis V by Kayliemanlinza (AO3)

I read this as part of the Dean/Cas Reversebang 2022 (with beautiful art by @missaceriee) and the concept of true-form Castiel as an alien meeting "grease-monkey" Dean in deep space is compelling as much as how love is expressed between species. (Here is the original DCRB post that made me discover the story)

~*~*~

Nominated by @heavenssexiestangel

Unlikely by @apocalypseornaw

This story was written for me for the Secret Santa hosted on the Pond. It's a lovely fic with Ketch/GN!Reader, something there kind of is a lack of (both with GN and Male reader inserts). And like, also with Ketch lol it was a really nice pick-me-up as I'm not having the best of times right now, and it made me read an author I didn't know before, so it's a win-win Situation!

Follow That Car! by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD (AO3)

A really nice, short Ketch/Dean story with a side of murder. "I wish to fuck you, Dean" is forever embedded in my brain.

~*~*~

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

Spotless by @stusbunker

This is a Dean x reader AU with SO MUCH DELICIOUS PINING!!!! And now Bela's involved! And the reader gets to watch Dean and Bela make heart eyes at each other!! SO MUCH YUMMY ANGST!!!

~*~*~

Nominated by @salt-n-burn-em-all

Care and Feeding by foolishgames (AO3)

Sam is somehow turned into a cat. The best stories are the first and last ones if you are not an S/D reader, then can be read as mostly Gen.

Dissecting the Bird by nigeltde (AO3)

♥♥♥ Just right.

The Witch and the Wolfen by meus_venator (AO3)

I love everything about this story- meus has an amazing talent and this is one I reread often- plus, it just got a second story!

Sounds Like Truth Feels Like Courage by Sprinkle888 (AO3)

Well-written SPN story. Gen, no pairing, but it doesn’t need one. Sam binds them together with some MoL magic rings and finding out how they work is a riot. Some angst, temp character death, but ends happily. 10/10 recommend. Also posted on my Tumblr.

~*~*~

Nominated by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Slither by Tiamatv (AO3)

I absolutely love this story! The show of cultural differences between Dean and Castiel that even the reader will miss the cues. Lol! The conversation about sex was hilarious especially since Dean doesn’t ask. 😂 Wait until you read the word “clasp”. Poor Dean. Look up the word: hemipene. This stems all the hilarity in the fic. Just wait. Just wait. It’s hilarious!! SPOILER: Castiel is a naga refugee that is half human and half beautiful snake, and Sam basically “adopted” him as a charity project that turns into Dean’s charity project that ends up making him very happy very quickly.

Rubber Duckie Boots by Hexentaenzerin (AO3)

This such an adorable meet-cute. I love it! I also love that Dean wears rubber duckie boots while videoing carpet cleaning videos for his business, which Castiel absolutely loves to watch. Just can’t get enough of seeing Dean in those boots. Castiel even buys a rug to try to get Dean to notice him. **squee** It’s great! The ending is so Dean and Castiel. ❤️❤️❤️

Weighted by Tiamatv and amireal (AO3)

I absolutely love this fic because I actually sleep with a weighted blanket and when my kids are sick, they love their own. I even have one in the car. It’s light but enough to feel it. This is just so fluffy and romantic all thanks to our favorite redhead introducing weighted blankets which helps so much. It’s been shown to even help babies but blankets aren’t great for them. Anyway, they’re so cute and that scene where Dean opens his eyes all slow and gentle with “hey”, just broke me. My husband and I do that periodically and it just means more snuggles and sleep. lol. Poor Castiel thinking he couldn’t have Dean which I understand since Dean has said so much he is straight or implied it rather often. Ugh. This was done so well. I admit I wish there was more especially with Dean exploring this new aspect of himself and with Castiel. Curious to see what their bumps in the road are and how they handle it.

Close Encounter of the Fourth Kind by Fathersalmon (AO3)

First, this is smut. Second. It is fucking hilarious! I rarely find crack in smut. You have to read this hilarity. Dean’s sassy mouth is just amazing in this while Castiel just ignores him. 🤣 If you want to laugh, read this!

Firelight Glow by bleuzombie (AO3)

I just love how it progresses and the ending is great though. It’s so sweet and fluffy. Their connection is so tangible the reader can feel it like the characters do. It also has Trans Dean Winchester, which I always love to read, especially by @bleuzombie who knows how to write them so authentically and truthfully.

~*~*~

Nominated by @spencereliotwinchester

Stray Hearts by blujay44 (AO3)

It's definitely a weird one, but I really like how fluffy it is. Really, though, it's weird... but it's a feel-good one, especially when Jensen comforts Jared.

Pastiche (orphaned work on AO3)

This is literally one of my favorite SPN fics ever. I reread it a lot. Features Autistic!Jensen and loveable goldenretriever Jared who just wants to get to know his neighbor.

Flash by ellia (AO3)

Short, sweet, almost possessive... Also features my two favorite boys: Jensen and Christian.

For the Taking by veronamay (AO3)

Steamy, sexy, bdsm, Jared and Jensen. What more could you ask for??

~*~*~

Nominated by @mariekoukie6661

House of the Rising Son by @kittenofdoomage

I really love the idea of Sam and Dean being the bad guys! The story as a whole is so goood!

Blood and Honey by @kittenofdoomage

Dark!Winchesters are my favorite kind of tropes! This is such a great story, very well written!

Baklavas For Your Birthday by @cloverhighfive

This is very cute!!!

Muddy Soul by @impala-dreamer

This is so good! Its very dark at times and you absolutely need to mind the tags! But this is such a great series!

Strangers by @smellingofpoetry

Very cute story!! I liked it!!!

I am my beloved’s and my beloved’s mine by @heavenssexiestangel

Very cute! Very fluffy!!!! I liked it!!!!

THANK YOU ALL, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

- From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, @spencereliotwinchester, and @heavenssexiestangel!

[trashmouth-richie]

Based on “someone like you” by adele

there will be 3 separate versions of this fic

modern day au | 6k | steddie | warnings: no minors mentions of sexual acts, abusive behavior, underage drinking, drug use.

(coming soon)

[eddie x fem!reader version]

[steve x fem!reader version]

The crunch of the paper beneath Eddie’s grease coated hands is just loud enough to stifle the gasp and sob racking through his chest. Ink is smeared beneath his fingers as the sweat forms on his palms and the wave of nausea trickles through his body, a pile of bricks in his gut. He barely makes it to the trash can in the break room before he tosses his breakfast, wretching hard enough that his stomach feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself a pink inner tube deflated in his body.

“Christ.. y’ alright?.” Jim says, slapping Eddie on his back, “look like hell, why don’t y’ go home, I’ll finish up that oil change on the Jeep.”

Without a second thought, he stomps out of the break room door and through the large open bay door, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, still clutching the newspaper.

The steering wheel is beaten so many times it’s a wonder it hasn’t broke yet. Pens, lighters, and dnd dice are thrown at the windshield as Eddie comes undone. Letting the screams escape his strewn mouth as he sits in the driveway. Spit is flying from his lips as he screams.

Months had gone by. Not a word. Not a peep. Not a single fuck you, or a longing glance down a grocery store aisle since he had seen him after the fight they had months ago. Now all of a sudden there he was, looking like fucking Malibu Barbie and Ken smiling beautifully in black in white. Hugging her from behind as they both smile lovingly into the camera lense. A beach set behind them, a princess cut ring, from Tiffany’s no doubt, weighing down her left ring finger. Round glasses and the dusting of a mustache splattered on his upper lip, cover his once boyish features. His hair was more uniform now than what it used to be. But there he was, in a matching linen outfit straight from Tommy Bahama, holding his bride, Steve Harrington was married.

Harrington and his wife celebrate one month of wedded bliss in the Bahamas. [picture taken 6/5/2022]

The words bump against each other in Eddie’s brain. He’s reread it almost a dozen times now. Hours have gone by since he first saw it… the trail of spilt whiskey and beer cans littering the floor around him as a good indication of how much time has passed. Yet here he sits-- reading— contemplating—- furious. Eyes burning with tears as they slither down, foregoing finding a new path as the river of sorrow is carved deep on his face.

Steve Harrington..

Steve mother fucking Harrington is married.

To a woman.

The hot salt of heavy tears find their way into his mouth as he sobs again and again. His mind trying like hell to reject what is in front of him, the alcohol increasing his wallowing with every drop on his tongue. Steve. The name was bitter as he dialed the number, the monotonous ringing in his ear, praying the other line would answer. He was fragile, hanging on by a thread.

“Hello?” The voice croaked through the line, it was late, too late to be calling, but desperate times…

“R-Robs… I— I can’t— when did he!? — ” his scattered sobs are making talking almost unbearable.

“Oh Eddie, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” as her voice cranes into Eddie’s ear his mind is flooded with memories of Steve Harrington.

—

“Come on, you’re not afraid are you?” Steve said, ripping his shirt off over his head, and climbing the white steps to the high dive at the Hawkins Pool. It was well past open hours at the pool. Street lights danced on the darkened water, the red swishing fabric of Steve’s swim trunks stopped as he bent at the waist to lower down to Eddie’s face. “It’s not scary, I promise.” His lips turned at the corners into a smirk. He was beautiful, angel kisses splattered across his face. Green honeyed eyes the color of the woods, drank him in, enticing him with a flirty gaze. The smell of his carmex and his Farrah Fawcett hairspray lingering as he nudged his nose against Eddie’s cheek and suddenly retreated, tan legs climbing higher up the diving board. Muscles extending, legs bending and jumping as he dove perfectly into the water. The small ripples of water deepening as he came out of the water, whipping his brown locks around and pushing them back on his head. He waited in the deep end for Eddie, silently begging him. Never pushing, but telling him through his eyes, the way his hands swirled in the water, always flirting, that it was okay, to take the leap, indulge in something new.

Eddie had never been with a guy before.

He was unsure of his feelings. Not that he wasn’t pretty or handsome, he went on a few dates but each one ended the same way—he just found he would rather be them than be with them.

Taking that first step up the ladder was solidifying his feelings toward Steve. The weeks of longing glances in Buckley’s basement, going to the movies as friends but feelings erupting so strongly he didn’t know what they meant. The feel of Steve’s pinky finger grazing his as he dipped into the popcorn bowl. His lips covered in buttery salt, a single drop of Dr. Pepper dripping from his chin. Eddie couldn’t turn his eyes away from him. He shoved it down, suppressed it for as long as he could. And now, three months later, in the swelling blistering heat of the summer, Steve showed up to his trailer, daring him to come with him to beat the heat.

Each rung of the ladder, Eddie’s heart skipped in his chest, and it wasn’t from the height. He was about to jump into the unknown. His feet on the poky board, he took a deep breath, the guitar pic chain around his neck rising and falling with the inhales and exhales. Years of trailer park shenanigans led him to the teetering edge without fear, throwing his body forward into a tumble, flipping twice and splashing into the water, his pale form practically glowing under the water. Eyes burning with the sting of the chlorine, a price swimmers in small local pools have been paying for since the pool managers were every bit of sixteen years old. Steve’s tanned legs kicking delicately to keep himself afloat as Eddie popped up behind him, head breaking the surface as Steve laughs. His breathing evening out at the sight of Steve’s smiling face. Stomach fluttering with anticipation as to what was to come next. Steve’s eyes dance over Eddie’s face, locking on his lips as Eddie pokes his tongue out. Steve leans in, hands still swirling beside him. The warmth of his breath fans Eddie’s lips, warming the droplets of pool water. Lips connecting, eyes shut tight, the noise from Steve’s throat surprised Eddie as the kiss deepened, time non-existent in that moment.

“Told you it wasn’t scary,” Steve said, pulling away, splashing Eddie as he swam away. To date, it was the sweetest kiss Eddie had ever received.

-

“Take a deep breath, you’re scaring me.” Robin tried to gain some ground on the other end of the line.

“W-when! Steve, when—did—it?!” Spluttering through the void, phone pressed tight against his face as he sobs. His lungs feeling as if they would collapse from years of smoking.

Robin stutters on the phone, heart racing as she tries to explain, “it happened fast— they met 7 months ago— someone his dad had set him up with, she works in his office.”

The air from his lungs were frozen with shock, the phone tumbled down to his cotton socks as it fell from his grasp.

-

The summer air was thick and heavy, a blanket of humidity covering all of Hawkins. The back doors of the van were pushed open— a slow swirl of smoke drifting out as Eddie laid his head on Steve’s chest. Two pairs of legs hanging out of the back of the van, bare—shucked from denim shorts and black denim jeans. Boxers slung low on pale hips snuggled with boxer briefs on tanned legs tangled together like a twist cone in the darkness of the night. Lips bruised with kisses, hickies splattered across their necks, two lovers laid together. Drinking in the heavy air, breathing in the scent of one another. Every night since the first kiss in the deep end of the closed Hawkins pool, was spent this way. Eddie couldn’t get enough of Steve, he was beautiful to the perfect American boy standard, his lips tasted like milk and honey, sweet and lustfully warm. He brought out the best in Eddie. Sweet giggles shared between a joint, the flick of a lighter against hummed bated breaths against each others cheeks.

“I could stay like this forever,” Steve whispered into Eddie’s hair, kissing the top of his curls as their hands intertwined together, gaudy rings and calloused hands against smooth long fingers.

Eddie smiled into Steve’s chest, sweat coating his cheek. “Forever huh?”

“Doesn’t sound that bad, does it?” Steve cooed, wrapping a dark brown curl through his fingers, relishing in the softness of Eddie’s hair.

“Not at all.”

-

The next day brings little peace to Eddie’s mind. The pounding behind his eyes matches the rumbling in his stomach. He wakes on the carpet in the living room of his small apartment. The comfort of an empty beer can wedged under his waist, drool cold and thick on the corner of his mouth, a leg up on the couch. Sunshine is seeping through the blinds, a warm caress against the floor. He pushes himself into a kneeling position, the room spins as he stands, holding on to furniture and a thrifted standing light as he slinks to the bathroom. A look in the mirror reveals blood shot eyes and hair more than messily askew. He fell asleep in his work clothes, grease rubbed deep into the stains of the coveralls. Two Tylenol between his teeth and lips under the faucet make for the start of easing away the migraine.

He splashed water on his face, cleaning the sleep from his eyes and the drool from his lips, eyes swollen from crying, lips busted and swollen from sucking down beer after beer. A towel against his face dragging slightly on his five o’clock shadow he starts to feel a little better. A scan of the living room reveals the amount of alcohol he went through. Impressive to a frat house maybe but by himself alone? It was borderlining a problem.

He finds his phone on the floor, a long crack from one corner to another, a hairline imperfections. “Fuck,” he breathes to only himself. Unlocking it revealed something Eddie hadn’t wanted to see ever again. A selfie of him and Steve greets him. A costume party at Nancy’s for Jonathan’s birthday when they both dressed as nuns. The habits were tight around their faces. A secret between them both, sealed with love. He swipes up out of the photos app and opens his text messages. The red circle reading ‘10’ has his heart aching. Please dear god don’t let me have texted him, please. That was the last thing Eddie needed, a drunk text to his ex congratulating him on his pretty wife. But alas, karma kept herself in check, the ten texts aren’t from Steve.

9 from Robin and 1 from Jim reading, “hey man, you still sick?”

A quick reply back to Jim saying that he was indeed still sick and that he’d see him on Monday. The 9 looming texts from Robin still remain. He thumbed over her name and read through the walls of text.

Robin had been the only soul to know about Steve and Eddie’s relationship. Not ready to face the world with judgmental stares and harsh words they vowed to keep it private.

Eddie shoots a text to Robin, “I’m ok, just confused, and a little sad.”

8 months.

They had met and decided to get married in 8 months? The paper didn’t say what date they had actually gotten married but if the picture was in June it would have—- it didn’t matter. The timeline was muddy and confusing, Eddie was wondering if it overlapped.

Last time he had seen Steve was 7 months ago in December when he was home for Christmas break.

Surely this was the workings of Mr. Harrington himself. In all the time spent together Steve and Eddie were careful. Not that either of them were ashamed to be who they truly were but Steve’s parents were old school. Traditional in a sense that they were still members of a country club. Old money and the Harrington name ran through their veins and nestled up a grand spot of being somebody in Hawkins, Indiana. However, they were never home.

-

Eddie stayed at Steve’s place almost every weekend.

The domesticated feeling of having someone around made Steve feel wanted, loved, and safe. A feeling he rarely got from his parents.

They’d spend the weekends watching corny movies from the 80’s, perfecting recipes from Pinterest, and listening to Eddie play his acoustic guitar. Nights were spent in each others arms, rotating who was big or little spoon depending on Eddie’s nightmares. They young, dumb and in love. One particular Sunday morning—that would be branded into the flesh of their brains for eternity— Steve had woken up before Eddie. Eyeing the sizable tent in his boxers he decided to wake him up. Eddie could sleep through a house fire, he was all snores and mouth hung open wide. He didn’t feel the tickle of Steve’s knuckles as they coaxed the fabric down his legs, or the warmth of Steve’s mouth against his hardened length— at least not right away. The pool of saliva in Steve’s mouth as he sucked and twirled, adding his hands as Eddie bottomed out into his throat finally woke him up.

“Oh shit, mmm fuck Steve, thought I was dreaming this,” his dreamy muddy eyes latched onto Steve’s as they held hands while Steve devoured him. Their combined soft moans and the slurping noises had them in their own world, they didn’t hear the front door unlock, or the soft carpeted footsteps up to Steve’s room, or the soft knuckles knocking against the oak door. None of that was heard. Just the baritone yelling of Steve’s dad as he witnessed his son, the golden child, light of his life, suck the trailer park trash out of the Munson disgrace.

Fists were swung in every direction, one connecting to the side of Steve’s temple, knocking him out. Eddie clambered off the bed and stood his ground, begging Steve’s dad to take it easy. A second swing of a fist hooked into Eddie’s left eye. The swelling was immediate. Eddie pushed and shoved Steve’s dad with all his might, earning another munch to his mouth, splitting his bottom lip. Shrieking from Steve’s mother at the sight of the blood on Eddie’s face and her son lying lifeless on the floor caused enough of a distraction for Eddie to lock the bedroom door. He dressed himself quickly, throwing on whatever he could and slipping on his converse. Steve started to stir, groaning and throwing up on the carpet, tears flowing from his eyes.

“Steve!” Eddie cried, “we h-have to get out of here.”

Eddie helped Steve dress and he threw open a window, tossing his small duffel bag down to the ground, another bag for Steve. They climbed out of the window, Steve holding onto Eddie for dear life as they lowered themselves to the ground with the help of the tree branches nestled against the house. Eddie drove them to Robin’s. Steve falling in and out of consciousness as they drove. Eddie was pleading and crying for Steve to stay awake, his vision blurring, eyes not looking at the road. “Open your eyes Steve,” Eddie begs, “please, please stay with me!”

Steve opens his eyes slowly, blinking heavily at the boy frantically trying to stay on the road. Eddie's eye was swollen and huge, purpling marks painting his pale skin. Blood drying on his lips. “We’re almost there, babe.” Eddie says sweetly, “ju—just hold on.”

After cleaning Steve up and deciding he didn’t have a concussion, Eddie held him in his arms on the couch, lightly dozing off as Robin made breakfast. “I love you,” Steve whispered into Eddie’s chest. He didn’t hear Eddie’s reply as he slowly drifted to sleep.

-

A knock on the door to his apartment shook him from the daydream. He didn’t realize he had started crying again, the pain of the past weighing heavy on his features. “Come on Eddie, I won’t stop knocking til you open the door, and I’m sure I could find your building manager and tell him I smell gas so he has to let me in!”

The door swings open to reveal a lanky tall girl, freckles sporting her face in various patterns, her blue eyes gleaming as her smile fades at the sight of Eddie.

“Jesus Munson,” she berates, “you sure you’re alright?”

Their bellies full of McDonald’s breakfast and coffee that Robin had made in the keurig she had gifted Eddie for Christmas but was never opened, Eddie finally speaks, “thanks for this,” he gestures with the greasy McMuffin wrapper snug in his grip and the coffee tight to his lips.

“And uh— I’m sorry about last night— I was— shocked.”

The warmth of Robin’s hand on Eddie’s shoulder is comforting as she rubs gently, “Honestly, I was shocked too. Last I knew, he was excited to see you over Christmas break— I had no idea you weren’t together until a month ago when he called me.”

Eddie let out a large breath feeling his shoulders sag as he picked at his nails, “yeah, well things really changed after he went to college.” A single tear slides down his face, “he was— I’ve never loved, or been loved, by someone like that before, y’ know?” Eddie shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes, his vision clouded with tears and blackness. “I th-thought— God— ” he murmurs, pushing down the sobs, “I thought he loved me.”

-

Eddie made the day special, started off with a matinee and the same treats they had shared all those long months ago. They ordered from Enzo’s and ate under the stars on the top of Eddie’s van, lanterns lighting the plastic forks as they twirled rogue spaghetti noodles into each other's hungry mouths. The conversation was light, talking about the weather and the new tiktoks that were popular that week. He wasn’t sure when, but something had changed with Steve, he was quieter than normal. The light caring attitude he usually wore was now replaced with turned in eyebrows and nodding along to almost everything Eddie had said.

“Okay, what’s going on babe?” Eddie had asked, placing his fork down a little harder than he had expected, “you usually love the garlic bread and you haven’t even touched it.”

Steve’s eyes were turned downward, “nothing Eddie, I’m fine, just not that hungry.”

Eddie almost believed him, “don’t lie to me, Harrington, you forget how well I know you,” he nudged his shoulder with his own, “come on, you can tell me.”

Steve’s eyes spring with tears as he looks into the soft brown of Eddie’s, “I don’t want to leave you.” His shoulders shake as Eddie pulls him close and hugs him tight, his lips on his neck, kissing delicately at the small beauty marks that make up a vast majority of Steve’s skin. He moves his forehead to lean against Steve’s, the smell of spaghetti sauce on his tongue as he kisses him softly, holding his cheeks.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be here, every break— every weekend you want to come home— I’ll be right here, forever.” He slips the guitar pic necklace off his head and places it around Steve’s neck. “Can’t get rid of me, that easy lover boy.”

Steve leans in and locks his lips with Eddie’s, tears fell from both of their eyes as their tongues dance together. “Come on, I’ve got one more place to bring you.”

The short drive to the Hawkins pool was filled with sniffles and holding hands, Eddie occasionally bringing Steve’s knuckles to his lips to kiss them each softly. They both get out and jump the fence, stripping down to their underwear and climbing the high dive. Steve dives in first and then Eddie.

“I brought you to all our firsts.” Eddie says proudly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. “The first time I realized I was attracted to you was at the movie theater, you had Dr. Pepper dripping off your chin. Eddie kisses the same spot the soda had clung on Steve’s chin. And here,” he says, waving his arm around, “was our first kiss, and where I realized I wasn’t afraid to be myself anymore.”

Pain breaks across Steve’s face but he shoves it down for this one last night with Eddie before he moves to college in the morning. He smiles and kisses him. “I love you, Eddie Munson.” Steve purrs into Eddie’s neck.

“And I love you, Steve Harrington.”

-

Eddie had spent the majority of the day looking through old pictures and teaching himself sad songs on his guitar. Writing down his feelings were the only thing that helped ward off the hell of what Steve had put him through. The pen moved feverishly against the scratchy composite notebook he kept. Words flowing through him fluidly like a river against the bedrock. He allowed himself to think of that night. The last time he saw Steve Harrington.

-

The first week Steve was at school, it was almost as if he never left. He FaceTimed Eddie every chance he got, showing him around the campus, all the cool places to eat and his dorm room. Eddie would excitedly gaze through the screen at him, working on a car simultaneously. Jim’s Auto had taken him on and paid for his night classes for a diesel mechanic degree. He was happy for Steve, excited to hear all about the things he was experiencing. The texts from Steve got more and more scarce. Nightly FaceTime calls were few and far between. Eddie knew Steve had made new friends at college and he was happy for him. Happy that Steve was going to make something of himself and prove his dad wrong. But the sick inkling feeling that Steve had moved on all came to a halt when Christmas break arrived and Steve’s maroon BMW was parked in front of Eddie’s apartment complex on the north side of town. He was leaning against his door, a cigarette tucked between his teeth and the light blue denim of his jeans pressed against the door.

“Damn you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Eddie grins, as he reaches out for a hug. Steve hugs him cautiously, a feeling that is not reciprocated back as the bear hug Eddie has him in traps the air in his lungs. “Fuck, I missed you.” Eddie speaks into Steve’s neck. Kissing him feverishly.

Steve slinks away from him and grabs a duffle bag out of his trunk. “You too, Munson.” He says shyly, slinging the bag over his shoulder. A pained smirk upon his face. The toe of his Nikes kicking a small rock as they walked into the building, and up the stairs. The smell of fresh paint in the hallways and salt rock for icy sidewalks fills their noses.

“So I thought,” Eddie said, unlocking his front door and flicking the lights on, “we could order a pizza and maybe rewatch ‘You’ before the new season comes out in February. How does that sound?”

“Yeah man, that sounds great— but I’m only gonna be here for a little bit.” Steve says, eyes casted downward.

The air sharpened in Eddie’s chest as he froze, one hand still on the knob. “What do you mean, you’re only here for a little bit?” A look of concern painted on his face, as his eyebrows knit together. “Wh-what’s going on Steve?”

Steve adjusts his weight, hands on his hips as his eyes bore holes into the carpet, “listen man, I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.”

Eddies breath quickens, furious tears splash from his lashes, “I fucking knew it,” he spits, wiping a ringed hand down his face, “ya know what?” he says angrily, opening the door and holding it wide open, “just go, I don’t need a sorry fucking excuse about why you can’t do this anymore or how hard long distance is.”

“Eddie..” Steve tries.

“Get the fuck out.”

Steve steps around Eddie and leaves silently. Eddie doesn’t hear the sobs from Steve’s car as he drives away. The duffle bag full of Eddie’s belongings, including the guitar pic necklace, still sitting by the door.

-

Not wanting to let the boys down, Eddie goes along with the gig on Saturday. Corroded Coffin worked their way from Tuesday nights at the Hideout to Saturday nights, the bar was sticky hot and packed full of co eds home for summer break and trying to let loose. Gareth was a senior now while Jeff and Barry graduated with Eddie. Still doing covers but now venturing into turning pop hits into metal ballads, Corroded Coffin had become a regular house name, even booking gigs during the week out town.

Dustin had begged Steve to bring him to the bar, claiming the bartender wouldn’t card him if Steve was with him. Steve agreed, knowing that Eddie’s band only played on Tuesday nights. He hadn’t talked to him since that cold December night. In fact his entire life had changed. He finished his first semester of college and started working for his dad over the summerI, and that’s where he met you. His dad had been bothering him about the cute receptionist at work for months. Basically ever since he got to school. When he came home for one weekend weeks before Halloween, he had met you. You were pretty no doubt, a beautiful smile and witty humor, laying your charm heavily on the boss’ son in hopes to swoon him. And normally— any other boy would have jumped at the chance, following you around like a puppy dog.

But you weren’t Eddie.

That night at the country club with one too many rounds of scotch between Steve and his dad, Mr. Harrington promised Steve the world and more, taking over the family business, a personal jet to fly him wherever he wanted, all Steve had to do was agree to date the receptionist. Steve jumped at the chance to embarrass his father, he couldn’t wait to tell Eddie about it, how rich they would be, the trips they could go on, the house they could buy. But Steve never got that chance.

The bar was dim lit and stench filled. It smelled exactly like he had remembered. Remembering it was almost an entire year since he had last set foot here. The way Eddie’s bangs clung to his forehead as he sang to Metallica’s “Wherever I May Roam”. The muscles in his arm worked overtime as he strummed along with his guitar. God Steve had loved him.

“Two, no three Bud Lights please!” Dustin said as he sauntered over to the bar, head held high and a bravado to his voice. “Sorry, did you guys want something?” He grinned, all squinty and toothy— finally— his curls bouncing under his ball cap.

“Captain and Coke for me,” Steve began, “and Coke for the lady,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Thought I’d surprise you, I wasn’t sure if he told you or not!” Dustin gushed, one beer already have gone, suds spilled on his lips.

Steve’s brows furrowed, “who told me what Dustin?”

“Hey everyone thanks for coming out, I’m Eddie, and we are Corroded Coffin!”

Steve’s blood ran cold. His breath hitched into his chest as he watched an excited Dustin raise three beers into the air and yell along with the crowd. “This is great isn’t it!?” He yelled as Eddie’s guitar shredded to life, Gareth hot on the drums as “For Whom The Bell Tolls” blared through the small bar.

“Babe,” you said into Steve’s ear, “you know this band?” Your smile could melt the polar ice caps. Sweet, endearing and your sparkling eyes were glistening.

Tongue stuck to his cheek Steve fumbled over his words, “y-yeah, they were uh— big in our school.” Steve explains hurriedly.

“You’re forgetting your best friend is the lead singer!” Dustin’s says guzzling down more beer and banging his head to the beat.

“Best friend?” You ask Dustin, “I thought we met all of your friends earlier, Steve?”

“Haven’t seen each other in awhile— kinda drifted apart.” Steve faltered. Eyes glued to the lead singer as Dustin pulled you and Steve closer to the front of the stage.

Eddie looked exactly the same, months apart did him well, he looked stronger, the muscles in his arms bigger, his hair longer and healthier. Tattoos riddled his arms. Steve was mesmerized. Entranced by his beauty. It took six songs for Eddie to finally see Steve. And when he did he shook his head and punched his tongue practically through his cheek. “Thank you, this next one goes out to all the people who have ever gotten their shit rocked by a breakup.”

Adele’s lyrics cut deeper than any kitchen knife could puncture.

“I heard that you've settled down and that you found a girl and you’re married now.”

Steve’s stomach dropped, he knew this was meant for him to hear. Eddie’s eyes never wavered from Steve’s as he sang. The hurt of a year's worth of memories stretching from his chocolate eyes across the bar to Steve’s honeyed green ones. The memories of Eddie curled into Steve’s side as they slept in his bed, the way Eddie’s hair looked in the morning after Steve convinced him to put rollers in it. The way Eddie danced in the kitchen after making mac n cheese. His lips, the way they curved around his neck and his hands in his hair. Every emotion, every memory all at once, hit Steve like a freight train.

“I love Adele,” you said into Steve’s shoulder as watched Dustin wipe tears with the back of his hand, six beers deep and he was in rough shape.

“G-gotta pee,” Steve stuttered, squeezing your hand and walking to the bathrooms. Eddie sang the rest of the song and announced they were taking a quick break. Pushing his way to the bathrooms where Steve stood, hovering over the sink tears pouring from his eyes.

“Old friend, why do you look so shy?” Eddie hissed. “What’s the matter big boy, didn’t like the song?” Venom in his voice as his words stung into Steve’s heart.

“I didn’t know you were playing tonight otherwise I wouldn’t have came.” Steve blubbered, “Dustin wanted to surprise me.” He said, wiping his eyes with his shirt. The shine of a ring on his left hand made Eddie’s gut twist.

“Well I’m glad you weren’t the only one surprised this week.” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest, “please tell me this is a sick fucking joke— first I see about in the goddamn Hawkins post and the next day you both show up to see Corroded Coffin?! Real fuckin low Steve, even for you.” Eddie makes to leave but Steve crosses the dirty bathroom floor and follows him out. Where he runs right into you.

“Oh there you are,” you smile widely at Steve, “oh honey, are you sick?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and tries to leave, “I’m y/n, by the way, it’s so nice to meet more of Steve’s friends!” Eddie spins on his heel and faces you.

“Eddie,” he says holding out a hand and smiling a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, he looks down and that’s when he notices.

You’re pregnant.

“Hope we’ll see you at the baby shower tomorrow,” you exclaimed, “excuse me, gotta dash to the ladies.” You step around the wide eyed metal head opening the ladies bathroom door and shutting it.

Fresh tears swell in Eddie’s eyes as his lip quivers. He looks to the ceiling and swallows roughly, choking back a sob. “Well isn’t that nice?” he rasps, tears threatening to spill over. Pushing past Steve he walks out the back door to his van, kicking the tires and throwing himself down on the ground, his back leaned against the front tire as Steve makes his way out of the back door.

Steve approached with caution, breath tight in his chest, “Can we talk, please? Like adults? Eddie, I didn't want to hurt you!” He begged.

“Didn’t want to? Or didn’t care about hurting me?” Because the Steve Harrington I know wa—wasn’t, oh who gives a fuck anyway?”

“Eddie please! Jesus Christ I’m trying to explain what happened!”

“What happened is that you are married!” Eddie mourned, tears flowing steady now, “To a woman, and she’s having your baby— and by the looks of it she’s pretty fucking far along! Seven? Eight months?”

Steve’s arms are crossed and he’s crying as he nods, brown tufts of hair glistening in the setting sun, “why do you think I came to visit you over Christmas break? I was trying to tell you then, but you kicked me out!”

Eddie’s head is in his hands as he shakes his head.

“It didn’t— goddamnit, we were drunk, we had gone on a date and we got hammered, the next thing I knew I was balls deep and coming inside of her. She wouldn’t get the morning after pill, and she works for my dad, which is how I’m in this mess to begin with. H—He told me that if I were to date her that he’d give me the business, jets, cars, anything I’d wanted, don’t you see Eddie!?” Steve lowered himself down to his level and put his hands on his knees, “I did it for us!” Steve’s eyes are pleading with Eddie’s as he looks at the moss colored eyes. “We can be free.”

Eddie peels his head away from hands, a look of shock on his face, “You’re fucking joking right? You got a girl knocked up, married her all because your dad promised you a fucking jet?” His eyes were red and angry as he pushed himself up. His tongue pressed to his cheek and his fists balled tight. “Go back to your wife, Steve.”

“Eddie, wait.”

“Get. The fuck. Away from me.” Eddie says, pushing Steve hard in the chest with every word. “You traded what we had for the promise of money, and rich bullshit. I never wanted any of that! I only wanted you!” Eddie lands one last shove into Steve, sending him to the ground, he wincing at the pain from the concrete, “You made your bed, now lie in it.” Eddie spat at Steve’s body laying on the ground and stomped back inside, the sound of his boots echoing against the brick building.

Years have gone by and the two lovers never crossed paths again. Eddie had heard through Robin and Dustin that Steve and his wife had four or five kids, he couldn’t remember. He took over his dads business and resided on the golf course in Hawkins, trophy wife and beautiful kids in tow living their life of luxury. Eddie and Corroded Coffin toured around America, even a short stint in Europe. No matter how many women he buried himself in, the staggering amount of mind altering drugs he consumed on an hourly basis— the pick necklace still hung around his neck as a reminder of the year under the stars with Steve Harrington.

[fishbloc]

Because the season I like is a short thing It melted away without me noticing Alone in this moving scenery I stand still and think of you

[recipiess]

📌𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 : Find the More Recipes HERE 🍽🔍 .............📍 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝑵𝑶𝑾, 𝑪𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝑳𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓! 📍 ............ 🥒🧀 Zucchini and Yellow Squash Au Gratin Delight! 🧀🥒 Craving a cheesy, creamy side dish that's perfect for any meal? This Zucchini and Yellow Squash Au Gratin is packed with flavor and will have everyone asking for seconds! 😍✨ Ingredients: 2 medium zucchini, sliced into rounds 2 medium yellow squash, sliced into rounds 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 small onion, finely chopped 2 cloves garlic, minced 1 cup heavy cream 1/2 cup milk 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon black pepper 1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese Instructions: Preheat & Prep: Preheat your oven to 375°F (190°C). Lightly grease a baking dish and set aside. Sauté the Onions & Garlic: In a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and cook until softened, about 3-4 minutes. Add the minced garlic and cook for another minute until fragrant. Make the Sauce: Pour in the heavy cream and milk. Stir in the thyme, oregano, salt, and black pepper. Bring to a gentle simmer, then remove from heat. Layer the Vegetables: In the prepared baking dish, arrange half of the zucchini and yellow squash slices in an even layer. Pour half of the cream sauce over the vegetables. Sprinkle half of the mozzarella and Parmesan cheese on top. Repeat with the remaining vegetables, sauce, and cheese. Bake It Up: Cover the dish with foil and bake for 25 minutes. Remove the foil and bake for an additional 20-25 minutes, or until the top is golden and bubbly. Serve & Enjoy: Let the au gratin cool slightly before serving. Garnish with fresh herbs if desired. Indulge in this creamy, cheesy Zucchini and Yellow Squash Au Gratin and enjoy every delicious bite! 🥒🧀💚 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒖𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔!

[besuretocook-blog]

EASY Homemade Beef and Noodles RecipeWelcome back to a new year and a new show of besuretocook we are making beef and noodles recipe. Today we are starting with a well-known dish Beef and noodles homemade recipe. Your family will love this dish and you will enjoy it as well. So watch the video and enjoy :) #Beef #noodles #beefandnoodles-------------------------------------------------00:00 - [ INTRO ]01:00 - [ PREPARING BEEF AND NOODLES]02:00 - [ OUTRO ]-------------------------------------------------Recipe: Hamburger (1 1/2 pound) Medium Egg noodles (1 oz package)Beef Broth (14 oz can)Better Than Bouillon beef base (1-2 tablespoon)Flour (1 1/2 tablespoon)Minced Garlic (1 tablespoon)Milk (4-5 cups of Milk)Water (2 cups of water)2 packages of Au Jus gravy mix (0.87 oz package)Seasonings: Paprika Mrs. Dash (Blend)Salt PepperParsley Instructions: - Add minced garlic to a large pot.- Then you add your 1 1/2 pound of hamburger in a large pot adding some paprika, garlic powder, Mrs.dash (blend and pepper.- Then after it's done you drain your hamburger. Set the hamburger aside in a med bowl. - Then you use the same pot that you cooked your hamburger in and add 4 cups of milk and 2 cups of water and add 2 packages of Au jus gravy mix to the milk and water and let that come to a boil. - In a pot add a teaspoon of hamburger grease & 1-2 tablespoons of flour and add seasonings, pepper, salt, Mrs dash (blend), garlic & cook it on medium heat until the flour cooks out.- Then add your milk a mix until it makes a gravy then add a package of Au Jus Mixture- Add your 4 cups of noodles to the milk, water,au jus mixture. - Then add your hamburger to the mixture then let that come up to a boil. - Then add your flour base and au jus mixture to the pot- Once the noodles are halfway done you want to then add your 1-2 tablespoon of Better Than bouillion beef base and then add 1-2 tablespoon of parsley as well.- Then turn off the heat and let it sit for about 15 mins. Then you are ready to eat ENJOY :) Hope you guys enjoy this! 👉 If you enjoy this video, please like and share it. 👉 Don't forget to subscribe to this channel for more update. 👉 Subscribe now: https://bit.ly/33V7NWV💢 Stay With us: 💟 Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/besuretoook/💟 Twitter - https://twitter.com/besuretocook_ 💟 Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/besuretocook💢 Watch our other videos:💟 Homemade Shrimp Penne Alfredo Recipe (Dish) :https://youtu.be/jBawZuHPDc4💟 Homemade Crispy Fried Calamari Recipe : https://youtu.be/uIN3j5Cei_gThank you for watching this video, click the "SUBSCRIBE" button for stay connected with this channel. Subscription Link: https://bit.ly/33V7NWV #besuretocook Summer Madness by Roa Music | https://soundcloud.com/roa_music1031Music promoted by https://www.free-stock-music.comCreative Commons / Attribution 3.0 Unported License (CC BY 3.0)https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en_US Summer Madness by Roa Music | https://soundcloud.com/roa_music1031Music promoted by https://www.free-stock-music.comCreative Commons / Attribution 3.0 Unported License (CC BY 3.0)https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en_US https://besuretocook.org/easy-homemade-beef-and-noodles-recipe/?feed_id=1761&_unique_id=673cf8ac29aea #Besuretocook #Foodie #CookingRecipes #EasyRecipes #HomeCooking #Delicious #Tasty #QuickMeals #RecipeIdeas #Yummy #FoodLovers #FoodBlog #FoodInspiration #Culinary #MealPrep

[i-needed-a-recipe-blog]

VIA: KITCHENS DIARY/facebook

Ruth’s Chris-Inspired Potatoes au Gratin 🧀

Ingredients:

- 2 tablespoons butter, plus extra for greasing the casserole dish 🧈

- 1/2 medium onion, finely chopped 🧅

- 1 clove garlic, minced 🧄

- 1 1/4 teaspoons salt 🧂

- 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper ⚫

- 3/4 cup chicken stock 🍗

- 1 1/4 cups heavy cream (add more if needed to cover potatoes) 🥛

- 1 1/2 to 1 3/4 pounds russet potatoes (about 5 to 6 medium), peeled and sliced 1/8 inch thick 🥔

- 3 cups mixed finely shredded cheese: 2 cups cheddar (8 ounces), 3/4 cup either fontina or provolone (3 ounces), and 1/4 cup parmesan (1 ounce) 🧀

- 1 tablespoon chopped parsley, for garnish 🌿

Instructions:

1. Preheat your oven to 425°F 🔥.

2. In a skillet, melt butter over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until soft and translucent. Stir in the garlic, salt, and pepper, cooking for about 30 seconds 🍳.

3. Pour in the chicken stock and heavy cream, then add the sliced potatoes. Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer (not a boil). Cover and reduce the heat to medium-low. Simmer until the potatoes are nearly tender when pierced with a knife, about 15 to 20 minutes. Adjust seasoning to taste 🍲.

4. Transfer the potato mixture carefully to a buttered 8 x 8-inch baking dish (or similar size). Sprinkle the mixed cheeses over the top 🥄.

5. Bake in the preheated oven for 10 to 15 minutes for the casserole (slightly less time if using individual casseroles), or until the sauce bubbles and the cheese has melted 🍽️.

6. Let it cool for a few minutes before serving. Garnish with chopped parsley 🌿.

Enjoy this rich and creamy dish with its savory blend of potatoes, cream, and cheese!

[uncbball]

For every chocolate enthusiast, these Double Chocolate Madeleines are a delightful treat. They are rich, moist, and have just the right amount of chocolate flavor. Delicious as a dessert on special occasions or for afternoon tea.

Ingredients: 2/3 cup all-purpose flour. 1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder. 1/2 teaspoon baking powder. 1/4 teaspoon salt. 3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips. 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled. 2 large eggs. 1/2 cup granulated sugar. 1 teaspoon vanilla extract. 1/4 cup whole milk.

Instructions: When the oven reaches 350 degrees Fahrenheit 175 degrees Celsius, generously grease a madeleine pan. Mix the baking powder, cocoa powder, salt, and all-purpose flour in a medium-sized mixing bowl. In a microwave or double boiler, melt the semisweet chocolate chips until smooth, stirring from time to time. Allow it to cool down a little. Beat the eggs, granulated sugar, vanilla extract, and melted butter together thoroughly in a different mixing bowl. Mixing until just combined, gradually add the dry ingredients to the wet ones. Once the batter is smooth and thoroughly combined, stir in the milk and melted chocolate. Pour the batter into each madeleine mold, filling it to about 3/4 of the way. The madeleines should be baked for 10 to 12 minutes, or until they are puffed and bounce back when lightly touched, in a preheated oven. Take the madeleines out of the oven and let them cool in the pan for a few minutes before moving them to a wire rack to cool down fully. For added sweetness, you can choose to dust them with powdered sugar after they've cooled. Present and savor your delectable Madeleines au chocolat!

Calvin F

[13dollz]

i was struck by a fat brain worm earlier today and though it will never be a full fic (because I know my limitations as a writer lmao), i wrote this scene and i thought you guys would like it

603 words, mick/jim with background jim/corey, werewolf au, guys bein' dudes, wolf rut (but no a/b/o), internal monologue, violence mention

Mick sweats a lot performing, but it’s worst during his rut. The grease paint is running into his eyes, forming a wet layer between his face and the inside of the mask. His hair’s dripping like he just got out of the shower and he can even feel the sweat pooling in his ears. Truly every nook and cranny of him is shedding salt like it’s trying to fast-track him to a heart attack. 

He knew it was coming soon. It’s not like he has a little calendar for it or something, a man just knows. He’s not so stupid that the monthly cycle jokes go over his head though.��

It’s just that they’re on tour, and his girlfriend’s at home, and he doesn’t have the time, or frankly the patience, at the moment, to make arrangements. Which, y’know, means he has to resort to more…unsavory options. 

Sometimes Mick can’t believe this is what it comes to, but after a decade he supposes it just proves you can get used to anything. And really he has to remind himself it’s thoroughly preferable than sending someone to the hospital because they can’t take the wolf rut, which did happen one time. (You know, classic story. Plucky human girlfriend thinks she can take it, gets mad when Mick says she can’t, throws around words like “excuses for cheating”, pisses him off until he relents, ends up with a fractured pelvis, not to mention bites, claw marks, etc.) He tries not to think about that though. Mostly because his wolf brain wants to jack off to it. Surely, his wolf brain argues, getting sent to the hospital means pups, right? Because the wolf brain conflates violence with technique. And Mick isn’t sure how it can be part of his own brain and so completely fucking stupid but he has to remind the wolf that no, there will never be pups. Ever. Hospital or otherwise. 

Mick can feel the wolf rear his head more with every second. Thankfully, the set’s almost over and then he can go find Jim and beat the shit out of him. It’s not that he wants to fuck one of his best friends (even though it feels pretty fuckin’ great while he’s doing it, but they don’t talk about that), he’s just gonna kill someone if he doesn’t and Jim’s the only other wolf around.

Sometimes Mick wonders what the point of even having a werewolf girlfriend is if she can’t come with him on tour. She knows he has to make do sometimes. He just…doesn’t think she knows he’s fucking a guy. He’s not gonna tell her. Ever. She’d probably just ask to watch and really the fewer people that know about his and Jim’s arrangement the better. 

Mick knows Corey knows because one time Corey asked him if “fight club” was coming up and Mick almost knocked his teeth out. Jim told him. Of course he did, because they have some little arrangement of their own going on that Mick hasn’t quite figured out, cuz Corey doesn’t have any wolf in him (well, except Jim), but he would rather chop his dick off than ask. It’s the source of his problems anyway. 

But whatever thing they have going on works for him cuz it means he doesn't have to return the favor for Jim’s rut. Although he has before and they especially don’t talk about that, because he realized once you get past the feeling of a ridged baseball bat being shoved up your ass, it’s not half bad. 

Look. You gotta do whatcha gotta do. You help a brother out.

The end.

[checkoutmyflow]

Star Elite: Biggest food pet peeves

Here are some of Star Elite's biggest pet peeves. Also if you don't know Star Elite is my Blue Lock AU with my original characters. Here's the link so you can read up on it if you're interested.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Fiorello Dal Lago: He fits the Italian stereotype a little bit, but he understands that people have their own preferences when it comes to food... but if you break pasta in half in front of him, he will never let you into the kitchen again.

De'Andre Wilde: If he cooks something and you ask for some, only to eat the entire thing by tomorrow, he's GOING to beat your ass. Better yet, if he orders something and you don't, but proceed to ask and try and eat off his plate he is going to backhand the shit out of you.

Amari Wilde: Nothing really ticks him off, mostly because he's too timid to confront you about it. However, if you don't wash your hands before cooking, he will politely tell you to leave the kitchen (Translation: Get the fuck out the kitchen you heathen) so he can prepare the food instead.

Xaivier Johnson: If you pour milk before your cereal he's side eyeing you. Put milk first and then heat it up in the microwave, and he is going to think you escaped a mental asylum.

Enkai Nakajima: Loudly chewing with your mouth open. Something as simple as this makes him want to actually knock the shit out of someone. Now does anyone really like this? No. But for whatever reason this pisses him off on a global scale.

Anselmo Espinoza: Ok, he's a really nice dude, but people who try and chastise what other people can eat really work his nerves. If he wants to eat something a certain way he's gonna eat it. If it isn't incredibly gross and unhealthy for your body he's gonna try it at least once. And if he doesn't like it, then oh well.

Isaac Espinoza: He hates ranch. It nauseates him to the highest degree. He hates to even look at it. Ranch anything makes him sick including ranch doritos. Also people who can't wrap burritos correctly-.

Vespa Richelieu: Very similar to Anselmo, he isn't too pleased when people try to judge and tell him what to eat. However his annoyance is mainly targeted towards vegans who try and say their way of eating is the superior one because they don't eat on dead animals. Please believe that if a vegan karen were to come up to him and try to reprimand him for eating meat, he will purposely eat meat in front of them while laughing his ass off. Why? Just because he can.

Deong Daon: When people, usually those who are inexperienced in the kitchen, don't properly use knives. Like sir, that is a steak knife. It's meant to cut steak. Also, whenever people just walk into the kitchen while you're cooking. Not helping at all, especially when they come near him while he's holding a knife. It makes him paranoid.

Elio Rossi: People who over-season their food. Salt and pepper get the job done sometimes you don't have to add all this extra shit to make something taste good. Chill out.

Alexander Bennett: He doesn't care if the food is the best in the world. If there's grease flooding the plate, dirtying his hands and clothes, he's not gonna fucking eat it. He doesn't want to take a bite of something and have grease immediately explode in his mouth.

Lixue Bai: If he's eating something chewy and he feels something oddly crunchy in the food, he's lighting his mouth on fire.

Axel Hart: Big silverware make him want to go into cardiac arrest. Yes he will make a dramatic scene about it because it is necessary. Big silverware was made for torture purposes.

Seia Morikawa: Allergies exist. Why do some people treat it as a weak thing?? It's not like people can control it?? What you want them to just grow out of a food allergy? Dumbass. Oh- also people who just throw food away carelessly.

Carnell Reid: If he's eating with you, he doesn't wanna hear or see you throw your head back and moan loudly in front of god and everyone about how good the food it. He gets it. The food is good. You can just say that instead of making everyone uncomfortable with your food porn rant.

Bruce Matthews: He has no clue how people can just drink coffee bland with no sweeters or spices. No sugar? Cinnamon? Ginger? Like seriously?? If you drink plain black coffee he considers you one of the most boring people to live on planet earth.

Amador Shimizu: People who shit on other people's food, especially when it's apart of their culture, piss this man off. You're allowed to dislike it but why hate on it just because of the culture it's from??

Omair Rosario: He loves to cook for people. it's something he learned to love from his mother. He loves seeing the happiness on people's faces as they join together to eat. He sees food as not only a necessity, but a way to bring people together. It's very hard to anger let alone annoy him. Except some things. People being forced to eat when they don't want to, and people who deliberately waste food. These things irk him heavily.

Emeterio Narvaez: White people who put raisins in everything. Why? Damnit he wanted mashed potatoes not a fucking milky, watery abomination with shit pallets inside (aka raisins). Let him catch a single raisin in his food when it's not supposed to be there. He's never trusting your cooking again. EVER.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

That's all for this post. If you want to, comment or repost with your own opinions. And like if you want to. Bye :)