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[wheatflats]

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[upsidedownwithsteve]

CAMP UPSIDE DOWN PART TWO Steve Harrington x fem!reader [33K] summer camp, broken kayaks, too much tension and that boy you hate. an enemies to lovers camp counsellor story.

I can’t stop, the way I feel. 

Camp Upside Down was about eighty miles outside of Hawkins, Indiana, just past Belmont and hidden amongst the trees of the YellowWood State Forest. 

It held too many kids, a collection of old wooden cabins, a few impressively sized lakes, sports equipment that was made in the sixties and Steve fucking Harrington. 

It’s not like you had always hated the boy, you just couldn’t really remember the last time you liked him. 

The first of June brought blue skies, summer rolling in with thick white clouds, the kind that didn’t look real. The Indiana air was warm and hazy, growing hotter in the afternoon, long days, bright nights and the return of fireflies and open air pools. 

Each year you left Hawkins behind, a kiss pressed to each cheek by your parents, your old car packed to the brim as you headed west for six weeks, to your home from home, buried between cedar trees, amongst giant redwoods and overgrown wildflowers. 

You rolled out of town and took the sun with you, windows down, radio blasting music and static, that soft buzz that you loved so much. You sped past the water tower, the quarry and the wheat fields, the strawberry patches and the forest that no one liked to wander too far into. 

You hated that Steve Harrington followed, his car newer, shiner, faster. You hated when he overtook you on the straight, before you had even had a chance to leave town. So you would hang your arm out the window, middle finger poised in a pretty salute just for him and he’d send you one back, like clockwork, like you’d practised it, like it happened every year. 

If you could get close enough, your car bumper threatening his, you could just make out the scowl behind his raybans, the twist of his lips cursing you out in the reflection of his rear view mirror. 

It went on like that for the whole drive, never stopping unless the boy did, refusing to fall behind, because bathroom breaks were for losers and you did not fucking lose to Steve Harrington. 

It was flat out, foot down, wind whipping in on the highway; a game of cat and mouse, curses yelled over the radio, hair messy in your face, just pushing the speed limit until overhead signs and four lane roads turned into something else. 

It’s like the sun got softer when you turned off the freeway, the light hazy between the trees and it made this part of the world seem like it was just for you. 

Single track roads took you through the forest, past rivers and lakes, mountains in front of you, Hawkins behind you and the air was sharper, muddled with pine and moss, still wet tree trunks from the morning rain, wildflowers and something too sweet to name. 

Smoke threaded through it all when you got closer to camp, the big wooden archway greeting you like an old friend, the cabins appearing through cracks in the forest, the doors open, staff carrying in pillows and sheets, prepping for the arrival of the kids in a few days time. 

And when you pulled your car into the staff parking, a clearing between trees behind the big gymnasium, you turned off your engine, closed your eyes and listened to the little slice of peace you’d get in your six week stay. 

No kids, no screaming, no arguing, no singing. Not yet. 

Just bird calls and the buzz of insects, soft wind between branches and the slow crackle of the main campfire if you strained your ears hard enough. 

“Your shitty car gets slower every year, princess.”

You swore, low under your breath, the soft “for fuck sake,” mixing with a sigh as you let your head fall onto the seat and you opened your eyes.  

Steve was standing at your open window, hip leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed, expression smug. He grinned at you. 

“Harrington,” you greeted, a drawl that lacked any sort of warmth, tinted with annoyance instead. 

The boy tsked, sarcasm dripping from him as he leaned in, arms on the window ledge, peering into the car and peering at the pile of cassettes on your passenger seat. 

“Blondie? Really?” 

You swatted at him, brows knitted together already because you’d been at Camp Upside Down for quite literally three minutes and the boy was already doing his best to infuriate you. 

“That’s not very nice,” he told you but he was still grinning. “You didn’t miss me?”

You pushed the car door open, knocking Steve out of the way in the process and you scowled as you popped the trunk, turning to him with a glare. 

“Miss you? I saw you at the store two days ago.”

Steve watched you haul out your bags, snorting when you let them fall to the forest floor without much care. 

“Yeah, but you called me a dickhead and hit me with your cart.”

“You yelled across the store and asked me where my cauldron was.”

You set the boy with a stare, a little dead behind the eyes, just like you’d perfected. Your lip twitched into an almost smile when you let another bag tumble out of the trunk, narrowingly missing the boy's foot when he flinched out of the way. 

Steve shrugged, tongue pressed to his cheek to stop his grin as he stared at you right back. 

“It was a valid question.”

You slammed the trunk, your gaze on the boy withering and you kicked at one of your bags. You hated this part. 

“Are you gonna help me with these?” You really didn’t know why you were bothering to ask, because the boy was already backing away, hands shoved into the pockets of his Levi’s and he was still fucking grinning. 

“Why would I do that?” He questioned. “Besides, I only came round to tell you Hopper wants everyone in the office. Now.”

You glared at Steve, seething, lips parting with a high pitched scoff as you threw an arm out and gestured to all your belongings, most of your life packed into four too big duffel bags. 

“You fucking just watched me unload the car.”

Steve hummed happily, too far away for you to throw a pine cone at. He tutted, all faux concern and sad brown eyes. 

“Damn, I did, didn’t I?” And then he was walking away, heading to the offices that were housed in the row of cabins by the lake. “Don’t be too late, princess, Hops already in a shitty mood.”

——————

Camp leader Jim Hopper, was indeed in a foul mood when you arrived twenty minutes later, out of breath and just as annoyed as he was. 

The cabin was full, bodies squeezed between desks and the moth-eaten couch was piled with people. Faces new and old stared back at your sudden entrance, the scowl that was already on your face only deepening when Steve, who was leaning lazy against a wall, wiggled his fingers at you. 

“Hawkins,” Hopper barked, “how nice of you to finally join us. You think after doing this for four years, you’d know that the first day meeting is always at eleven o’clock sharp.”

Hopper's habit of calling people by their hometown should’ve been insulting, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a teddy bear looking man, moustache twitching when he was either annoyed or amused, but he had soft eyes and an even softer patch for the camp kids. 

When you first pointed out that there were three counsellors that came from Hawkins, he merely started calling you Hawkins number two, so you tended to not remind him after that. 

“Sorry,” you huffed, not sounding all that sorry, and you glared at Steve as you squished yourself between Eddie Munson and Robin Buckley. 

“Okay, shitheads, listen up,” Murray, Hopper’s right hand man, stood with a clipboard, thick rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “Roll call.”

“Muson, music. You’ve got three new kids that have signed up for private guitar lessons, you’ll get their info by tonight, make sure you check in with Joyce at reception.”

Eddie Munson, one of the older boys nodded, long, dark curls already frizzy with the warmth that the forest trapped beneath its canopy. Originally from Philadelphia, the boy was still dressed in his leather jacket, a denim vest that had ripped sleeves and a giant Dio patch sewn messily onto the back, ready for a metal concert rather than s’mores around the campfire.

“And for the love of god, wear the proper uniform this year.”

On cue, Hopper started throwing out the mandatory shirts, white and years old, the sleeve cuffs red, just like the printed ‘staff’ on the back, in bold, capital letters. 

“Nancy, you’re moving up this year, senior counsellor,” Nancy Wheeler, another Hawkins native, nodded sharply, her hair clipped back and uniform already on. “We’re gonna need the first week's schedule done for the kids arriving at the weekend and christ, make sure these idiots turn up for their shifts.”

Robin snorted from beside you and Murray rounded on her, a finger pointing accusingly. “Buckley, any more missed shifts from you this year and you’ll be on clean up duty for every dinner shift. Bob wants you in the mess hall tomorrow for lunch prep.”

The girl scowled, mumbling under her breath about how it wasn’t her fault she never heard the morning tannoy. A pretty girl from Detroit, Robin was all ripped jeans and backwards caps, sarcastic comments and sleeping wherever she could make herself comfortable.

Hopper threw a shirt at her, grinning when it landed against her face with a soft thump.

“Jonathan.” The boy who was busy fiddling with the camera around his neck suddenly looked up, eyes wide as if he’d been caught half asleep. “The parents are more than happy to buy more of the photo packages this year and we need new prints for the newsletters so we want content, content, content. No slacking and distracting your girlfriend or you’ll be sleeping on the other side of the lake.”

Jonathan Byers, from Bloomington, just a few hours from Hawkins, mumbled an agreement before walking over to sit by Nancy and resting his head on top of hers.

“Hargrove,” Hopper barked from behind his desk, “you’re back on sports but we’re a lifeguard down this year so you’ll be splitting shifts with Harrington.”

Billy Hargrove, California bad boy, was sliding an unlit cigarette between his lips, getting the tip slick as he grunted his agreement. He caught his staff shirt as it flew through the air at him, winking at you when he tucked it into the waistband of his too tight jeans.

“And for fuck sake, Billy, no non staff members in the cabins after six,” Hopper groaned, “I’m not having screaming mothers at my door at one in the morning this year, corrupt the girls of Indiana on your own time, not mine.”

“You two,” Murray finally rounded on you and Steve, a sardonic grin pulling at his lips. “Lovebirds, you’re both on games and swimming.”

Steve and you both huffed out a protest at the term, features pulled into a scowl and you flipped off both Robin and Eddie when they chuckled.

“And Jesus Christ, if any more of your lovers' tiffs result in more broken equipment, it’s coming out of your wages.”

You scoffed, a sound of protest as Steve swore. “Bullshit, what broken equipment?”

The rest of the team snickered as Hopper levelled you with a stare from over the top of the computer screen. Murray snorted from behind his fist and even Steve had to try to hide his grin at your words.

“There’s three cracked kayaks, fourteen broken tennis racquets and a box of punctured basketballs sitting behind the gym as we speak, sweetheart, don’t even go there.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off of the couch, grabbing Robin’s hand and yanking her up with you when she batted at your arm. 

Everyone else shuffled to their feet, leaving the few newbies in the corner, wide eyed and worried as they waited for their orientation. 

Hopper glared at the seven of you as you lined up at the door, restless and waiting to escape to your cabins, to steal some food from the kitchens when Bob wasn’t looking.

“No drugs,” Hopper announced before Eddie could open the door. “No smoking, and for god sake Munson, don’t tell the kids that you can eat the mushrooms, not again.”

Eddie had the audacity to look bewildered, brown eyes big and doe like as you held in a snicker from behind him. He swatted at your leg and you thumped him back, grinning when the back of your hand caught the edge of his rolling tin in his front pocket. 

The older man moved onto Billy, glaring when the boy only smirked, sliding a pair of gold rimmed aviators over his eyes. 

“Nudity is for the showers and your own cabin, California, I don’t wanna see your ass comin’ out of the lake, I don’t care how early it is in the morning.”

Billy simply grinned wider, snickering when Nancy blushed, rolling his eyes when Robin dug her fingers into his ribs. 

“And you two,” Hopper lifted a hand, gesturing between you and Steve once more, “if I gotta break up any more fights, or play couples therapist, you’ll be paying for my own before summer is over, you hear me?”

The pair of you sulked, eyes lowered to the floor and feet shuffling as you weighed up your options of arguing back, but the office room was lacking its usual cloud of cigar smoke and the coffee machine in the corner had a piece of paper with a big ‘out of order’ scrawled on front.

“Loud and clear, chief,” Steve smirked, eyeing you from where he stood, Eddie grinning between you both.

Murray opened the door to the forest and the sun, the wall of heat seeping in and fighting with the old aircon unit and Hopper’s last words to you all before you slipped out were:

“Play nice and don’t kill the kids.”

Billy caught Steve by the shirt as they left, the boy’s watching as the rest of you walked down the gravel path that led through the trees, splintering off from cabin to cabin.

The blonde boy turned, grinning sharklike, sunglasses still on. He nodded to your retreating frame, taking a second to watch the way your shorts rode up the backs of your thighs as you climbed the cabin stairs behind Robin. 

“You tapped that yet, Harrington?”

Steve glowered, ripping away his arm from the other boy but his reaction only made Billy smirk wider, a lighter appearing from his pocket as he lit his cigarette. 

“Get fucked, Hargrove,” Steve did his best to sound bored, like he didn’t care.

But it only made Billy laugh, blowing smoke to the blue skies and he followed Steve down the opposite trail, heading towards the same cabin that Eddie was currently dragging a small amp into. 

Steve huffed when the blonde boy stomped up the stairs behind him, stepping over the forgotten bags that lay unpacked on the floor. “Maybe that’s Hawkins' problem, you know?” He asked, referring to you. Billy eyed Steve, leaning against his top bunk, the air in the wooden cabin so much cooler than outside. “Maybe she just needs a good seeing to.”

Eddie raised his brows, looking carefully between his bunkmate and Billy, wondering if there was about to be a new record for how quickly a fight broke out. The current sat at seventeen hours after arrival, but there had been a lot more vodka involved that time, and maybe a comment or two about that one time Billy got the clap from some girl in the next town over. 

“Now now, boys,” Eddie intoned, “I’ve not nearly had enough sleep to deal with this shit.”

He went ignored.

Billy continued, teeth sharp and white and bared as he followed Steve around the bunks, leaning against the dresser before the boy had a chance to open it and his eyes flashed when he watched the muscle in the brunette’s jaw twitch. 

“Think she’d let me?” Hargrove asked, “think she’d get a little wild for me?” “Don’t you have shit to do?” Steve snapped, refusing to look at Billy, ‘cause he could feel the tips of his ears getting hot, a horribly uncomfortable tightness clawing at his throat. 

But Billy could see right through him, years of spending summers together, watching the way you and Steve argued, nose to nose and chests panting. He always made sure he had a front seat to the show and poking the angry bear only made the inevitable first argument so much more fun to witness.

Billy clicked his tongue, still grinning unbearably wide. “Maybe I can go visit Hawkins… I’m sure there’s something heavy that your girl needs help with.”

“She’s not my fucking girl.”

The blonde winked at Eddie as he passed, the longer haired boy doing nothing to hide his smile, knowing fine well what game Hargrove was playing. And shit, he was winning, ‘cause by the time Billy left and Steve spun back around, his fists were clenched and a heavy scowl pulled his brows together. 

“You’re too easy, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. He liked Eddie, and god, he knew he was right.

——————

“You know, every summer I expect you and Harrington to walk into camp, hand in hand, talkin’ all sweet to each other,” Robin wasn’t looking at you as she spoke, too busy stuffing already crumpled shirts into the shared dresser, but you knew she was grinning. “The sexual tension has to break sometime, you know?”

“Over my dead, fucking body.”

Your reply was one she’d heard before, year after year, summer after summer, because every June, the same thing happened. Fall outs, arguments, screaming matches in the mess hall, head to head battles on the dock, late night yelling over a campfire and a bottle of cheap bourbon.

“I still don’t get it,” the girl smirked, finally eyeing you from over the top bunk. The late morning light made the small cabin glow, the surface of the lake reflecting in through the open window and off of the panelled walls. “Steve isn’t that bad.”

“That’s because you didn’t have to go through high school with the King himself,” you deadpanned, already bored of the conversation. You’d had it before, several times over with almost all the camp staff, each one wondering why you and Steve fucking Harrington wanted to kill each other over a game of dodgeball, the last poptart at breakfast, picking teams on games night. “Harrington got everything I worked hard for, just ‘cause his daddy has some money.”

You threw your now empty duffle bag to the ground kicking at it until it slid underneath the bed. Your own pillow was in its rightful place on top, the peach coloured case clashing horribly with the army green duvet, but it smelled like home. 

“I announced I was running for class president in sophomore year, and then that asshole decided he would to,” you levelled Robin with a stare, still petulant after so many years. “He threw a party at his stupid rich house and by Monday, everyone was talking about Steve Harrington’s pool and how they were voting for him.”

“Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to hold onto such a grudge-”

You cut the girl off, on a tangent now she’d brought the sore subject up. “Like, wasn’t it enough that he was the swim team captain? And then! When we got into that stupid fight in Junior year, we both ended up with a weeks detention but no, no. Mr Harrington swoops in with a little two grand donation to the school’s library upgrade and low and behold, little Stevie is suddenly off the hook.”

You kicked another bag, this one not as empty and you tried not to wince when your toe made contact with what you assumed was a collection of books. 

“As long as his record is squeaky clean, right? S’not like his dad won’t just pay his way into fucking Yale, or Princeton, for him anyway,” you were grumbling now and when you looked up to see Billy Hargrove walking by with a too smug smile, you flipped him off, trying to make yourself feel better.

He just wiggled his fingers at you in a wave, winking when you grimaced.

“I think I need a drink,” you said, throwing yourself down onto the bed and concluding your Steve Harrington rant, more than likely only the first of the day.

The sheets smelled the same, like they always did. A little musty, like the back of a storage cupboard, almost hidden by the laundry detergent you knew Joyce made Hopper use. Fresh like pine needles, like the forest floor and mountain air. Kinda like another home. 

Robin barked out a laugh before coming over and standing between the space between your knees, your legs splayed over the too narrow mattress. She offered you a hand, exaggerating a loud groan when you took it and she pulled you back up to sit. An affectionate pat fell on your head before she looked around the mess of your half unpacked cabin, sheets and folded towels on the dressers, drawers open and half full, a litter of shoes by the door and an unplugged radio on a chair. 

“You know what?” She huffed out, “we both need a drink.”

——————

The keg party by the lake was a first night tradition, the older staff members long gone to their beds after a tiring first day in the forest heat, lugging around equipment and furniture. 

The rest of you gathered at the dock, crowding the small part of the water front that had sand instead of rocks, the air still warm from the leftover sun despite the stars in the sky. It was inky black in the middle of the woods, the clouds navy, the lake a mirror and the fire gave off an impressive amber glow.

Everyone was painted in orange light, pink and red on their cheeks, smoke in their hair and a different kind of fire in their chests when Billy produced a few bottles of cheap whisky, a half bottle of bourbon and surprising everyone, Nancy had added a bottle of vodka to the pile. Cheap beer came in the form of lukewarm kegs and despite the effort it took, Jonathan pulled the short straw and drove out of camp, meeting the delivery boy on the main road to pick up a pile of hot pizza boxes. 

It smelled like summer, smoke and god awful decisions.

The dirty beat of Need You Tonight by INXS started through the tannoys above you, the old, tinny speakers hidden in the trees.

Some people cheered, others moved to the sand to dance, a slow grind of bodies with their bare feet in the lake, water lapping at ankles as they moved. Steve was grinning from the dock, a rip in the one knee of his jeans, the skin underneath already tanned as if he belonged under the sun. The white t-shirt he wore was threadbare, years old with ‘camp upside down’ faded in green on the chest. 

He was watching you, a feeling that used to make you unravel, like you knew he did it just to earn a rise from you. So you waved instead, sugary sweet and full of sarcasm, huffing when he beckoned you closer with a hand that was holding the last of the bourbon, and you told yourself it was the promise of alcohol that made your feet move. 

You rolled your eyes before narrowing them at the boy in front of you, your red cup clutched to your chest and you couldn’t help but take another step forward, just a small one, until the toes of your shoes were touching his.

He looked down at the wooden boards, the water lapping underneath, barely seen between the cracks in the dark, but the boy was too focused on the way your converse bumped his nikes. It felt like a challenge, like everything with you did and when he looked back up, your chin was tilted high and your eyes were glittering.

You looked like trouble and he hated it. 

“Is this another one of your shitty mixtapes, Harrington?” You let the words drip from your lips, whisky mixing with distaste and the late night air.

Everything was warm and sweet, bourbon and peaches, campfire smoke and leftover lake water on your skin. Steve looked at you, eyes shining, freckles on his nose like stars and he grinned.

“How’d you know, princess?” He took the cigarette that had been tucked behind his ear, slid it between his lips as he kept your gaze, always undefeated in the staring contests you both never meant to start.

“‘Cause it sounds like something a boy would make when he’s trying too hard to get a chick in his bed.”

He lit the cigarette, still grinning, the end of it caught between teeth and Steve Harrington looked so unbelievably ready to play one of your little games with you. The ash burned red in the dim light, the sounds of your friends and co-workers dull behind you both.

“Does that mean it’s working?”

“You fucking wish, wonder boy,” you scoffed and you made a grab for the bottle he was holding, twisting your lips to hold in the annoyance when Steve moved it out of reach, holding the amber liquid above your head.

“So mean already,,” Steve tutted and you hated the familiar warmth that wrapped around his words, like it was supposed to be a compliment. “Don’t you usually wait for day three before breaking out that one?”

“Give it,” you demanded, and from over Steve’s shoulder you could see Eddie and Jonathan watching, expectant smiles on their faces and interest in their eyes.

“Make me, princess,” Steve answered, voice just as short as yours but he sounded too amused, like he always did when he was trying to push your buttons. The boy was too tall, his hand and the bottle well above your head, leaking into the night sky above and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself by trying to jump for it. 

So you drained what was left in your cup, the vodka was too cheap and it burned your tongue but the mix of cherry kool aid made up for it, staining your tongue red. You swiped at your lips, grinned and planted your hands on Steve’s chest much to his surprise. 

But just as his mouth fell into a pretty ‘o’ shape, his brown eyes darkened to that dark honey shade you were used to, you pushed, hard. He hit the water with a splash and to the raucous sound of whoops and cheers, a wolf whistle when he emerged, white top soaked and clinging to the ridges and dips of his muscles, tangled at his waist. 

He spluttered, waist deep in the lake as he stared back up at you, hair dripping into his eyes and oh, he was mad. You were fucking joyous, wrapped up in the way people were laughing and you didn’t break eye contact with the boy as you bent at the waist and picked up the bottle that’d dropped as he fell.

You pulled off the lid, grinned and brought it to your lips, draining the rest of the smoky drink, another burn that nipped at your throat, your chest, your skin. You felt too warm when you chased a stray drip of it with your thumb, sliding over your lip before sucking it back between your lips.

“Made you,” you told Steve. 

The things you do, don’t seem real. 

The kids arrived in a wave of colours and chaos, bags forgotten on buses, new cabins already turned inside out and Joyce had a queue as long as the lake outside of her office, her hands full of allergy medication, inhalers and requests to change bunks ‘cause ‘Kyle Jamison snores like a seventy year old with a lung condition.’

The camp itself was just as messy, it always had been. The old cabins littered the space, winding dirt tracks leading you into a cluster of trees, surrounding the old wooden huts, the porch light almost always flickering in the dark. 

There was faded bunting hanging from branch to branch, the old gym that sat with its rusting tin roof near the back, the dock with its splintering planks by the lake. The grassy hub at the centre was worn down by constant running and makeshift picnics and the wildflowers that free in between it all were getting too tall, bursts of red, yellow and orange between green moss. 

It was getting old, things were a little broken but the entire forest smelled like morning dew, that ‘it’s just rained’ kinda way and old campfire smoke. It was another home. 

Camp Upside Down was officially in full swing. 

You were pleased to see you had some of your returning favourites in your group that year: Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Suzie Bingham and Dustin Henderson. 

You were just going through the last of the names on your list, kids gathered in front of you and awaiting their assigned cabins when Steve snatched the clipboard from your hand, huffing. 

“Harrington!”

“What the hell is this?” Steve grumbled, looking at the sheet of paper and at your group. He singled out Dustin, and the boy flushed, all nervous grin and bright eyes underneath his curls. “Henderson, I thought you said you were requesting my group this year?”

The young boy shrugged, glancing at the trees instead of Steve. 

“I, uh, I said I was happy with either of you,” Dustin grinned, front teeth coming in more than they were last year and you beamed back. “Besides, Hawkins sneaks us extra cookies before bed.”

 You shot the boy a look. 

“Hey! I told you not to tell anyone about that,” you admonished, eyes rolling. “And that’s not my name, Dustin, we spoke about this last year.”

But before Dustin could argue back, Steve was pulling you aside, his hands shockingly warm as they wrapped around your wrist. You stumbled into the tree line with him, shoes sinking into moss, senses surrounded by cedar and cicadas and Steve. 

“What the fuck? Steve!” You hissed, pulling yourself from his grasp with a scowl. 

Before either if you could say anything,Lucas Sinclair, a tall, dark haired kid tapped a passing new counsellor on the arm. They looked concerned when the boy pointed to you both, hidden in the trees.

“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” he told them, voice bored and lacking any real worry. 

“You’re stealing my kids, princess!” Steve’s voice was just as annoyed as yours, his brow furrowed as he stabbed a finger at your sheet of names. 

“Stealing?” You scoffed, whacking your clipboard against his own. The metal clip narrowly missed his fingers and he swore at you hotly. “Stealing? They’re children, Harrington, not collectibles.”

The kids in question were giggling where you’d left them, your group mixing with Steve’s as they stared in that unabashed way only preteens could. You flushed when you heard one of them - Nancy’s brother, Mike, you were sure - made wet, kissing noises. Immature and highly ironic, you noted, considering he was standing hand in hand with a girl called El. 

You glared at them all and they quietened, but only just. 

Spinning back round to deal with your other problem, you pointed a finger to Steve’s chest, hating the way he smirked at your sudden frustration. 

“And what’s your point anyway, huh?” You huffed, “you have Maxine this year, I always have Max in my group!”

Steve looked entirely too smug as he bent a little at waist, crowding down into you so you were both toe to toe. 

You hated it. 

You hated his brown eyes, the way they caught the sun. You hated the smattering of freckles he got every summer, the moles on his neck, the ones you knew dotted the rest of his skin. You hated his hair, how it fell into his eyes when he got mad at you, how he was too focused on you to push it back. 

“Maybe Max just likes me better.”

You gasped, entirely offended at his accusation and before you could hurl something sharp and quick back at him, the girl in question raised her hand from the middle of the crowd, face scrunched in uncertainty. 

“Hi, uh, yeah” You both turned to look at the redhead. “Yeah, no, that’s absolutely not true.”

You rounded back on the boy, a shit eating grin on your face as you raised your brows, your expression victorious. 

“Whatever,” he mumbled, almost nose to nose now and you could smell the spearmint gum he’d chewed, the clean smell of his cologne, whatever body wash he’d used that morning. “Good luck keeping mini Byers alive.”

“Hey!” Will piped up, louder than he’d been last summer and he was scowling at Steve. “I only have three inhalers now.”

Steve rolled his eyes, finally moving out of your space and rounding up his kids like some sort of rogue cowboy, sans horse. He waved the boy away, sounding somewhat placating when he congratulated him. 

“That’s great, Will, honestly buddy,” Steve offered a fist bump, one that the smaller boy happily accepted. “Just don’t let Hawkins here let you forget them yeah?”

Steve turned back to you once more, still smug, still infuriating. “We wouldn’t want her to get in trouble now, would we?”

——————

“Camp has been in session for five minutes.”

Murray was standing in front of you, hands open in a gesture that screamed ‘for the love of god, explain yourselves.’ Hopper was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, fingers running circles at his temples and he sighed heavily. 

Neither you nor Steve spoke, eyes trained on the old, worn floorboards, converse shuffling, shoulders shrugging, lips twisted to hide your matching smirks. 

“Does someone want to explain what happened this time? Because we can’t keep throwing kayaks in the trash like they’re broken cups, people! They're not cheap!”

“Well, you see, Steve has this real annoying habit of-”

“- just because the princess feels then need to win at everything-”

“I need to win at everything?! Me?! Are you fu-”

“Yes you! Always breathin’ down my back, waitin’ for me to fuck up so you can-”

“Enough!“ Hopper jumped up from his chair, hands slamming on his desk as he hunched over it, shoulders heaving, face too red. “Who. Broke. The Kayak?”

You and Steve sighed, shoulder slumped, heads tilted to the ceiling as if you could avoid the question, each other, the inevitable punishment that was coming your way. You sighed, Steve groaned and you both swore. 

Because, honestly? You weren’t sure who’s fault it was. Maybe yours, probably Harrington's. More than likely both. ‘Cause the kids had stumbled out of the lake, giddy and a little sunburnt, leaving you to haul the kayaks onto the shore on your own.

Steve had only watched you for a few minutes, smirk on his face as you struggled with the faded red boats, huffing as you attempted to lift them onto the racks, feet clumsy and damp hair sticking to your forehead, your cheeks. 

In fact, he looked entirely too amused as he leaned against the dock and by the time he’d come over, offering a rare display of help, you stubbornly told him to ‘fuck off.’

 He’d laughed at that, angering you more and you squeaked as he stretched out behind you, his chest still bare from helping his group in the water, and the solid warmth of it brushed against your back when his hands moved to help yours.

He jumped when you did, hands stuttering over your own, over the kayak and you had to push yourself up onto your toes when the boat slipped from the railing. You both caught it in time, Steve pressed into you, cedar and mint and boyish cologne as the curve of your ass settled into his hips. As soon as the kayak was in place, you spun, pushing at his shoulders.

“I can do it myself,” you mumbled, suddenly far too flustered to sound overly annoyed. “I don’t need your help.”

“Christ, princess, you sound like a five year old,” Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the flush on his cheeks, looking like you felt. “Can’t admit when you need help, huh?”

“I don’t need help from you, wonder boy,” you tried to laugh, but it came out too pitchy, too forced. 

The camp was quiet now the kids had gone back to their cabins, the lake settling after the afternoon swim, the smell of churros and pizza rolls coming from the mess hall. The air fizzed with summer heat and something else and you weren’t sure why, but your chest was heaving, the straps of your swimsuit suddenly feeling too tight. 

“Stop calling me that,” Steve growled, eyes flashing and he moved into you again, the way he did when every argument started. “You know I fuckin’ hate that.”

“No shit,” you spat, meeting him in the middle, chin raised in a taunt, a dare, a challenge. “You think I’m here to make your life easier than it already is?” “You’re fucking infuriating,” Steve hissed, “you know fuck all about my life, princess, don’t act like you’re so hard done by.”

You pressed a hand to Steve’s stomach, ignoring the way the muscles there clenched under your touch and you pushed at him, something inside you crackling when he didn’t budge. 

You hated his stupid smile, the way his lips twisted when he made you mad enough to scrunch your nose at him. You hated the way he looked down at you when you were this close, through his lashes, like you were something to be studied. Like he liked the way got into his personal space.

“Well damn, why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Harrington?”

Steve pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek to try and hide his grin, and he shrugged, trying to look entirely unbothered at your pushing. He took another step towards you, chasing you slowly when you stumbled back, body pressed to the stacked kayaks behind you. 

The old boats were warm from the sun, the cheap pvc hot on your skin, back bared down the low cut of your swimsuit, your shorts doing nothing to protect the backs of your thighs. You wondered if that’s why your chest felt flushed, if that’s why your face was heating up. 

“Can’t do that,” he said, tutting before taking his time letting his eyes drop down your body, before trailing back up again. He caught your gaze, held it, bolder than ever. “I’ll get in too much trouble.”

And then, he fucking winked. 

So really, it was Steve’s fault that you stumbled into the racks, the kayak that the boy had just helped you push into place rocking on the rails. Neither of you had the reflexes to do anything about it when it slipped backwards, landing on the hard ground, the dull thud ringing out across camp, the sound ending with a sharp crack, the pvc splitting across the bow of the boat. 

So that’s how you both ended your night in the mess hall, waving after Bob as he finished serving up sloppy joes and went to find the gaggle of kids that demanded that he needed to fix their broken Walkmans and waterlogged Mattel electronic games. 

Murray had stood in front of you both, grinning widely as he handed you mops and cleaning supplies, gleefully pointing out the mustard stains on the linoleum, the spattering of jello that had somehow painted one of the windows. 

It was times like these that you were almost sure you preferred Hopper’s red face and grumbled lectures. 

“I want this place spotless,” Murray told you both, waving a pair of yellow rubber gloves at Steve. The boy snatched them, face less than impressed when the man simply chuckled. “If you can flirt somewhere away from expensive camp property, you can work out some of this sexual tension by trying to get rid of that dried in chilli from last year.”

You would’ve gagged at the mention of the fossilised food if you hadn’t burned at the insinuation of flirting. And sexual tension. With Steve fucking Harrington. 

But the boy beat you to it, as always, his eyes widening and he brandished the mop like a weapon as he pointed at you. 

“We were not flirting,” he insisted, “we do not flirt.”

Murray chuckled, “alright Casanova, keep your hair on.” 

You snorted and Steve scowled, shooting you a look that clearly was meant to tell you to shut the fuck up, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Murray, I’d like to think in all the years that we’ve known each other, you’d think I had better taste than to pine after Harrington,” you turned to the boy, smiling as sweet as the summer outside. “Wonder boy has enough of the fifteen year olds twirling their pigtails for him.”

“Stop calling me that.”

You ignored him, splashing his trainers with your mop instead and he kicked your bucket in return. 

“Yeah, no, this?” Murray clicked his fingers at you both, pointing back and forth at you as if you were a science experiment. “This is ridiculous. Do something about it before you both implode. I’m not having you take the entire camp down just because you’re both too horny to come to terms with normal human emotions.”

Your jaw dropped, a small noise of indignation coming from you and Steve looked completely bewildered. 

He grinned once more, smug as he shook his head, like he was the only enjoying whatever inside joke was going on. He turned to leave, not before reaching into his pocket and flicking something at Steve. 

The boy caught it instinctively and he turned to the man with wide eyes. But Murray was already walking away, a stern hand raised in the air, finger pointed to the roof as if he was giving you both some sage words of wisdom as he called out:

“Keep it clean!”

You realised he wasn’t just referring to the mess hall when Steve held up the object, face aghast and cheeks positively on fire, the square, foil packet pinched between his fingers. 

You were burning, mouth open in surprise and you panicked, batting Steve’s hand and making the condom fall into the sudsy water you had both already spilled onto the floor. 

You definitely preferred Hopper’s way of punishment. 

“Put that in the trash, right fucking now,” you demanded, staring at the offending object like it was a ticking time bomb, waiting to blow. 

“Christ, settle down, princess priss,” Steve huffed, “it’s not gonna bite.”

But for once, he did what you asked, the highs of his cheeks still tinted pink as he snatched the silver packet from the floor, stuffing it deep into the trash bags you’d both been equipped with. He didn’t look at you. 

You both worked in silence as the late afternoon turned into dusk, the sky outside the window a pretty lavender, the clouds over the lake turning the water tangerine and it was so quiet. 

Most of the kids would be in their bunks by now, some excitedly making their way over to one of the older cabins where Eddie would organise a game of Dungeons and Dragons for them all. Nancy would be in Hop’s office, going through the next week's schedule and Jonathan would be hidden in his makeshift darkroom, a small shed that was once used for bikes. 

You were almost certain Billy would be skulking the woods, looking for a ritual sacrifice or some lone kid to blow his shrill whistle at. Either option seemed likely. 

Robin would probably already be back in your shared cabin, music on, one of Eddie’s free joints hanging from her lips and you wondered if Steve would normally spend his down time alone, or if he liked to wander the collection of bars the next town over had to offer. If he brought some girl back to his cabin, if he pressed her down onto his stupid bunk that probably smelled like sunscreen and his cologne. 

Your stomach twisted ugly at the thought and you slammed the soaking mop down onto the floor harder than you needed to. 

You were positively glowering at the streaks of leftover over pudding some kind had smeared across the floor, kicking the forgotten baseball cards and tiny action figures so they skittered under the stacked chairs. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” The boy called out. 

He was sitting on one of the long lunch tables, legs swinging with a smirk on his face. He’d hardly cleaned, you’d come to realise, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You had other reasons to be mad now. 

You stared at him from across the empty hall, chest heaving with an annoyance that only Steve Harrington could pull from you. You let mop clatter roll the floor, uncaring as you rounded on him. 

“You,” you spat, hands on your hips and hair messy from where the late night heat made it stick to your forehead. 

“Me?” Steve asked, all faux shock and innocence with a hand pressed to his chest. He grinned, wolfish and sharp edges. “Didn’t realise I had an effect on your underwear, princess, wanna elaborate?”

There it was again, you realised. That flirting lilt that weaved its way through his usual taunts and teases, Steve’s normal bite not quite cutting as deep. Not this year, not this time. 

It made you flustered, on edge, unable to formulate the kind of barbed reply you usually kept on the tip of your tongue, just for him, and oh my god, it infuriated you. 

“You have absolutely no reason to be thinking about what’s under my shorts, Harrington,” you told him, eyes narrowed as you went about moving the stacks of chairs against the wall. 

“Bold of you to assume I’d want to, Hawkins.”

The light was leaking from the day and what was left of the sun made the shadows on Steve’s face lilac and peach. You didn’t know you’d marched over to him until you were able to reach out and touch him. 

You didn’t. You couldn’t. 

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, “don’t call me that as if you don’t come from the same shitty, backwater town as me.”

Steve leaned forward, his hands curling around the edge of the table as he raised his brows, ready for another argument. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like he’d trapped the sun in his chest, like summer lived inside of him. 

“D’you prefer princess? The princess of Hawkins, is that it?” His voice was mocking, his eyes sarcastically soft. 

“Fuck off, Harrington,” you snarled, and you couldn’t help but lean in too, Steve’s knees pressing into the front of your thighs, your fists clenched by your sides. “At least I’m getting away from that place without my daddy paying my way out.”

“Watch your mouth, sweetheart,” Steve spoke lowly, more serious than you’d heard him before. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ooh, did I hit a nerve, sweetheart?” You bit back. 

The boy stared at you, gaze heavy and hot in a way that made you squirm. The air was buzzing, popping and crackling like there had been a fire lit between you and suddenly, you didn’t know how you were supposed to end this fight. 

The tension was too thick to walk away from, sticky like honey, trapping you there. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” he whispered, staring at you like you were a puzzle piece that just didn’t fit. “You’re a pain in my ass, you have been since fucking freshman year.”

You scoffed, pinched and nipped by his words because you were just as aggravated by his presence as he was yours. Maybe more. And probably for longer. 

“Freshman year?” You said, surprise colouring your tone. “That’s real cute Harrington, but you’ve been getting on my last fucking nerve since seventh grade.”

“Seventh grade? What the fu-”

You sucked in a breath, preparing yourself. You’d been waiting for this moment for eight years. 

“Mrs Duncan’s science fair!” You burst out, “I worked my ass off making those vegetable batteries!”

Steve was staring at you blankly, lips parted. 

“I had my tables and all my charts, I even bought a metre to measure the voltage with just my pocket money!” You jabbed a finger to his chest, lips twisted into an almost pathetic pout but you felt twelve again and Steve Harrington still pushing your buttons. 

“And you! You waltzed in half an hour late, with a stupid bottle of coke and some mentos, claiming that you’d been the one to discover fucking CO2.”

Steve, unable to hide his amused smile, just shrugged. “I was barely thirteen, Jesus Christ princess…”

“And then your dad came in behind you,” you sniffed. “He walked right up to Mrs Duncan and handed her a piece of paper. And I remember it had a few zeros on it,” you laughed without much humour. 

The smile slipped from Steve’s face. 

“It was so weird, y’know? How that happened and then you won? And then the next week the library had been restocked and suddenly there were new bunsen burners in the science lab.”

You were genuinely surprised when Steve shoved past you, his hands a shocking heat on the dip of your waist as he grabbed at you to tug you out of his way. You didn’t know when you’d moved to stand between his legs, close enough to see the different shades of brown in his eyes, the way there was a small freckle just below his left brow. 

He was marching across the mess hall, mop and trash bag forgotten and you were so shocked that it took you a few seconds before you called out, weaker than you had previously been speaking. 

“What’s wrong, wonder boy? Don’t like it when you’re called out?”

You weren’t sure if you felt smug or concerned when he spun on his heel, stalking back towards you and moving into you, close enough that the mess of his hair brushed your forehead. But you stood your ground, your legs bumping into the back of the table he’d just left, and you watched through interested eyes as Steve’s chest heaved. 

He looked like he wanted to say something, to yell at you even. But you tilted your chin in one last act of defiance, the tip of your nose just, just brushing his and you swore on everything that was holy that you watched the fight leave him. 

He was still breathing heavily, like he’d run a mile, took a few hits in a boxing ring, got into a fight with a pretty girl and walked back in for more. You hated it when you realised your chest was moving the same, breaths leaving you in short bursts but you didn’t dare let your stare drop from the boy’s. 

You watched lips part, you watched his gaze drop to your mouth and suddenly the birds outside stopped chirping and you could’ve sworn that the world ceased spinning. It felt like the forest was waiting. 

Like it was holding its breath. 

But then the mop that Steve had left resting against the table he had crowded you against fell, clattering to the floor with a sharp echo. It startled you both, jumping apart as you shared one last breath together, eyes on the floor, cheeks burning. 

You didn’t try to stop him when he left a second time, managing to disappear out of the door and into the summer night. You watched the trees and the shadows swallow him, fireflies and leftover smoke in the air and fucking hell, you hated that you watched him walk away until his cabin door could be heard slamming shut.

Tell me what you’ve got in mind. 

By the end of the second week of camp, the staff was starting to show the stress of running after a bunch of kids twenty four hours a day. Some of the younger children in Robin's group had caught a bug, and between your friend, yourself and Joyce, you were all run ragged, hauling buckets across camp and dishing out cold compresses like sweets. 

So when Saturday rolled in, warmer than the last, you were all ready to let off some steam, meeting behind the gymnasium when the sun went down, greeted by a small fire that Eddie got going in an old trash can. He brought some pre-rolled joints, some stolen bags of chips from Bob’s secret stash and the gym was far away enough from the rest of the camp that no one heard the noise of the boombox Jonathan brought with him. 

You threw your own additions into the middle of the makeshift circle that the seven of you made, the newer counsellors still too scared to toe the line of what might get them fired. You stared at the pile of paraphernalia in the middle of the halved logs, makeshift sofas in the too long grass. 

A baggie of weed, a grinder and Eddie’s tin of joints, Billy’s favourite whisky, another bottle of vodka - loaded with cherry jolly ranchers that made it pretty and pink. A few cassettes, some homemade mixtapes, the stolen chips, some red vines and sour patch kids, the packet already open and sugar coating the grass.

You hadn’t really spoken to Steve since the mess hall incident. 

You’d rather immaturely begged Eddie to switch block sessions with you, allowing you to take your kids to the other side of camp, far from where Steve spent time with his group. You’d organised a massive arts and craft project with Nancy instead, avoiding her knowing looks and pointed questions, letting Dustin go crazy with googly eyes, glitter and neon felt tips instead. 

It didn’t matter if you’d asked the kids to make their favourite animal, you’d accept Henderson’s four eyed, sparkly green lizard looking thing over Nancy’s inquisition any day of week. You felt a little bad though, when you all discovered as a group that Will was most definitely allergic to the new type of glue sticks that Hopper had bought. 

But it meant that you’d only seen Steve during some meal times, a glance over breakfast, a small collision during one dinner, fries and a bottle of iced tea falling to the floor and everyone had stopped, stared, waited for the yells. 

They hadn’t come. 

You’d watched him argue with Max when she climbed a tree that he’d already warned her was too tall, you and your group stopping mid swim in the lake to bob around in the current, watching as the boy kicked a dead branch in frustration before scrambling up after her when Max inevitably got stuck. 

You knew he was listening in when Dustin started asking why you worked at the camp, a question he asked you every year. You always told the boy it was because you loved seeing him and the rest of the rugrats he called friends. And it always worked when he was younger, ‘cause he’d smile and let you muss up his curls, overjoyed with such an answer and a piece of bubblegum from your pocket. 

But he was older now and less believing and when you gave him the same adoring monologue, he simply raised his brows and asked again. 

“College,” you had told him simply. “Or money really. I need the cash to be able to leave Hawkins and go somewhere else.”

“Where?” Dustin had asked you, sincere in only the way kids could be. 

You were overly aware that Harrington was sitting behind you at the other table, back to back with you on the benches as he showed El how to tie her elastic just right, so that her slingshot would definitely beat Sinclairs. You didn’t have it in you to tell both of them that that kind of craft project definitely wasn’t allowed. 

You leaned into Dustin instead and shrugged, smiling softly despite the way you saw Steve in your peripheral, turning just enough so he could hear you say:

“Anywhere.”

So it was a little jarring when he arrived at your little staff get together, camp shirt replaced with one of his own, a sunshine yellow tee that made his eyes look like honey and his skin more tanned. You hated that you noticed, that you knew he looked good. 

He greeted everyone warmly, bar you, sending you a curt nod of his head over the burning fire that had Nancy rolling her eyes and Robin poking you in the ribs. Because there were no barbed wire words exchanged between either of you, no jabs, no bites, no smug smiles or sarcastic grins. 

“What is going on with you two?”

You ignored her question, giving her a warning glare that she also chose to ignore, ‘cause she went and sat next to Eddie and Jonathan instead, whispering to them behind the plumes of smoke they’d created. 

After a few drinks and several people telling Billy to shut up, the night turned darker, the sky navy and the air still stiflingly warm. The fire was more a source of light than heat at this point, or as Eddie liked to remind everyone, ‘it’s for the ambience,’ and everyone was doing their best to stay away from the flames, skin already tight and sore with fresh sunburn from that day. 

It only took the vodka bottle being emptied before Billy announced a game of truth or dare, to which everyone groaned and asked what age he was. But he tutted, unperturbed and dropped the empty glass bottle into the middle of the messy circle your bodies had made. 

“Don’t be so fuckin’ boring,” he intoned, “it’s either this or hitchhiking into Bloomington to find a chick that likes being on top-”

The girls groaned, faces pulled into disgust and Jonathan was shaking his head, a bemused look on his face. 

“-and quite frankly that seems like too much effort tonight.”

Steve scoffed, taking the joint Eddie offered him, pushing it between his lips for a hit before he turned to Billy, one eyebrow raised. 

“You mean finding a girl that doesn’t already know you’re a giant dickhead is gettin’ harder to find?”

Sometimes you wondered if Steve hated Billy more than he hated you. 

“There’s always your princess,” Billy grinned, eyeing you in a way that made you feel like you were under a microscope. “She’s gotta give into me sometime, right?”

“Keep dreaming, Hargrove,” you butted in, doing nothing to hide the disgust in your voice. You wanted to kick yourself when you realised you’d responded to being Steve’s princess, your name never even being mentioned. “I’d rather kiss Harrington.”

The wave of something washed over the group at your words, wide eyes and soft smirks, and you felt your stomach sink. Steve was staring at you, eyes lit up with something that looked akin to a challenge, a dare that you hadn’t yet been asked. 

Fuck. 

“Is that so?” Billy laughed, a harsh noise that let everyone know he wasn’t happy at your statement. But he grinned, sharp teeth and sharper blue eyes, steely on you. “You always pick dare, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“That’s not-”

“I dare you to give us all some entertainment and make out with Harrington,” Billy continued, talking over you without even blinking. “Maybe if both of your mouths are busy, we’ll get some fuckin’ peace and quiet around here.”

Nobody breathed. 

But someone must’ve picked your mixtape out of the pile, ‘cause the opening beat to ‘I Think We’re Alone Now,’ by Tiffany, started to play. You stared at Billy, shocked at his suggestion, his demand. The game suddenly felt less fun and the only sounds were the echo of your strangled scoff and the crackle of the fire. 

But then Nancy was pushing her foot into your ankle from where she sat on her boyfriend's lap, eyes glittering. 

“On you go,” she told you, and you think she was trying to be encouraging. 

“What?”

“What?” Nancy repeated, doe eyes innocent and wide, like she didn’t know what she was doing. “You picked dare!”

“I didn’t say shit!” You exclaimed, looking around at your friends for help. Robin and Eddie were cackling, faces pressed into each others shoulders, and being absolutely no fucking help to you. “Guys!”

“C’mon, Hawkins, you don’t like to lose now, do you?” Billy was grinning from where he lazed across some old crash mats, his voice a slow drawl as he chewed some gum obnoxiously. “Give Harrington a little lovin’.”

‘Children, behave… that’s what they say when we’re together.’

You turned to Steve, who was still leaning against the gym wall, his eyes finding yours even in the dim evening light. He looked unsure, nervous even, like he was ready to tell the rest of them to shut up, to pack it in. But then he watched the way you brought the bottle of wine to your lips, letting the rest of the sweet drink trickle past your lips and god, he looked at you like he was ready to fight. 

Dark brown eyes, smirk on his lips, cocky tilt of his head like he was waiting for you. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth as he watched you stand there, thinking, weighing up your options. 

“What’s my forfeit?” You asked cautiously. 

You turned when Billy chuckled, blue eyes looking as navy as the sky. He let his head tip back, smoke slipping from his lips and into the trees before he grinned at you, far, far too happily. 

“Me,” he told you. 

So Steve sighed, overly dramatic before he spoke to the group, voice full of that easy confidence you hated so much. 

“Don’t worry princess, you can give it your best shot and I promise I won’t feel a damn thing.”

Your friends cackled and hollered around you; always thoroughly amused by the show you and Steve put on. Robin shook her head from where she sat beside Eddie, a shit eating grinning pulling at her lips and she spilled some beer as she leaned forward and called out:

“What’s that they say? It’s a fine line between love and hate?”

More laughs, whispers and knowing nudges, dollar bills exchanging hands as the group placed their bets on what would happen next. 

“I bet your dick says otherwise.”

You don’t know what made you mention Steve Harrington’s dick, but it made the boy’s jaw go slack and the rest of the circle lost it. More whistles, jeering and catcalls broke the quiet of the night, loud over the music, louder because of the vodka and you couldn’t help but set Steve with a smile and a shrug. 

This felt like a game you wanted to win. 

So you walked over to where he stood, leaning lazy against the gym wall, watching you move towards him like a predator stalking its prey. He was looking at you the same way he did when you ended up on opposite teams for a game of capture the flag, all red hot intensity, pride and confidence bubbling over. 

You were surprised when Steve’s hands settled on the dip of your waist, holding you there as you pushed up on your toes to find his lips. Your hand grabbed at his shirt, fisted at the collar to pull him down to you and something in your stomach tumbled when he obeyed.  

He didn’t make any more moves though, eyes almost closed as he looked at you through his lashes, watching, waiting, seeing if you fulfilled your dare. 

It was awfully quiet now, your friends silent, the radio and the fire both crackling and you could hear how you and Steve’s harsh breaths fell over each other’s faces. 

You’d never been this close before. And then it all happened a little too fast. 

His fingers flexed at your sides, digging into the soft there and you weren’t sure if it was out of anticipation, impatience or annoyance. There is as something screaming inside of you to move away, to take the loss, that kissing Steve fucking Harrington wouldn’t be worth the five second glory of completing a dare behind the gym hall. 

But then Steve was whispering and it fell across your lips, his breath sweet like raspberry sour patch kids and rosè wine. 

“If you’re too scared, princess, I totally understa-“

One more push was all you needed. A poke, a pinch, from him, the one person who knew how to rile you up the best. 

You kissed him with a surprising softness. Your mouths clashed rough at first, like you did it just to shut him up, to prove a point. And that was true. But your lips gave way to him with surprising ease, a push and pull that felt less like a fight than you thought it would. 

It was easy to pretend it wasn’t a dare when Steve let out the prettiest sound, a half sigh, half groan that came from the back of his throat and when he tried to move into you, to take a little more control, your hand that was still curled into his shirt pushed him back into the wall he was leaning on. 

He seemed to like that though, ‘cause you felt the curve of his lips on yours, smiling into the kiss and his grip on your waist got almost too tight, like he was planning on leaving marks on you. 

Maybe he was. 

But then it was a fight, like always, the most dizzying kind. His lips were hot and he tasted sweet, like summer and candy and too cheap alcohol. It felt nice to be kissed, it was all very nice until you remembered it was Harrington and you pushed into him a little harder, nipped at his lip and tugged on his hair. He gave it back just as good, nails scraping against your back, just catching bare skin as he lifted the shirt from your sides. 

No one said a word when you parted. Not you, not Steve, not your friends. Not even Billy. You left Steve with a small gasp, a soft noise as you finally parted, so entirely unaware of how long you’d been caught up in his kiss. You felt bruised, on fire, like you’d just stumbled away from your most heated argument yet. 

The only saving grace was that he looked as dizzy as you felt. 

—————

When a team meeting was called early the next morning, you walked into Hopper's cabin last, only to find everyone in different stages of a hangover, but all equally happy to see you. 

They were all grinning, wide, knowing smiles that set your own teeth on edge, your headache worsening when you caught sight of Steve slouched low on the sofa. 

He had a pair of Ray Bans perched on his nose and he didn’t look at you when you walked in, eyes on the floor and wincing. 

Why the fuck did you kiss Steve fucking Harrington?

“Good morning to you, darlin’,” Billy drawled from where he was leaning against Murray’s desk, smirking with tired eyes. “Sleep well? You didn’t come knockin’ on my cabin so I assume Harrington took real good care of you.”

Oh, you remembered. That’s why. 

“Fuck off, Hargrove.”

It was all you could muster when your mouth still tasted like bourbon and Steve, and Murray looked thoroughly interested when he took to the middle of the floor, clipboard in hand. 

“I don’t know what went on last night,” he chuckled, “but I’m sure your hungover asses will be pleased to know that it’s hike day.”

Please for the love of god, no. 

Everyone groaned, faces dropping in upset and Robin, who had already been sitting on the floor, her back to Nancy’s legs, slumped over, cheek pressed to the old carpet and she made a noise that was akin to a wail. 

“Lucky for most of you, we already have sign ups,” Murray crowed gleefully. “Harrington, Hawkins número dos, have a great day.”

Your mouth fell open in protest - hypocritical, you knew, considering you went through the training for hiking safety last summer, but you weren’t on the schedule until next week. 

You stared at Nancy who was flicking through the rota with confusion knitted into her features and when she caught your eye, she just shrugged. 

“No, no, no,” you told Murray, a strange laugh bubbling in your throat that sounded like panic, “I’m not taking my kids out until next weekend, with Robin!”

Murray shrugged, not looking like he really cared and he crossed his arms, nodding his head towards Eddie. 

“No, I know,” he told you in a voice he probably thought was soothing. “But Eddie Munster here-”

“Um, it’s Munson actually.”

“Whatever - your idiot colleague here decided that the road less travelled was the best way home last night.” Murray grinned and pointed down to where Eddie’s foot sat on a small stool, his ankle wrapped tightly in a haphazard bandage. “He’s sprained it.”

You gaped at the boy and Eddie had the right to look sorry, his teeth bared in an apologetic grimace and he mouthed “sorry” at you from beside Steve. His bunk mate hardly stirred. 

“Can’t someone else go?” You asked, spinning back to Murray and you didn’t even care that you sounded desperate. “Like, literally anyone else?”

But Murray kept smiling, his clipboard clasped to his chest like a schoolgirl with a secret diary and he sighed dramatically at you before shaking his head. 

“No.”

“But Hopper specifically said  that we’re not allowed to group together anymore!” You tried, gesturing wildly to Steve who barely answered with a groan. “Not after summer eighty three when he almost drowned me.” 

“Okay that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

You rounded on the boy, hands still flapping around yourself. “Oh, he speaks! Don’t you have anything to say about this?”

Steve peered at you from over the top of his sunglasses, brown eyes weary behind them. He groaned, frowned and pushed his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, no, I’m too tired to argue right now, princess.”

Murray looked entirely too amused and he crooked his finger in air quotes when he snorted and said, “sure, tired, gotcha.” He turned back to you, still grinning obnoxiously. “Anyway, chief isn’t here today and I figured there isn’t any boating equipment for either of you to break out in the mountains.”

The group tittered. 

“So hop to it,” he clapped his hands, board tucked under his arm and everyone leapt to their feet when the older man made a move to grab the whistle that hung around his neck. “The kids are finishing breakfast and I want both your groups at the meeting point for a safety debrief before nine.”

—————

You were busy smearing another layer of sunscreen on Will’s nose when Dustin appeared at your side. 

The two groups had made it halfway up the trail, the sun lazy and warm, the way it could only be on an early morning hike. The sky was still hazy, a soft blue lavender that made the clouds in the sky seem dreamlike. The kids were still quiet with sleep, trailing happily behind each other, trading secrets and sips of water with their assigned hike buddies. 

It was nice. Apart from Steve leading the way with a scowl on his face. 

“Are you and Steve fighting?” Dustin asked, curls stuffed messily under a Camp Upside Down hat. 

You finished patting at Will’s forehead as you turned to the other boy with a soft frown. But the two kids stared up at you expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of answer. 

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Henderson,” you laughed softly, “but Harrington and I fight all the time. Argue, I mean. Hitting is bad.” 

Will rolled his eyes as he fell back into step beside you, the three of you continuing up the path a little behind the rest of the group. But Dustin tugged at your shirt sleeve, clearly not finished with the conversation, nor satisfied with your answer. 

“But that’s the point,” he proclaimed and you huffed as you pulled him out of the way of a fallen branch, his attention focused too much on you to notice it in his way. “You haven’t been mean to each other all morning.”

“Or called each other names,” Will pointed out from the other side of you. 

“That’s because name calling isn’t nice,” you tried to protest, but your voice sounded weak even to your own ears. 

“You call each other names all the time.”

For the love of god. 

Suzie Bingham had appeared beside Dustin, coke bottle glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she set you with a knowing look. Dustin grinned at the girl's appearance, cheeks pink as their shoulders brushed together on the narrow path. 

“That’s not the point,” you told her, grappling for an explanation. You glanced up ahead, over the crowd of children’s heads to see Steve bickering with Lucas and Mike, Max poking him in the back with a long stick as she trudged behind them. “We’re adults.”

All three kids stared at you, expressionless and less than impressed. 

“Have you and Steve ever kissed?” Will suddenly asked, letting the words burst out from his chest like he knew he shouldn’t have asked. 

You tripped over a branch, the same fallen sticks that scattered the trail that you’d pulled Dustin away from. You turned to look at the boy so fast that your neck protested, your eyes wide. 

“Because Steve looks at you like he wants to kiss you all the time.” 

And then you were on the ground, gravel stuck to your bare knees and dirt on your hands and shins, swearing at the forest floor because all you could think about was the press of Harrington’s lips on yours, the way he dug his fingers into your sides like he couldn’t let go. 

Fuck. 

“Shit!” You cried out, hot, frustrated tears brimming at your lash line and you winced when you tried to stand back up. 

Suzie dropped to the trail beside you, eyes worried as she took note of the blood that slipped down your leg, a nasty gash on your knee that looked like it came from the jagged piece of bark that lay beside you. 

“Someone get Steve,” she started to say, a small hand on your shoulder that brought a little comfort. 

But Dustin was already cupping his hands over his mouth and positively hollering over the line of kids that were oblivious to what was going on behind them. 

“STEVE!” 

You groaned, “Dustin, no, I’m fine, honest.” 

“You’re bleeding!” Will protested, looking rather sickly at the sight of the red line that was quickly seeking into the white of your sock. 

“STEEEVE!”

“Kill me,” you whispered to the ground, “just kill me.”

You saw Steve’s trainers before anything else, the soft thud, thud, thud of his soles on the dirt as he pushed his way through to you. You managed to shove yourself back, your knees protesting before dropping to your ass, inspecting your bloodied leg, wincing. 

“Shit, are you okay?”

No comment about your clumsiness, or how you were dumb, or how your dirty, cut up knee looked gross. No, Steve’s voice was shockingly soft with concern as he dropped down on his haunches to inspect your injury. 

“M’fine,” you muttered, cheeks warm because he was almost as close as he had been last night, smelling like leftover cologne and sunscreen, the strawberry smoothie you’d watched him grab at breakfast. 

“Really?” He mused, his tone disbelieving. “‘Cause that looks pretty nasty, princess.”

His hand moved to cup the back of your sore knee, fingers tucked into the sensitive skin there as he went to inspect the scrape. You jolted at his touch, body electric underneath him and you watched the way Steve’s eyes widened at your reaction. 

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“What? No, yes, fuck,” you were panicking, you could hear it in your voice and from somewhere behind you, you heard the distinctive sound of Max Mayfield’s laugh. “Just, Christ, don’t touch me.”

“I’m trying to help, idiot,” Steve snarked but he backed off scowling. You watched how he flexed his hand after he let go of your leg, like his skin was burning the same way yours was, like he’d been scalded. “You need to go get that cleaned.”

You hated that the boy was right but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing out loud. Instead, you wrestled to your feet, grunting as you did so, wiggling your ankle to make sure you hadn’t suffered the same fate as Eddie. It seemed fine, nothing crunched at least, but the sting around your split skin screamed at you. 

Another slide of red rushed from your cut and down your leg as you moved it and beside you, Will groaned, quickly moving into the crowd to find Mike, his head pushed into his friend's shoulder and his hands clutched at his own stomach. 

A chorus of “eww’s” came from the kids and you weren’t fairing much better, your expression pitiful as you watched your white converse turn crimson. You held your leg out awkwardly, hardly balancing on your good one and every time you pushed your foot to the ground, you hissed. 

It stung like a bitch. 

But then Steve was clapping his hands, well into camp mother mode as he demanded the kids attention. To his credit, everyone looked at him, waiting for further instruction. Well, everyone except Max, who’d found a larger, longer stick and was holding it, javelin style. 

“Okay, let’s go,” he announced, his eyes still on you, and you were still surprised to see worry knitted in the space between his brows. “Turn it around gremlins, everyone in front of us and take your time going back down, okay? Stick with your buddy.”

The kids obeyed, muttering between themselves about how much blood was on your leg and would Hopper let them go to the lake now instead? But they trailed back down the path, two by two, and you and Steve waited for the last pair to pass you before he turned, grimacing.

“Put your arm ‘round me.”

You baulked, staring at the boy as if he’d suddenly grown another head. 

“What? No,” you hated that you sounded so nervous, and you wondered if he could tell.

“Christ, woman,” Steve rolled his eyes, offering a hand out to you, the warmth of it hovering close to the small of your back. “Can you swallow your fucking pride for a second and let me help you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed, but you wobbled on your one good leg and Steve didn’t try to hide his smile.

“Stubbornness, then,” he mused, eyes on you and his hand still hovering over your back as you started down the hill, an uneven step that had you swearing and muttering to yourself. “Spite, maybe?”

“Fuck you, Harrington,” you told him plainly, hardly any heat behind it for once due to all your attention focused on the pain you were in. Your poor sock was ruined.

Steve’s shoulder bumped yours, his body too close, acting like a buffer in case you fell again. You huffed every time you touched, bare arms brushing, hips grazing and his damn hand still an almost touch on your spine. You could feel the warmth radiate from him. 

“Is that dare, princess?” He was smirking. 

You stumbled, swearing profusely as you had no choice but to reach out and grab the boy. Steve was already halfway to you, his arm resting at your waist, his other hand catching yours as it grappled for purchase on something. His fingers curled around yours and you were surprised to realise, that aside from the night before, this was the most you had touched the boy in all the years you had known him. 

It was dizzying. But maybe that was the blood loss. His palm was even warmer where it was pressed against your back, the dip where the band of your shorts sat, fitting into the curve rather nicely. Steve guided you down the trail, taking more of your weight when the ground became rockier, the gravel under your soles making you slip, your side falling into Steve’s.

“We’re not talking about that,” you told him, teeth clenched as your knee bent at a funny angle, a new kind of pain nipping at you. 

“Oh, we’re not?” Steve asked, voice annoyingly light. You could feel his grin without having to look, like you knew the way the air changed when he smiled, everything warm and dizzying around you.

“Nope!” You declared, your tone leaving hardly any room for argument. Luckily for Steve, he always liked a challenge. “In fact,” you crowed, “it didn’t even happen.”

The boy snorted, a soft sound that you felt through your body, half of your back pressed into his chest as you both toed your way down the steepest part of the mountain. He held you to him, careful not to let you drop your weight onto your leg, one hand still curled large around your own, the other holding your waist now.

You swallowed, throat tight.

“It didn’t happen, huh?” Steve asked, voice low in your ear as you approached the back of the kids, Lucas and Suzie’s ears pricking up at the idea of eavesdropping. “That’s what we’re doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeated again, voice airy, nails digging into the back of Steve’s hand, a warning, another fight blooming in your chest. 

Another snort, a tighter grip at your waist, as if he was trying to remind you of the way he held you last night, calloused fingertips pushing at the cotton of your t-shirt, barely touching the skin underneath. 

You were so much warmer than when you were climbing up the mountain.

This waiting ‘rounds killing me. 

The third week went by in a blur, your incident on the hike leaving you with a nasty cut on your knee that Joyce had to dig gravel and dirt out of, and a sudden overwhelming awareness of where Steve Harrington was at all times. 

Your body lit up like a warning light every time he was near, a new agitation at the sight of his stupid hair and his stupid sunglasses and his stupid, stupid smirk. 

He didn’t try to talk about the kiss again, he wasn’t that idiotic. But the energy between you both was a little different than before. It was still fiery, buzzing with tension and an electrical current that kept you on your toes, but it was different. 

You weren’t sure if you liked it. 

The week led up to the annual game of hide and seek, the entire camp split into two teams, the cabins turned into bases, the inside of the old gym a ghost town. No one was surprised when Murray declared you and Steve team leaders - one seeking, the other hiding - the camp cheering and whistling as you both took your new shirts, both with ‘captain’ printed on the back. 

You’d barely led your team away from the middle of the camp before you heard Steve declare:

“Okay listen up, we need to win.”

You appraised your own squad with the same focused stare that Steve had, your gaze settling over Eddie and Nancy, the gaggle of kids that were all smearing face paint over their friends. War stripes on their cheeks, bandana’s wrapped around their foreheads and Dustin had even gone as far as to don a green ski mask.

You squinted at him, wondering if you should ask where he got such a thing but you decided against it, voice endearing as you said, “Dustin, sweetie, I don’t think you’re going to be able to see very well out of that.”

And before he could argue his case, Eddie pinched the top of it, whipping the fabric from his head, curls spilling out messily. The boy pouted, but he didn’t argue, instead standing still enough to let Lucas smear blue lines over his face.

“You gonna force me into the smallest corner you can find?” Eddie had turned to you whilst Nancy handed out some bottles of water, hushing the trash talk that was starting to get out of hand between Lucas and Suzie. 

You grinned, looking at Eddie with an easy smile, shrugging, “maybe. You’re pretty flexible, right Munson?”

The boy snorted, shoulder nudging into yours, “like a fucking gymnast, sweetheart.”

You fell into a soft conversation with Eddie, a rare occurrence in the craziness of the camp, all gentle laughs and hands pushed to arms, cracked jokes and the promise of a joint after the game was over. And then Steve was there, almost too close, brows knitted together as he watched the way his bunkmate pressed teasing fingers into your ribs, making you squeak.

“Are we flirting or are we playing?” He snapped, shoulder brushing yours. But Steve wasn’t looking at you, his stare heavy and trained on Eddie. “Hey dude, didn’t Joyce tell you you’ve got to stick with Will?”

Eddie could read his friend like a book. He smirked, unable to help himself when Steve was making it so obvious, but he nodded, moving away from you to tussle at Will’s hair. 

“Sure am, Harrington,” the longer-haired boy smiled good naturedly, “little Byers and I are gonna find the best spot, right kid?”

Will nodded enthusiastically, inhaler in hand and Mike at his side. But Steve was still scowling, eyes finally meeting yours before he turned suddenly, marching back to his team as if he couldn’t bear to be around you for any longer. 

And that was fine with you. Totally fine. 

From then, it was chaos, carnage across the camp with kids running riot, wrestling for the best hiding spot as Hopper and Murray watched from the office window, cups of coffee in hand. 

It went the way it always did, with Mike and Will caught first, the latter giving away their hiding spot way too soon because his allergies made him sneeze, the other boy refusing to split from his friend. 

Eddie trailed behind them, lazy and unbothered about being out of the game so early, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, waiting for Murray to stop watching. 

The kids spread around the camp in clusters, hiding in beached kayaks, under the dock, squeezed between the crash mats in the gym. Max was caught out in the open - after being refused sanctuary in Hopper’s office -  scowl on her face, El dragged behind her, grinning as you laughed.

“Hit the benches,” Steve had told them both, watching as they took their consolation s’mores from Joyce and sat with the rest of the captured kids around the fire. 

Steve’s team took out the other kids one by one, screams and laughter heard across the forest, campers crawling out from underneath decking and out of trees, covered in mud and nettle stings, but so, so happy. 

And then there were hardly any players left. 

But Steve bypassed Dustin and Lucas, the two boys snickering underneath an overturned canoe, and he headed to the gym instead. The old building was empty, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum and the lights were off, the sun that was starting to set just barely shining in the high set windows. 

It painted stripes of light and shadows on the floor and the air seemed golden. Steve kicked at the crash mats that were stacked and  

pushed against a wall, his movements playful and throwing dust mites into the air. They caught the light, floating, glittering and Steve saw a pair of shoes sticking out from behind the ball cage and he grinned. 

If you heard him walking over, you didn’t show it, stubbornly standing your ground until Steve rounded the corner, eyes bright on yours. 

“You’re losing your edge, princess, that was far too easy.”

You were scowling at him and you pushed yourself away from the cage, the wheels squeaking as you rounded the other side, eyes on the boy. It was familiar, that feeling, that push and pull, a chase, a challenge, a dare. 

“Don’t kid yourself Harrington, I’ve been waiting here for about an hour now.”

Steve followed, eyes trailing over your bare legs, the swell of your ass in your shorts, freckle on your thigh, the silver scar on your knee from the hike. You noticed, brows raised and you snorted when he shrugged, unapologetic in a way you hadn’t seen before. 

He didn’t care if you caught him staring. Steve Harrington had always been the first to call you annoying, stubborn, a thorn in his side. But he’d never tried to deny that you were good to look at. 

“That’s only ‘cause I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” Steve shot back and you smiled at him, eyes narrowed, overly fake. “But it looks like I win, who would’ve thought?”

But you were still moving, stepping around the pile of mats, the cold material brushing against your shins and the light from the window made you glow, eyes too bright, smile sharp. 

You stared at the boy from across the crash pads, voice sticky sweet when you asked, “don’t you have to tag the other opponent before they’re out?”

Steve stopped, level with you across the hall and he grinned. And fuck, he looked pretty like that, standing in a sunbeam, freckles on his nose, hands on hips and eyes burning on you. 

You weren’t arguing, not quite, not yet. But it still felt fun. 

Steve looked around, eyes conspiring, and he smirked. “There’s no one here to say I didn’t, princess.”

And then you were moving again, circling each other, smiling a different kind of playfulness and you tutted, pushing your hands into the back pockets of your shorts and you smirked when Steve followed the movement of it. 

“Cheating? C’mon now, wonder boy, you’re above that. Daddy’s not here.”

Steve twisted his lips, ran a hand through his already messy hair and made it flop into his eyes and he pretended to think, just for a second or two, as if he didn’t already know what he was gonna throw back at you. 

“Usually,” he told you, voice low, a little rougher than before. “But I think you owe me one, princess.”

You quirked a brow at him, standing still, one knee lifted and pressed to the mats to steady yourself. 

“Is that so?”

There was a fizz in the air that hadn’t been there before. 

“You got to win your little dare ‘cause of me,” he told you and god, something shifted. Maybe the sun dropped, maybe the shadows got darker, maybe the air got heavier. “I saved you from the clutches of Hargrove.”

You scoffed, turning and going back to walking around the mat, hiding the way your cheeks burned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, remember?”

But Steve just grinned, that wide, bright kinda smile that showed off the dimples you almost forgot he had. He looked boyish like this, handsome in a pretty way, soft and full of sun. Maybe it was because he was looking at you without the lines between his brows, the downturn of his lips. 

“Oh but you do, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

‘Sweetheart’ was starting to sound less like an insult, less like a jab, when Steve said it. His voice was softer, a teasing pitch to it, that sounded so much different than you’d heard and you decided that you didn’t hate it. 

Not at all. 

But the boy was talking about the kiss and he was looking at you like you both shared a secret, despite the very public location it happened in. He was acting as if he liked it, as if he wanted you to admit that you did too. 

You stopped, converse digging into the wall the mats made, eyes wary on the boy because Steve kept walking. He found one side, then the other, only pausing when you were a foot away from him. He mirrored you, hands shoved into his own pockets as he watched you through messy hair. 

“What d’you want me to say, Harrington? Huh?” you smiled, sardonic, lips twisted to the side and gaze careful. You didn’t want to give anything away. “You want me to tell you that I liked it, is that it?”

Steve smirked, enjoying your tone, the teasing, the push of the taunt, the bite to your voice. He knew it so well. 

“You want me to tell you that you’re a good kisser? Does wonder boy need a little ego boost?”

“Oh princess, I don’t need anyone to tell me that.“

Steve’s voice was a drawl. Heavy, warm, sticking to you like the summer heat, all low, hot sun and sweetness. 

You were too warm, a tumble low in your stomach, a flush across your chest. 

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Steve continued,voice far too casual, as if he wasn't making you think about the dirtiest things imaginable. 

“You’re a pig.”

“You love it.”

“You fucking wish, Harrington.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, princess.”

You weren’t sure when you’d moved closer. Neither was Steve, really. But you were once again in your favourite position with the boy, toe to toe and your chin tilted up defiantly to stare at him. He looked too happy, excited even. 

“I’m not playing your games,” you narrowed your eyes at him, hands on your hips in an arrogant display, trying your best to prove that you weren’t as affected by the boy as you actually were. 

The toes of his shoes brushed yours and you could smell his cologne, the forest on him, campfire smoke and pine, leftover rain and something minty. 

“No?” Steve asked and his eyes were tracing the features of your face, the length of your lashes, the dip of your Cupid’s bow, the curve of your lip. “Not even if I pick dare?“

You swallowed, hard. 

You weren’t sure what this was. Not anymore. Because it didn’t feel like the arguments you usually had, the poking and pushing and pulling at each other until something snapped and the yelling started. In fact, you were sure this was the quietest you’d ever been around Steve Harrington. 

Except for the thundering of your heart. It beat against your ribs, a drumming sound that you wondered if Steve would hear. It made your body vibrate, it made your chest feel fit to burst and you couldn’t help but part your lips under his stare, sucking in a breath that you suddenly so desperately needed. 

Steve did the same, an instinctual response to watching you, his tongue wetting at his bottom lip, his eyes heavy and hooded. You didn’t remember taking another step towards him, but you don’t recall Steve moving either. It was all a slow lean, a curl into each other’s bodies, slower and softer than the first time. 

Your hand was on his chest again, fingers splayed across his shirt rather than fisting it in your palm and god, you still really weren’t sure if it was to encourage him closer or shove him away. 

But then his touch was at your waist and the sun finally dipped below the windows and the hall went dark. The shadows sparkled as you got used to the lack of light, Steve’s face a pretty palette of lilacs and navy, the rosy tint of his lips looking deeper and closer to you than ever. 

The slide of your nose against his, stuttering and a little clumsy, unsure and nervous. Everything in your body was screaming at you. To push him away, to pull him towards you, to chew him out, to devour him. 

Steve fucking Harrington made you want to yell, to fight, to roll your eyes and rant for an hour and a half. Steve fucking Harrington made you want to be slammed against a wall, pushed down onto a bed, lips on your neck and kisses that were all tongue and teeth. 

His breath huffed against your cheek, slow and careful like he was still deciding what to do too. Steve was cherry cola and the heat of an argument, cedar and spice and bad decisions. Steve was a hot touch on your waist, a white hot burn through your shirt and a tight grip that was sending you to another level of frustration. 

Then light flooded the gym, a bright burst of it coming from the main doors as the very last of the low setting sun leaked through as they slammed open.

The noise of them hitting the wall made you both jump, the angry squeak of the hinges bringing both back to the harsh reality of who you were about to kiss. You stumbled and Steve tripped, falling backwards onto the crash mats with a soft “fuck” as you turned to see Nancy and Robin standing in the doorway. 

No one spoke, not for a few seconds and the quiet was painful. 

But then Nancy cleared her throat, a smirk on her face that she covered with her hand and Robin grinned. 

“Um, all the kids have been found,” she told you both, glee in her voice that she couldn’t cover and god, you were burning with a new kind of heat. “We’re doing story time.”

“And uh, one of you needs to take over,” Nancy explained, still smothering a laugh under what she thought was a serious expression. “Billy started talking about demogorgons and made Will cry, so…”

“Again?” Steve muttered from his seat on the mat. “I thought Eddie told him that it was all made up.”

You didn’t dare look down at him, your body still overly aware of his, his shoulder brushing against your thigh as he moved and when he clambered to his feet, you were spurned into motion, your legs carrying you quickly across the gym. 

Your shoes squeaked on the floor and your heart was still racing, leaving you feeling like a hormonal teenager who was out of control and unable to handle some stupid boy being too close. Grabbing Robin’s hand, you mumbled some sort of thanks to Nancy and then made up a lie about feeling sick, and how you needed to go back to your cabin now. 

Looking at your flushed skin and glassy eyes, no one could really argue with that. So you left Steve with the responsibility of the nightly campfire story and ignored Robin’s husky laughter as you pulled her through the trees and the dark until you got back to your shared bunk. 

You flew into the cabin like a bat out of hell, doing everything in your power to get away from the boy as quickly as you could. Robin was close behind you, still cackling before she slammed the door, just as you dumped yourself onto your bed, groaning. 

The other girl braced herself, back against the wood, facial expression scandalised as she stared at you wide eyed and through messy bangs. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looked like you and Harrington were about to rail each other on those fucking crash mats.”

You spluttered, the sound of protest getting caught in your throat as you tried to sit up, pushing yourself onto your elbows so you could glare at Robin, trying your best to look appalled. 

“What?!” You choked out, and you knew you were beetroot, you could feel the heat in your cheeks, the flush over your chest. “No we weren’t!”

“You know,” Robin mused, head tilted to the side as she looked at you, “your summer could be a lot more fun if you just admitted you don’t hate him as much as you claim to.”

Another noise came from your throat in response, strangled and panicked as you paced the cabin, old floorboards creaking under your feet. 

“I do hate him,” you insisted, turning your back to the girl to fuss over a pile of clothes you’d left on your dresser after laundry day. You wondered if she’d be able to see the lie on your face, if she could hear it in your voice. “Harrington is a pain in my ass, he has been since-”

“Seventh grade, yeah, yeah,” Robin interrupted, her voice bored and impatient, and she waved a dismissive hand at you. “Science fair, vegetables, Steve and mentos and his dad, I know.”

You glared at her, clothes abandoned, clean shorts dropping to the floor, your arms now crossed. You hated that you were pouting. 

“He didn’t look like he was causing you too much grief when you had him up against the gym wall the other week…”

“That was a dare!” 

“And now - in the gym again actually - do you have some sort of kink?”

“Robin…” you were groaning, pleading. 

“Is it a competitive thing? It gets you both going?”

“Nothing happened! We were- we were arguing!”

The other girl smirked, eyebrows raised and her back still pushed against the doorway. “Yeah, but babe, that’s foreplay for you.”

“I hate you,” you lied and there was no heat behind it, in fact, it only made your friend grin wider. 

“As much as Steve?” She asked, voice sweet. “Should I light some candles? Pop a mint?”

“You’re a dick,” your voice was mulish but you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

“You’re in denial,” Robin shot back, still sounding far too happy about the discussion. “Don’t you think all that pent up frustration could be easily solved?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing where this was going. The girl was moving towards you, eyebrows wiggling as she ran her hands over her chest in what you assumed was supposed to be a suggestive manner. 

“Y’know, there’s other things your mouths could do instead of arguing.”

You pretended to gag, face scrunched up at the thought of it and you went back to sorting through your laundry. “You sound like Murray.”

“I knew he was a sensible man,” she told you and you scoffed because you’d watched Murray Bauman light a firework with the end of Billy’s cigarette last summer. 

“But seriously, you’ve got to be attracted to him, right?”

“Murray?” You asked, all faux innocence, “he’s a bit old, no? Hopper, however-”

“You’re disgusting,” Robin snorted, grabbing at the pile of clothes you were hoarding, taking some of her own shirts to fold as she levelled you with a stare. “And you’re not fooling anyone. I’m very much gay - like, with a capital ‘G’ - and even I can say Steve is easy on the eyes.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” you tutted, “his head will get bigger.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

You fell into an easy silence then, clothes folded and sorted on your beds and you were surprised when Robin - perpetually messy - even went as far as to make her bed from that morning. 

It gave you too much time to think. About how the boy had been almost nice to you at some points this summer, helping you when you fell, teasing instead of scathing, always too close, always nearby. It made you notice him too much, made you far too aware of him. 

Like how his skin tanned so easily, new freckles every other day, how blue and yellow looked good on him, how when he got too close you noticed he had some green in his eyes. You knew he liked a smoothie for breakfast, he turned softer and quieter when speaking to Will, he encouraged Max to run faster, jump higher, swim deeper, that it was okay to be a little scared sometimes. 

You stopped, a choked breath of complete indignation leaving your lips and dropped the pyjamas you’d been folding and marched to the door. 

“Uh, where are you going?”

“To tell fucking Harrington that I know his game,” you seethed, “and that it’s not fucking working.”

Robin looked startled. “What?!”

You flung the door open and cringed when it hit the wooden wall behind it but you barely paid it any mind. The woods were dark, the sky inky and it smelled like rain was coming. 

“His game!” You urged, and god, you sounded a little manic, didn’t you? “He’s trying to get me to like him. And it’s not happening, he’s not winning!”

“Winning what?” Robin was almost yelling, confusion colouring her tone and she squinted at you. 

“I don’t know!” You told her, mouth agape because Jesus Christ, you really didn’t know, but you’d be damned if you let the boy think he had some kind of one up on you. 

“Babe, curfew is in like, ten minutes.”

 One glance at the clock on the wall told you that Robin was right, but stubbornness won out over sensibility so you made a strangled sound and shrugged, closing the door behind you a little too loudly and you made your way over the carpet of pine needles, heading towards the other cabins. 

—————

Eddie answered when you knocked, wearing an old, Metallica hoodie that was too big, his long curls pulled messily back into a bun and he grinned, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe. 

“Now, I’m pretty certain you’re not here for me,” he told you, voice all light and full of a humour that you didn’t appreciate, “but there’s absolutely no fucking way you’re here for Harrington.”

You scowled.

“Is he in?”

Eddie cackled, pushing himself away from the door as he called out over his shoulder, looking thoroughly entertained. 

“Hey, big boy, you’ve got a lady caller.”

This was starting to seem like an incredibly bad idea. Your irritation had waned slightly as you’d marched across the dark forest, the fresh air soothing your anger just a touch. But before you could change your mind, Steve appeared at the door, barefoot and shirtless, his hair messy and wearing nothing but a pair of low slung grey sweats. 

For the love of fucking god. 

He had a towel thrown over his shoulder, like he’d planned on taking a shower, but he seemed content to stay and talk to you, his body leaning lazy on the door frame like Eddie had. 

“Princess,” Steve greeted, sounding bemused, “is this a booty call?”

From inside the cabin, Eddie snorted and you both made a point of ignoring him. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” you told him, outraged at the idea of it. But you were warm again, tongue feeling clumsy and too thick in your mouth and you started to wondered when the fuck Steve Harrington made you feel nervous. “And that’s the reason I’m here, actually.”

Steve simply raised his brows, crossing his arms over his chest. He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips. 

“Oh?”

“Mhmm, yeah,” you were stalling, trying to remember why you were actually standing outside with Steve at nine o’clock at night. His arms were entirely too distracting, the muscles there tensing and flexing as he moved. “I know what you're up to, Harrington.”

“You do?” Steve smirked, entirely entertained the way your gaze landed on his shoulders, his bare chest. “What am I up to, exactly?”

“This shit, that you keep pulling,” you told him, gesturing between the two of you. The space there crackled, it popped and buzzed with something unseen and electric, and you swore Steve felt it too. He had to, right? “This flirty, ‘lemme help you walk down the mountain’ crap.”

Steve was staring. And from inside, on his bed, Eddie was cackling again. 

“Would you rather I’d left you to hobble down by yourself?” Steve asked, lips twisted to hide his amusement. Your eyes were flashing with annoyance, and you’d leant against the porch fence for support, back to the wood and hands curled around the ledge. “Let a mountain lion get you?”

“There aren’t any mountain lions in Indiana,” you replied scathingly. 

“A bear then,” Steve shrugged, and Christ, he was grinning again, dimple and all. “Anyway, you think I’m flirting with you, princess?”

You stared, suddenly speechless. 

“I’d have more luck getting Munson into bed with me than managing to have a pleasant conversation with you, sweetheart.”

But then Eddie was yelling from inside the cabin, a pillow hitting Steve’s back as he called out, “ready when you are, honey.”

Steve ignored him, eyes still on you. “If you think that I’m flirting with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He oozed too much confidence, sarcasm and charm. 

It pissed you off. 

“Well then stop it!” you growled, pushing yourself off of the porch fence and moving towards Steve. You stared up at him, stubborn, face tilted up to him, eyes defiant. You couldn’t help but push a finger into his bare chest. God, he was warm. “Stop doing-”

“Stop doing what? Huh?” Steve was smiling. Why was he smiling?

You stumbled over your breath, it hitched in your throat and honestly it only caused more anger to bubble in your chest. Was it anger? Annoyance? Frustration?

“Stop - stop, getting all close to me all the time, stop calling me princess and stop doing this thing where you’re clearly trying to distract me.”

Steve raised his brows, looking down at the small space between the two of you. He tilted his head, smirk dripping with amusement and you knew you could argue anymore. You’d moved to him, chests almost brushing, warmth radiating off of him to you, sharing the same air. 

Fuck. 

“Do I distract you?”

The facade dropped. The game, the challenge, the fight - whatever it was - it stopped. Genuine surprise coloured the boy's tone and he uncrossed his arms, leaving his chest open and more space between you both. He was so warm, you could feel it from his skin, like the sun lived in his chest and he swallowed the summer. 

Steve looked shy, all of a sudden. Face flushed, eyes bright and wide and his lips dropped into a pretty ‘o’. Even in the dark, you could make out the pink of his cheeks, the tips of his ears and he was looking at you like an entirely different kind of challenge. A puzzle maybe, a new type of game. 

“What?” you were panicking inside. That white hot flash of embarrassment ran up your spine, blooming over your chest until blood rushed loud in your ears. “What? No, I didn’t say that.”

“You definitely just said that.” There it was, that smile again. 

“I didn’t,” you scoffed, eyes searching anywhere but his. You stared at the door behind him, groaning when Eddie waved from his bed, grin wider than Steve’s. 

“You did,” Eddie added to the conversation, all soft smiles and messy curls. “I heard you.”  

Suddenly you had had enough of boys. 

“Oh for fuck sake.”

You stormed away from Steve with more swears mixing in with the night air, your frustration taken out on the stairs as you stomped back down them, trainers kicking up pine needles and fallen acorns as you made your way back to your own cabin, completely done with Steve fucking Harrington.

PART TWO

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve ar

[x-reader-things]

Sabine x fem/gn reader abc’s wholesome thing or random fluffy headcanon

I don’t have any wholesome abc’s prompts to look at at the moment, but I do have this!

I hope you enjoy!! :DDD

“It’s a perfect name!”

Sabine x f/gn!reader [Romantic]

Summary ; In which you struggle to find the perfect name for your’s and Sabine’s new pet.

Requested? ; Yes

Warnings ; None. Just fluff- <333

Word Count ; 675

——————————————————————

“We’re not naming the loth-kitten that.”

“Sabine, it’s a perfect name!”

“No.”

It’s been a couple years since the defeat of the Empire. Ezra’s still missing, Jacen is two months away from turning seven years old, and Ahsoka’s… off, somewhere.

Not that Sabine went looking for her like she did Ezra.

You and Sabine got together sometime in between, and only recently did you finally move into the LothalNet Tower that Ezra used to call home. Today, you had been in the grasslands around the tower, investigating a curious noise that’s been popping up every time you walk around a specific part of the concrete surrounding the tower.

A growl, kind of. Maybe something attuned to a chitter of some kind.

What you found in the wheat colored grass, however, was something you should’ve expected with noises like that.

A half eaten supply box of jogan fruit, a half eaten loth-rat, and a loth-kitten. Probably no older then a few weeks old.

Its fur was primarily white, with brown tipped ears and spots that grew lighter in color. It was… rare to see loth-kittens. And this one also had an injury that needed tended to, a gash on one of its bird-like legs.

You picked it up, and rushed inside to get Sabine, despite the little one’s meow’s of uncertainty.

“It’s alright, kitty,” you told the kitten with a rub of your thumb on the bridge of it’s flat nose. It keened into the touch, pressing its furred head into your hand. “We’re just gonna patch you up, ok?”

You brought it to Sabine, and together you guys cleaned the wound, and patched it up with one of the medkit’s lying around the tower’s floor.

Messy organized was something both of you got used to pretty quickly, with the way Ezra left things.

So now, the two of you were sat on the shared bed. Small, meant for one person, but nonetheless shared. It was comfortable, and you didn’t want to drag a whole new bed into the cluttered place.

The loth-kitten slept curled up into your lap. Sabine’s head rested against your shoulder, and gently ran a knuckle on the kitten’s back. It was so… small. Neither one of you were used to that from a species like this one. Which was part of the reason why you guys immediately - even without any words spoken at all - knew you both had to keep it.

It’s what Ezra would do.

He always loved those animals, despite lots-cats acting like little shits to him at times. But it’s what loth-cats do.

However, the only problem?

The name.

“But Tooka is a perfect name”, you said to Sabine, a disappointed lilt somewhere woven into your voice.

“Tooka is literally another name for loth-cats around the galaxy”, she chuckles, a small shake of her head following afterwards. “You’re just calling it cat in whatever language that name came from.”

“What about… Jacen?”

She gives you a look. “After Jacen?”

“Well, his birthday is coming up”, you pointed out. “What better gift than to tell him we named a loth-cat after him?”

“Sorry babe—“, she pressed a quick kiss into your temple, getting up off of the bed to get some proper food for the loth-kitten. Bantha milk, probably. She’s seen some loth-cats drink it before. Fed some stray ones in the city with it too. “There can only be one Jacen, and that’s our awesome Spectre-8.”

“Fair, fair”, you nodded, gently scratching the chin of the loth-kitten in your lap. It began to rumble gently, a soft purring emanating from it. You cooed at the little creature, gently picking it up to let it rest in your arms instead.

There were a few moments of silence, the only noise being the purring from the loth-cat and Sabine walking around the large room of the tower. A soft clanging noise and the dull thud of metal concluded that she found a bowl suitable for the kitten.

“…what about Zeb?”

A laugh, which flowed into words.

“No way.”

“Kallus?”

“No—“

#star wars rebels x reader #sabine wren x reader #x reader #gn!reader #romantic!sabine wren x reader #ahsoka show x reader #f!reader #romantic!reader #romantic x reader #hc on the origin of Sabine’s loth cat but make it ✨x reader✨ #i hope this is fluffy enough- :000

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A close-up of a burger topped with spinach, tomato, and onion. End ID.]

Black bean burgers

Black beans and lentils are cooked with aromatics and herbs and roasted along with carrots and onions to create a deeply savory base for these vegan burgers. Paprika, cumin, coriander, ajwain, and sumac provide earthy, smoky, tangy, and floral notes to round out the umami base of the roasted onion. Chickpea flour provides much more flavor and holding power than wheat flour—the bonus is that these burgers are also gluten-free!

Recipe under the cut.

Patreon | Tip jar

Ingredients:

For the beans and lentils:

150g (generous 3/4 cup) dried black beans, soaked in cool water overnight

130g (2/3) dried brown lentils (345g cooked) (or substitute more black beans)

1 yellow onion, halved

4 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed

2 California bay leaves

4 sprigs thyme (optional)

For the roast:

2 medium carrots, peeled and chopped

1 large yellow onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed

1 red chili pepper, halved

1/4 cup chickpea flour (besan)

1/4 cup ground flaxseed

2 tsp cumin seeds, or ground cumin

2 tsp coriander seeds, or ground coriander

1 tsp ground sweet paprika

1 tsp ground smoked paprika

1 tsp black peppercorns

1/2 tsp carom (ajwain) or fennel seeds

1/2 tsp dried sumac berries, or ground sumac

1/2 tsp ground cayenne pepper (optional)

1 3/4 tsp salt, or to taste

small bouquet parsley, stems removed

Instructions:

1. Soak the black beans. Rinse and pick over black beans for stones or other debris, then place them in a large bowl with enough cool water to cover by several inches and leave them overnight.

2. Cook beans and lentils. In two separate pots, place soaked black beans and lentils with enough water to cover. Add a half yellow onion, two crushed garlic cloves, a bay leaf, and 2 sprigs of thyme to each pot and simmer, covered, until tender. The black beans will take 1-2 hours and the lentils around 40 minutes. Drain and set aside, removing the onion, garlic, and bay leaf.

3. Make the spice blend. If using whole spices, toast coriander seeds, sumac berries, and black peppercorns in a dry skillet over medium heat for a couple minutes, agitating occasionally, until fragrant and a shade darker; set aside. Toast cumin and ajwain or fennel for a minute or so until fragrant; set aside and remove skillet from heat. Toast ground spices in the skillet, agitating constantly, for 30 seconds. Grind spices using a mortar and pestle or spice grinder, and filter them through a fine mesh sieve.

4. Optional: roast the vegetables. Drizzle beans, lentils, carrots, onion, garlic, and chili pepper in 3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil and about half of the spice blend; toss to combine. Roast in a large baking sheet at 400 °F (205 °C) for 10–20 minutes. I like to roast half the onion and garlic and leave the other half raw, to get a mixture of deep, roasted and fresh, punchy flavors from the aromatics. You can roast all of it if you dislike the taste of raw onion or garlic, though it doesn't end up being very strong once the burgers are fried.

5. Make the burgers. Mix all ingredients (including the remaining half of the spice mix) in a food processor until they form a single rough but cohesive ball. Taste and adjust spices. Refrigerate the mixture for about 10 minutes to make forming the burgers easier. Take handfuls of the mixture and form into your desired size and shape (I like mine about 3/4 of an inch thick, but I've also tested this recipe with very thin patties designed for layering in a single sandwich).

6. Cook the burgers. Heat 1 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil in a skillet on medium for several minutes. Lower heat to medium-low and cook burgers in a single layer for 4–6 minutes each side, until deep brown and crisp on the outside. Press down on the burgers with the flat of a spatula to encourage even frying.

You may also bake the burgers at 375°F (190 °C) until cooked through, about 10 minutes each side.

Serve warm with buns, lettuce, sliced onion and tomato, cheese, jam, or other condiments.

#veggie burgers #vegan recipes #vegan cooking #vegetarian recipes #cooking #black beans #brown lentils #carrots #thyme #parsley #gluten free

[ikeromantic]

Yeeeeeeeee, hellooo I just saw your fic about Belle is a sword woman :D it was very cool to read it and I can't stop smiling when I'm reading it sooo if it's okay can I request the same thing but with the new characters (Gilbert, Silvio, Keith.) Thank you and feel free to ignore this or just erased this if you can, btw love your writings 😁👍 (keep it up and don't forget to rest!) Oh I also followed you on ko-fi ;)

So, I am not as comfortable writing those 3 but I’ll do my best with what I know of them ^_^ Here goes! Approx. 2200 words of Swordswoman Belle!

Gilbert

He rode into the fray, cutting his enemies down like wheat before a scythe. This battle was all but won, he thought with a certain smugness. It was good though, as he had need of a victory to add to his banner at court. His position was tenuous as always, and strength of arms was a quick way to bolster it. As quick as the wealth - and food- this raid would bring with it. 

There was a knot of intense combat at the village center near what looked like a bookstore. The path was too narrow and cluttered with debris and bodies to ride there. Gilbert dismounted and strode ahead on foot. As he pushed through the ring of nervous soldiers, he came face to face with the cause. 

A woman stood in front of the little bookshop. She looked like no one special, not at first glance. Commoner’s clothes, her hair pulled back in a simple bun, messy now, her features enough to be pretty but far from the court beauties he knew in Obsidian. But her dress was blood-spattered, a scarlet-stained sword held in her hands, and there was a fierceness in her gaze that belied her banal appearance. 

She was no common girl. She was a beast. The dying and wounded soldiers at her feet told him this would be an entertaining opponent.

Gilbert grinned and pulled his sword. “There you are,” he called out, his voice the rasp of heated steel. 

“You.” Her brows rose slightly in recognition. She knew then, who she fought. Her shoulders pulled back, and she moved her feet to a new, more defensible position. 

The Obsidianite prince moved closer, then lunged. His attack was lightning quick, vicious, designed to overwhelm. Surprisingly, she parried and dodged. Her smaller frame was lithe and quick, even if her reach was shorter. 

Gilbert had a moment to admire her graceful movement before she was the one attacking him. Making use of her speed to seek out his weak points.The joins in his armor, the blind spots he might have as she weaved about and around him. 

“If you leave, I won’t have to kill you.” She said the words almost gently, a whisper meant for his ears alone. 

“You mean you won’t have to die.” Gilbert grinned. This one had spirit. 

She smiled back, her eyes flashing. “I’m not afraid of dying. As long as I take you with me, my blood is coin well spent.” 

He laughed, feeling his heart leap at this woman’s ridiculous, foolish bravery. Then he attacked again, this time putting his reach and greater strength to use. Gilbert could see the way her arm trembled when she parried a downward swing. The growing tiredness in her step when she twisted out of the way of a lunge. 

She would fall. It was a matter of time. Then he happened to catch sight of something moving in the bookshop windows. His gaze flicked toward it. Children’s faces pressed against the glass, watching the fight with terror in their eyes. Ah.

But he could not step back from this battle. That would be weakness. Word would make it to court. Gilbert steeled himself for what must be done. Another death to the tally. But when the opening came, a lowering of her guard at the wrong moment, he could not make the killing blow. 

Instead, he struck her head with the flat of his blade. 

The swordswoman had a moment to look at him, stunned. And then she fell unconscious to the ground. 

“Bind her,” he told his soldiers, “and bring her back with the rest.” Gilbert knelt for a moment, pushing back a lock of hair from her cheek. “I will find out who you are,” he told her. Then he straightened. There was more dark work to be done this day.

Keith

Bemused, the prince of Jade followed Emma out to the training ground. “So what, dear lady, are we here for today? I expected we would shop or visit a cafe?” 

“Hm. We could. If you want to. But you told me to pick something, right?” 

Keith nodded. “So what is the purpose of our visit? Are we going to watch the soldiers spar?”

Emma laughed. It was such a lovely, sweet sound. One of the many things Keith liked about the lovely young noblewoman. “I thought we might practice. I don’t have much opportunity to spar . . .”

This caught him off guard. “Spar? With . . . with me?”

“Unless you’re afraid to?” She grinned, teasing. 

“No. I mean, yes. But my dear, what if I hurt you?” Keith felt completely and suddenly out of his depth. What kind of lady sparred for fun?

Emma shrugged off her jacket and stretched. She was dressed in riding pants and a loose linen shirt. No bodice or stays. No heavy brocade. And her shoes were practical boots rather than slippers. “We’re just using the wood practice blades. I’m not worried.”

Keith shrugged out of his own jacket and took off his vest. “Alright. If you like. But don’t blame me if you leave here bruised. I’m not a bad hand with a blade.”

“Same goes for you, my lord.”

“Just Keith.” He smiled. She was always surprising him. Another thing he liked about Emma. 

She tossed him a practice blade. 

It was a long strip of hardened wood, with a weighted handle and core. Heavier than the real weapon would be but completely blunt. He knew he would have to be careful. No matter what she said, he really didn’t want to hurt her.

Emma took one long blade and a second, smaller one for her other hand. “Ready?”

“And waiting, my lady.” Keith had planned to go slow and gentle into the mock-fight, but she was having none of it. She sprang into motion as he spoke, slashing and stabbing with an unexpected ferocity. 

The Jadean prince fell back defensively, relying on reach and skill to hold her back. Emma was better than he would have expected. She moved with the fluid strength that told him this was not new to her. He wondered when and why such a lovely woman would take up such a violent hobby.

He got in a few jabs and slashes of his own as they circled the training yard. In fact, much to his surprise, Keith was beginning to enjoy himself. There was a certain delight in an amicable contest against a skilled opponent. 

Then it happened. 

Emma’s smallsword jabbed his side, a glancing blow but it hit his ribs just so. The spike of sudden, hot pain spiraled up from that point of contact. And with it, the rage Keith held under wraps. His shadow. His dark heart.

Keith stumbled back and caught himself on a weapon rack. His hair fell forward, for a moment obscuring his view.

“Are you alright,” Emma called, sounding a little worried.

“Better than alright.” Keith’s voice was low and coarse. He looked up, his golden eyes blazing. The sense of friendly competition was gone. 

“Keith? My lord?” Emma eyed him uncertainly.

He launched himself toward her in an all out attack. His wooden blade crashed into her sword, sending a shiver of force up both their arms. Keith pressed her back and back until she was nearly cornered against the side of the building. Skill or no, she was so much smaller than him and he knew he could crush her. She was in his power. His body thrummed with dark delight.

“Yield. I yield, Keith.” Emma looked up at him, not afraid, but concerned. Her gaze held more pity than fear.

Keith growled, low in his throat. “Not good enough. I want to know the real reason you called me here, wench.” He leaned down to look her in the eye, never letting up on the pressure to push her the last few inches into the stone wall.

“For fun.” She let out a breath and stopped resisting.

The Jadean prince had a moment of pure wicked delight in his victory. Then he caught movement from the corner of his eye, just a half-second too late. Emma’s smallsword connected with his head, the leaded hilt crashing hard against his skull. The last thing he heard was Emma’s voice, gentle and sweet.

“Sorry about that.”

Silvio

Silvio sat across from Emma in the carriage as it rumbled through the trade road between Benitoite and Rhodolite. He’d demanded her company to annoy the Rhodolitian princes, but now that he had it, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He was tempted to break out the booze just to see how long it took her to lose composure. 

Might be fun, but he generally didn’t drink on the road. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked, finally pointing out his impolite stare.

“‘Cause I can. You got a problem with it?”

Emma’s lips firmed into a pale line of annoyance. “I do. Why don’t you look out the window or read or something?”

Silvio grinned. “I been this way so many times there’s nothing new to look at. But the faces you make when you read are hilarious.” 

“Hilarious?” She fought a very obvious battle with her irritation and courtesy. Etiquette won out as she took a long slow breath and gave him a viperous smile. “Of course you can do what you like, Prince Silvio.”

He scowled. One way or another, he was gonna get under her skin. Make her show him who she really was under all her proper little manners. Just as he was thinking up another needling comment, the coach rolled to a sudden stop. 

“Not good,” he murmured. He’d bribed the last group of bandits to haunt this stretch of road. They knew payment depended on not delaying or interfering with shipments that had his personal coat of arms. Like this one did. So either they were trying to renegotiate or he had a new problem.

“What is it?” Emma peered out the curtained windows,more curious than worried.

“I dunno. Stay put.” He hopped out of the carriage in time to seen a stranger cut the coachman’s throat. This wasn’t one of his bandits. Neither were the other rough-looking men approaching. His coach guards were already in motion, which was good considering how much he paid them. 

“Hey! You!” Silvio called to one of the bandits. “Who do you think you are, killing my coachman? You got any idea how much widow’s benefits are gonna cost me?”

The bandit didn’t reply. A bad sign. It appeared this group of miscreants wasn’t interested in making a deal. Worse, his guards were outnumbered, which meant without a deal it was entirely possible they might lose. The shipment. The coach. Their jewels and clothes. Even their lives. 

Annoyed, Silvio drew his blade. Swords really were the last resort. But sometimes the last was all ya got. Just as he was about to run into the fight, someone leapt past him. Someone dressed in lace and silk, her hair ribbons dancing in the air behind her. 

Emma threw herself into the fight. She carried two long thin blades, deceptively delicate, incredibly sharp. The first bandit she hit went down from surprise as much as anything else. He fell with a stupid look on his face. A look Silvio realized he was mirroring.

The Benitoitian prince quickly shut his mouth so as not to gape like some country-born fool. No one had told him the little noblewoman could fight. But fight she did. Like some demon in a fancy dress. 

She moved swiftly, skirts rustling, as she darted between combatants. And in her wake, she left screams and blood. The men she cut fell, hamstrung or gasping for air. Their tendons sliced, lungs punctured. Emma was ruthless. 

Silvio felt a certain growing appreciation. He had no use for another pretty face. But Emma wasn’t just that. Nor was she only a way to annoy the smug Rhodolitians. She was a force to be reckoned with. A scarlet whirlwind, destroying her enemies. He wondered if her services were for sale.

When the bandits were down, she returned to the carriage. Her blades tucked safely away in the hidden sheaths on her thighs. “Umm. Do you mind if we stop at the next inn? I really need a change. And I don’t want these stains to set.”

He laughed, mirth bubbling up in his chest. “Sure we can. I gotta make a stop anyway. We can talk about a joint venture.”

“I don’t know.” Her brows furrowed. “I’m kind of already in a contract.”

“Yeah? Well we can work it out over some drinks. I got some ideas.” Silvio grinned widely. “Besides, ya can’t tell me no. I’m a prince.”

Emma gave him a strained smile. All her etiquette falling back into place despite the smear of blood on her cheek. “I’m sure someone has said no to you before. And if not, then I’ll take the honor of being the first.”

“Here me out first, huh?” He scowled, though he was secretly enjoying himself. The girl had teeth. Very nice.

#ikemen prince #ikepri Gilbert #ikepri Keith #ikepri Silvio #gilbert von obsidian #keith howell #silvio ricci #fanfiction #fanfic #otome guys #otome

[no-name-publishing]

What Doesn't Kill you by Hanschen (@whatwememeintheshadows)

So so SO pleased with how this turned out. It's almost one-to-one how I imagined it in my head. If you're a fan of the WWDITS movie then this is a MUST read. Check under the cut for close-ups of the cover and typesetting!

My idea for this specific binding was to replicate the imagery of the peeling wallpaper inside the character's home. I did this by first painting gray paper (using acrylic ink and white tempera paint) to look like water-stained drywall, and then using the same acrylic ink mixture to stain the marigold paper. After I assembled the cover paper I used some coptic markers to finish coloring in the moldy areas and accentuate some of the 'discoloration' and running water.

Transferred the title using carbon transfer paper, used a paper towel to really smudge it out, then darkened it a bit with black acrylic ink. After that was just tearing up the marigold paper and arranging it over the 'drywall', just used wheat paste and put it under my press to dry as flat as possible. No shots of that though, I forgot lol. Anyway, the typesetting, complete with emails and journal entries and text messages:

Thank you so much to @whatwememeintheshadows for sharing this lovely piece of writing with us and for letting me bind you a copy.

#wwdits #hanschen #what doesn't kill you #fanficbookbinding #fanbinding #bookbinding #nonamepublishing #I learned how to put photos side-by-side and I'm proud of myself

[canyonlibra]

𝓐𝓼 𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓿𝓮, 𝓢𝓸 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓸𝔀: 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

𝔻𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: Persephone prepares for Hade's Gala and finds herself wanting more from the distant man

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Gods and Goddesses move around, glasses in hand. Indistinguishable voices and laughter fills the ballroom. Taehyung sits on his lounge in his secluded balcony, advisor by his side.

"Do you think shes ready?" Jungkook asks taking the spot beside the king. The god nods in reply. "You know it will cost you?"

"I'm prepared." Taehyung says standing up, eyes locked on his bride.

Persephone sits away at her table. Her mother had left saying she had an issue to sort out back home, encouraging her daughter to enjoy the rest of the party. She swirls her glass watching the drink move.

A deep voice breaks her trance, "dance with me", it says. She looks up to find her watcher, strong hand stretch out for her to take. She pulls up the side of her pink dress with her right hand and grasps his hand in the other.

He smirks as she allows him to guide her to the center of the room. He take ahold of her waist, pulling her against his front. Persephone allows her hand to rest flat on his chest. After a while of swaying, she rests her head on the other side of his chest.

"How long have you known?" Taehyung mumbles into her hair. "Known what?" Persephone asks peering up at him. "About me watching you" he finishes. "A while. you didn't seem like you wanted to be hidden" She answers tracing shapes on the exposed skin under his neck.

"How long have you been watching me?" Persephone asks in return. " for a while" He replies smirking down at her.

Gods and Goddesses gossip about the couple that take up the middle of the room. But Taehyung and Persephone stay pressed against each other for the night. Making small movements and small conversation.

"I will have to go back up soon" Persephone announces to him. "You want to leave me already?" Taehyung teases. "I have no choice, I have work to be done"

"But you don't want to leave me?" Taehyung asks in a joking tone. But there is hope beneath his words. Persephone simply smiles up at him shaking her head.

"I will visit you" he says letting her go.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

And he did visit.

Every week, Taehyung would make time to visit his flower, checking up on her. He always wanted to see his Persephone close, to hold her. He had once imagined always watching her from afar, now he's changed his view.

Here he is now with Persephone, sat in the wheat field. No longer hiding in the shadows, but by her side. He has always appreciated her power of creating life out of nothing. He plans to make use of her ability to create what others could only imagine, beautiful displays of breathtaking greenery, the brightest flowers, the ripest fruits.

He hopes to one day of incorporate her gifts in his own realm. Allowing her full control of his kingdom. He wishes to give her the power and reign she deserves, not to create for mortals but to create for him.

"What is it?" Persephone asks, chin resting on her knee, leg pulled up to her chest. He moves his forehead to meet hers "Just planning out our life together." the man says with a smile. "What's it like?" she pushes further. "Like this, just a bit colder." Taehyung says with full intent on keeping this promise.

"I'd like that" Persephone returns the smile.

The pair stays in comfortable silence until Persephone raises her head. "Do you like it, your realm?" she asks wanting him to open up. Taehyung takes a breath before answering, "I love everything that is mine, to some it's-" he looks far into the forest " but it's my creation, I wouldn't have it any other way" he finishes.

"It's pretty" she confesses looking in his eyes "a little desolate in areas but-" Persephone teases. Taehyung smiles down at her, nudging her with his elbow.

The couple falls into silence again. Taehyung gathers the courage, "You could always change that." he offers, hoping she takes it. "Don't joke about that" Persephone replies.

Taehyung takes his hand, tracing her jaw, tilting her chin to meet her eyes. " I would never joke about our future, you were promised to me"

#collection #kim taehyung #taehyung smut #dom taehyung #jungkook #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #hades and persephone

[dear-future-ai]

How to Make A Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich,

(For the sake of space, I am assuming you will be able to obtain the ingredients without a step-by-step guide, but I do understand that that would also be a process required in the process of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich)

Firstly grab the ingredients: you will need to collect a pack of sliced honey wheat bread, one jar of grape jelly, and one jar of peanut butter.  Secondly, you will also need to obtain, through legal means: a plate and a butter knife.  Once you have your tools and ingredients you may perform the following.

Set the plate on a flat surface, a clean kitchen table will do, so that the foot (a ceramics term describing the small indentation on the bottom of ceramics that helps the ceramic properly stand uniformly on a surface) of the plate is facing down.

Remove the twist tie from the bag of bread, by unfurling the tie. Next comes the easy part, by holding the newly formed opening of the bag, drop the rest of the bag, letting gravity unwind the twisted bag.  Place the opened bag lengthwise on the kitchen table. Put your hand inside the bag to further open it. Using that same hand, remove two slices of bread from the bag; (do not take the end piece, very few people prefer that piece). Place the two slices of bread on top of the the plate, making sure one of the two sides with the largest surface area is facing downward.  Double check to make sure that the pieces of bread are analogous to each other, and not sitting directly upon each other: this will come in handy on later steps.

After your bread is properly plated we can move onto properly topping the slices. Grab the jar of jelly with your nondominant hand, curling your fingers around the cylindrical body of the jar. Maintain this grip. Secure the top of the lid (to the jar of jelly) in the palm of the other.  Curl the fingers on your dominant hand so that your fingertips firmly rest on the lower lip of the lid (to the jar of jelly). By using force from your dominant elbow and keeping your (dominant) arm straight and holding the jar firmly in your nondominant, use the torque produced to unscrew the lid counter-clockwise from the jar (of jelly). Place the lid down on the table, making sure to keep the jelly-side up, as to avoid ruining your table. Grab the knife by its handle, using the now free dominant hand. Make sure the blade is properly orientated: you want the handle to be wrapped by all four of your fingers, and you want your thumb to be pressed gently upon the non-cutting edge of the blade, this creates the most control: if it still feels unwieldy, find a manner that feels best for you. When working with blades, it is important to feel safe and confident.  Maintaining your grip on the handle, stick the knife blade into the open jar of jelly. Do not let the jelly touch your hands, to prevent unnecessary cleanup.  Using a scooping motion, remove the knife from the jar, keeping the broadside upward. If done correctly, the upper side of the knife blade should be coated in a small dollop of jelly. If not, repeat this scooping maneuver until you do. (We will repeat this process with the jar of peanut butter, if you do not feel confident in your ability, that’s okay.  I will walk you through the steps later) At this point you may release your grip from the jar of jelly. Select one of the two slices of bread you have set upon the plate, slowly move your knife-wielding hand over it, keeping it within a height of 3 to 5 centimeters from any flat surface (to prevent spillage), keeping the jelly in an upright position. Once your hand is directly above the center of this first slice of bread, quickly turn your hand, so that that the upper (jelly coated) side is now facing downward, let gravity pull the jelly to the slice of bread.  Maintain your grip on your knife it will be useful for this next step.  Using the same broadside of the knife, spread the jelly on the slice of bread, making sure you do not exceed the surface area of the single face.  The thin coating of jelly should not exceed 1 cm in height.  Maintaining your grip on the knife, wipe both broad sides of the knife on the other piece of toast to remove excess jelly.  Set the knife on a clean portion of the plate, it will soon be useful again. Now grab the jar of jelly in your nondominant hand, again curling your finger around the cylindrical shape. Grab the lid, flipping it over so the jelly side is now again facing downward.  Using a similar motion as before you are going to add torque to the lid, this time pushing it clockwise thus shutting the jar.  Place the now sealed jar back on the table, with the lid facing upward. At this point both hands should be free to aid in the opening of the peanut butter.

We are using peanut butter second because it is stickier than jelly and thus harder to clean between steps, if we were to put it first.  Now you can grab the jar of peanut butter with your nondominant hand, curling your fingers around the cylindrical body of the jar. Maintain this grip. Secure the top of the lid (to the jar of peanut butter) in the palm of the other.  Curl the fingers on your dominant hand so that your fingertips firmly rest on the lower lip of the lid (to the jar of peanut butter). By using force from your dominant elbow and keeping your (dominant) arm straight and holding the jar firmly in your nondominant, use the torque produced to unscrew the lid counter-clockwise from the jar (of peanut butter). Place the lid down on the table, making sure to keep the peanut butter-side up, as to avoid ruining your table. Grab the knife by its handle, using the now free dominant hand. Make sure the blade is properly orientated: you want the handle to be wrapped by all four of your fingers, and you want your thumb to be pressed gently upon the non-cutting edge of the blade: again, if it feels unwieldy, find a manner that feels best for you. Always prioritize your safety, stick the knife blade into the open jar of peanut butter. Do not let the peanut butter touch your hands, to prevent unnecessary cleanup.  Using a scooping motion, remove the knife from the jar, keeping the broadside upward. If done correctly, the upper side of the knife blade should be coated in a small dollop of peanut butter. If not, repeat this scooping maneuver until you do. At this point you may release your grip from the jar of peanut butter. Slowly move your knife-wielding hand to the undoctored slice of bread, keeping it within a height of 3 to 5 centimeters from any flat surface (to prevent spillage), keeping the peanut butter in an upright position. Once your hand is directly above the center of the second slice of bread, quickly turn your hand, so that that the upper (peanut butter coated) side is now facing downward.  As peanut butter is more adhesive, gravity may not work here.  Maintain your grip on your knife it will be useful for this next step.  Using the same broadside of the knife, spread the peanut butter on the second slice of bread, making sure you do not exceed the surface area of the single face.  The thin coating of peanut butter should not exceed 1 cm in height.  Maintaining your grip on the knife, wipe both broad sides of the knife on innermost lip of the jar of peanut butter to remove excess peanut butter, and prevent wasting precious peanut butter.  If done correctly the peanut butter should clutch the the inside of the peanut butter jar, and not get into the tap for the lid. Set the knife on a clean portion of the plate, it may still be useful coming up. Now grab the jar of peanut butter in your nondominant hand, again curling your finger around the cylindrical shape. Grab the lid, flipping it over so the peanut butter side is now again facing downward.  Using a similar motion as before you are going to add torque to the lid, this time pushing it clockwise thus shutting the jar.  Place the now sealed jar back on the table, with the lid facing upward. At this point both hands should be free.

Using both hands, lift the slice of bread with peanut butter on it, ensuring you use only the tips of your fingers on the crust of the bread to prevent getting peanut butter on your hands, and from crushing the sandwich.  Flip this piece of bread over so it is now facing downward.  Place on the jelly slice of bread, so that the crust of both slices is in line with each other, it won’t be exactly flush because of the peanut butter and jelly, this is normal.

This following step may be the most dangerous part of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  Only the professionals attempt this risky maneuver.  It is perfectly okay and socially acceptable to stop now and consume this sandwich.  Take the knife in the same grip as before. Grab the knife by its handle, using the dominant hand. Make sure the blade is properly orientated: you want the handle to be wrapped by all four of your fingers, and you want your thumb to be pressed gently upon the non-cutting edge of the blade: again, if it feels unwieldy, find a manner that feels best for you.  We will actually be using the cutting edge of this knife; however, so we will take extra precautions to hold the knife handle firmer, but not exerting excessive pressure to it.   With the non dominant hand secure the sandwich at one of the four corners, by pressing lightly on the upper piece of bread.  Take the knife pressing the cutting edge gently into the top piece of bread, at one of the adjacent corners to the one you are holding, pressing until the blade cut through both pieces of bread, drag the blade diagonally across the sandwich, splitting it in twain.

Now you should have two smaller triangular sandwiches to enjoy with a friend.

#long post #dear future ai #peanut butter and jelly #kitchen safety #taking things literally #spoons #voidpunk #food mention #knife mention #pb and j

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Snowflake cookies

Ingredients

250 g butter

250 g corn or wheat starch

100 g powdered sugar

70 g flour

1 package of vanilla sugar

1 vanilla bean

Preparation

Mix all the sieved dry ingredients and the scraped-out interior of the vanilla bean with the butter using your bare hands (the dough needs the temperature of the hands to mix properly).

Shape the dough to rolls about a finger thick. Cut the rolls into 2 cm wide pieces.

Place the pieces upright onto a baking tray covered with baking paper and press them flat using a fork, causing a ridged pattern on the top. Make sure that there is ample space between the pieces because they will expand while baking. The recipe is good for four trays.

Bake at 170 °C for 7 to 10 minutes under constant observation — the snowflakes must not turn brown.

Take them out of the oven and let them dry to room temperature. Remove them from the tray very carefully because they are very crumbly.

Enjoy the crumbly, buttery, vanilla-y deliciousness!

#favourite christmas cookies

[wheatflats]

#phil maguire #matt atkins #eolith #hundred years gallery #sound art #wheat flats press #wf03

[panicinthestudio]

Salted Egg Custard Snowskin Mooncake Recipe (金沙奶黃冰皮月餅) with Papa Fung, September 17, 2020

Just in time for Mid-Autumn Festival! This snowskin mooncake has a creamy salted egg custard filling, to give you that sweet and salty goodness.

***

Salted Egg Custard Snowskin Mooncake Recipe

This recipe makes around 23 mooncakes. 

[Ingredients] 

Filling: 

4 Salted Eggs 

4 Eggs 

50g Milk Powder 

50g Custard Powder 

50g Pastry Flour 

60g Sugar 

50g Unsalted Butter 

15ml 35% Cream 

150ml Milk 

3tsp Condensed Milk 

 Snowskin: 

100g Rice Flour 

100g Glutinous Rice Flour 

60g Wheat Starch 

100g Sugar 60ml Oil 

400ml Milk 2tsp Condensed Milk - 

 [Directions] 

Filling

Separate your salted egg yolks, rinse the yolks and steam for 10mins. Crushed yolks, set aside. 

Whisk eggs, milk, cream, condensed milk together. Add in sugar, sift in custard powder, milk powder and pastry flour into mixture and mix. Strain mixture into a pot and cook until thickened in medium low heat (remember to stir). Once thickened, add butter and salted egg yolk pieces and continue mixing and cooking until mixture is dough-like. Set aside to cool. 

Knead custard filling until it is smooth, then roll it out into balls, set aside in the fridge for 1hr. 

Snowskin

Mix condensed milk with milk and sugar, sift in rice flour, glutinous rice flour, wheat starch and mix. Once combined, add oil and mix. Strain mixture into an oiled pan and steam for 20mins. Set aside to cool. 

Take a handful of glutinous rice flour and cook it on a frying pan until slightly toasted and set aside. 

Knead wrapper dough until. Wrap it up, set aside. 

Assembly

Divide the wrapper into even pieces (make sure it’s the same amount as the filling balls). Take a wrapper, squish it flat and place filling ball in the middle and wrap the snowskin around the filling and pinch the seams to seal it up. Place the ball into cooked glutinous rice flour and roll it until evenly coated. Place the ball into a mold and press it out into mooncake shape. Chill for 3 hours and serve (tastes better when chilled). 

***

金沙奶黃冰皮月餅食譜 

製成二十三隻月餅。 

[ 材料 ] 

饀: 

4 四隻咸蛋 

4 四隻蛋 

50g 奶粉 

50g 吉士粉 

50g 餅麵粉 

60g 糖 

50g 無鹽牛油 

15ml 35% 奶油 

150ml 奶 

3tsp 煉奶 

 皮: 

100g 粘米粉 

100g 糯米粉 

60g 澄麵粉 

100g 糖 

60ml 油 

400ml 奶 

2tsp 煉奶 

 [ 制作 ] 

饀: 

咸蛋分開蛋黄，洗淨，水滚計蒸十分鐘至熟取出，壓成蓉置一旁待用。 

將蛋搞匀加入奶，奶油和煉奶拌匀再加糖和篩入所有乾粉料撤底搅拌，至沒有粉粒過篩入锅中慢火煮，其間要不停搅拌以免黏，至杰加入牛油和咸旦黄蓉，継續慢火煮至水份蒸發，冋時要不停搅拌至略為乾身即可。 

取出稍放涼後搓壓至滑身，分成小球狀放雪柜，雪約一小時，大小以可以入餅模具為標準，可以先試一個 

 皮: 

牛奶混合煉奶和糖拌匀後篩入所有乾粉料，搅拌至無粉粒加油拌匀，即可過篩倒入已刷油的蒸盤中蒸二十分鐘即可。 

取少量糯米粉用白鑊炒至微黄取出作粉焙用。 

將粉皮料搗，搓壓至滑身，用保鲜膜覆蓋放置一旁備用。 

 組合 

分開粉皮料(數量要與饀相同)取粉皮壓扁放餡料在中間，將粉皮邊轉邊推起至收口，搯緊以免漏，放在粉焙中輕輕一滚，放入月餠模中壓出月餅，成功。

#Papa Fung's Kitchen #food #mooncake #Chinese #Cantonese #中秋節 #mid autumn festival

[cheapcheapfaker]

-red wine in a nearly comically oversized glass, rounded, with a long stem. Buttery and dark and rich. Smells earthen, heady, dank, heats up your belly upon first sip. I still have not learned the name of my favorite type of red and some waiters get it right and some get it wrong, but it’s on me for never remembering.

-a vino verde very crisp and cold. The glass is sweating even without ice in it. Smells like summer, sharp, a little sour, but drinks smooth and dry w no burn.

-margarita on the rocks, not too sweet, not sour, made w a nice enough tequila that you can feel the burn but it doesn’t make your eyes water. The rim is salty and spicy. in an oversized rocks glass w a flat bottom, not one of those terrible flanged margarita ones. There’s a fat juicy lime wedge on the lip that i bite into and the bar is so nice i know they washed the limes. If it’s flavored, it’s coconut.

-a dark porter ale, mid-ABV. Made w lactose for that silky smooth mouth feel. Smells dark and rich and tastes like a stout w some sort of dessert undertone: chocolate, coffee, peanut butter, etc. Probably a left hand brewing nitro, because the cookies and cream cask-conditioned ale from the wharf rat is a beautiful, never again attainable memory. Just shy of room temp w a buttery white head in an ale glass w a slight lip.

-a blue moon with a big fat slice of orange, preferably while out eating outside on a warm but not humid summer’s night, or on our roof deck w a beautiful breeze

-a cuba libre. Mexican coke or a very carbonated syrupy fountain coke, spiced rum (sailor jaja preferred), fresh lime juice. Good crunchy ice.

-orange crush. Freshly squeezed orange from one of those hand presses. The bartender who squeezes my orange is an incredibly buff lady with gorgeous arms. There’s some pulp. good crunchy ice.

-a natty boh, heavily sweating, the rim tasting of old bay from picking crabs

-verde’s aperol shandy: orange duckpin, fresh orange juice, aperol, over a pizza that is delicious but too expensive for how little ricotta they give me, but i forgive them bc the shandy is so good

-a sip of my husbands old fashioned. He says it is either good, which means I’ll hate it, or that I’ll like it, and it’s passable. I never order them. I dont really like them. I just want to take a sip.

-an IPA, citra & mosaic hops, 8% abv, some sort of citrus fruit undertones that you only notice when you exhale

-the first pumpkin beer of fall. IPA or a non-sweet wheat. cinnamon, clove, not too heavily seasoned so it’s still crisp and refreshing, gorgeous autumn color with a nice throat burn

#god i want an alcohol

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: The Quest for Pizza

No matter where in time and space you are, foods that taste like home make life so much better. There are a lot of American comfort foods that might be replicable in 1600s Northeast Asia, if you knew what you were doing. Off the top of my head, some classics include: apple pie, mac and cheese, jambalaya, spaghetti, hamburgers and French fries, and pizza.

Apple pie would be one of the easiest to pull off. Pastries are pretty much a thing everywhere you’ve got wheat flour, sugar’s available, and apples can be found all over given they went in both directions down the Silk Road, travelers knowing a good thing when they bit it. A little cinnamon for spice would be the most expensive part, but it’d be available; the spice trade is up and running all over the place. Give a local cook a good description, or ask for some kitchen time, and a slice of hot apple pie is entirely possible.

Mac and cheese should also be possible, though you may have to get a bit more creative. Noodles, definitely available. Macaroni or shell-style? That, you would have to describe a dough press for. Or just get flat fettuccini-style noodles and go with it. It’s probably easier to get yogurt than milk, but you can get cheese... if you’re in a northern area influenced by the Mongols and related tribes. So, if you’re in or around Manchuria (named for the Manchus), you’ve got it. It won’t be cheddar, not unless you wrangle that off some English traders, but actual water-buffalo mozzarella is a possibility! And if you like a little chili powder to add a hint of heat? So long as it’s post-1520s, you’re in luck. The Portuguese brought chilis along in their galleys. We can date chilis in China to somewhere between 1520-1550s, in Japan by the 1570s, and they were widespread in Korea by 1614; likely brought over by Hideyoshi’s invasion of 1592-1598.

Which leads us to jambalaya. Chilis, meat, rice, sausage, basil, oregano, garlic, onions, cilantro, and a lot of recipes call for tomatoes. Garlic and onions are ubiquitous in Eurasia; oregano and coriander (cilantro) are also in Asia, and basil’s originally from India. Tomatoes... yes, they would be there, European trade brought them in the 1500s too. But most people thought they were decorative, not so much food. You can get them. Convincing other people to eat them might take a bit.

With all those ingredients, spaghetti should be a given. Mangia!

Hamburgers and French fries, though - likely not. Oh, you can do ground meat, ketchup, and pickles, but potatoes didn’t historically get to China until almost the very end of the Ming Dynasty, brought by the Dutch right as the Manchus crashed the party and created the Qing Dynasty. Korean relations with the Manchus were touchy. Which might explain why Korea historically didn’t get potatoes until the 1800s.

But the trickiest of all would be pizza, at least if you like the classic ham, onions, green peppers and cheese. There’s some disagreement on exactly when bell peppers (almost no heat) were created from chili peppers (varying degrees of heat). Jefferson may have encountered a variety in the 1800s. But most people trace them back to Hungary in the 1920s. That’s right, green bell peppers in the 1600s would be historically inaccurate.

...I can guarantee you if Jason ever gets back to modern Earth, he’s raiding a seed catalog. Pizza!

#colors of another sky #worldbuilding #history #chinese history #korean history #food history

[docholligay]

I did discover while looking on her website, after a post bitching talking about British flour and how it is markedly different from US flour and that can really affect cakes*, a recipe using that golden syrup I bought, and I share it with you now

(She came up with this while in a flat in the Uk rewriting her entire Cake Bible for a Uk audience, but, obviously, this post was written for her main US one.)

Beloved English Gingerbread Cake--Rose Levy Beranbaum                                Serves:  10 to 12

8 tablespoons (4 ounces) unsalted butter 1¼ liquid cups golden refiner's syrup ¼ cup dark brown sugar 1 heaping tablespoon marmalade 2 large eggs 2/3 cup milk 1 cup (4 ozs.) sifted cake flour (lightly spooned into cup and leveled off) 1 cup -1 tablespoon (4 ozs.) whole wheat flour     (lightly spooned into cup and         leveled off) 1½ teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon powdered ginger 1 teaspoon cinnamon a pinch salt         lemon syrup: 2 tablespoons lemon juice, freshly squeezed     2 tablespoons unsalted butter 3 tablespoons sugar One 8-inch square cake pan, preferably metal, greased, bottom lined with parchment or waxed paper, then greased and floured.   Note:  some metal pans slope inward and are less than 8-inches at the bottom.  In this case it is better to use a 9-inch square pan or fill the pan ½ full and bake the excess batter as cup cakes. In a small, heavy saucepan, on medium-low heat, stir together the butter, golden syrup, sugar and marmalade until melted and uniform.  Set aside until just barely warm, then whisk in the eggs and milk.   In a large bowl, whisk together all the remaining dry ingredients.  Add the liquid mixture to the dry ingredients, stirring with a large spoon or rubber spatula just until the batter is smooth. Pour the batter into the prepared tin, no more than ½ full.  Bake for 50-60 minute or until a tester inserted near the center comes out clean and the cake springs back when pressed lightly in the center.  The cake should start to shrink from the sides of the pan only after removal from the oven. To make syrup:  In a small pan, stir together the 2 tablespoons lemon juice, 2 tablespoons softened butter and the 3 tablespoons sugar.  Heat stirring, until the butter is melted and the sugar dissolved.  Brush half the syrup on to the top of the cake.  Let the cake cool in the pan on a rack for 10 minutes. Loosen the sides with a small metal spatula and invert onto a greased wire rack.  Brush the bottom with the remaining syrup.  To prevent splitting, reinvert so that the top is up. For extra moistness, cover the cake with plastic wrap while still hot and allow it to cool.  Wrap airtight for 24 hours before eating.

*This also may explain why some of my recipes just...do not turn out, overseas. Apparently getting anything approaching cake flour is difficult and annoying and anyway if RLB has to basically remake every cake, rewrite every recipe, with those ingredients and tools, I don’t stand a chance in hell.

[istherewifiinhell]

[ID: 4 coloured bread balls shaped in oval wedges in a standard loaf pan. A red one with whole grains with little spikes cut into it. A dark rye purple one that is smooth and flat. A sprouted wheat blue one with two curved slashes. And a sourdough yellow/orange one with circles pressed into it. End ID]

Bread boys... my brother may have... convinced me they should be decorated. I may not have been hard to convince.

#some shit #baking things #cooking things #bread poll #thats sour dough as in. sour dough flour. listen i dont really know i made them all the same usually recipe....

[blorboverse]

Chapter 1: Roxan

The first world I travel to is beautiful.

The thing you have to know about my home dimension is that it’s depressing as fuck. Think, um, like, hardcore cyberpunk. You never see the sun past the thick clouds of smog. The buildings are dull gray concrete, with windows that need cleaning. And the people? Let’s just say, there’s a reason I left.

This, however, rocks. The sky is a beautiful blue, verging on teal, and I’m surrounded by green and yellow fields. Honeybees dart between flowers, and the smell of wheat is heavy in the air. In the distance, there are thatched huts clustered together. 

I exhale. I made the right decision.

I set off through the tall grass, hoping that ticks don’t exist in this dimension. The town is about an hour away– maybe I can find someone to help there. 

I’ve walked for almost seven seconds when my leg gets caught in something, sending me sprawling to the ground.

Something jumps out of the grass and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the knife point to be pressed to my throat–

But suddenly I hear the cords of a string instrument. What the hell? I open my eyes again.

My leg is caught in a snare. The tight wire is snug to my leg, not tight enough to break the skin but definitely tight enough to bruise. And standing in front of me is a humanoid with pink-purple skin. He has jaw-length short black hair, horns, and a long thick tail. He’s wearing a long white dress and flats, and holding what looks like a lute. A messenger bag is slung over his shoulder.

There’s a beat. Then,

“Are you going to rob me?” I ask.

“Are you rich?” he asks me back.

“I don’t even know what currency this world uses, man.”

“Then no.” He pauses. Considers for a moment. “You must be one of those dimension hoppers, huh?”

“I guess,” I say. “This is my first world. Other than home, I mean.”

He cracks a toothy grin. “Oh, man, congrats. My uncle did a little hopping once upon a time. I’ve heard it’s pretty fun.”

“Yeah, sure. Can you let me out now?”

“Oh, right.” He strums a few chords on his lute, and the wire disappears from my leg. He offers a hand to help me up. “The snare wasn’t even for people, by the way. I’m trying to study how musical buffs affect the energy of wild pigs!”

“Sounds kind of dangerous,” I comment.

He laughs. “I’ve been charged a few times. But I always heal both the pig and myself before I release it.”

“I’m Can,” I say. 

“Roxan,” he says with a smile.

“I like your dress,” I tell him. 

“I like your bodysuit.” he replies. “So, Can, why are you hopping? Treasure? Glory?”

“Friendship,” I say. “I want to make at least one friend in every dimension, and help whoever possible.”

“Aren’t there infinite dimensions?”

“Yup.”

“You’ll be traveling forever.”

“Yup.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Am I your friend for this dimension?”

“I guess,” I say. “Is that cool?”

He looks like he’s about to nod, but catches himself, and furrows his brow. “I’ll only be your friend if you help me with something.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” I ask incredulously.

That makes Roxan smile. “Yes. But it’s fun blackmailing. I just want you to jam with me for a while!”

“Jam with you?” 

“Like play music.”

I look down. “I don’t play.” Not much time to learn instruments in a science lab.

“No problem. I have something easy.” He digs around in his bag, and pulls out a wooden circle with long thin strips of metal on it. He plops down, criss-cross, and pats the ground next to him.

When I do, he hands me the object, and says, “This is a finger piano. All you have to do is press the little tabs.”

I hold it, not touching the tabs. After a while, Roxan starts to fidget. “What are you waiting for?”

“Just like, press anything? What if it sounds bad?”

“Then I’m not going to be your friend,” he laughs. “Just play. I’ll follow.”

I thumb one of the tabs. It makes a plink sound. I thumb another. I start pressing random keys, hoping that the jumble of notes will somehow arrange itself into a melody.

Roxan cocks his head at my mishmash of chords. His ears twitch, and I’m worried that I’ve, like, irreversibly fucked up. But then, he dips his head and begins to play his lute.

Oh my god.

His music sounds like a million butterfly wings. Or seedlings popping out of the ground. Or maybe just springtime. Whatever it sounds like, it’s nothing like the grind and hum of machinery that I’m so used to. Every random note I play gets swept up by the melody, calling to mind the fluttering of a bird’s wings and the crawl of an earthworm.

I pick my eyes up from the piano and am met with a wondrous sight. All around us, the grass is sprouting purple flowers. Lots of them. Tiny buds grow on the stalks of grass, expanding and opening immediately, until the stalks are covered in the flowers and are too heavy to support themselves on their own. Then, the grass stalks topple, and the flowers cover the ground like a carpet. As we play, the circle of flowers around us gets bigger and bigger.

I pluck two more tabs that I hope sound kind of final, and then stop. Roxan gets the hint, and trills off into a finale. He opens his eyes. “Pretty cool, right?”

I give him a small smile. “Pretty cool.”

“Keep the piano,” he says. “Maybe next time you come visit, we can jam again.”

“I’ll be better next time,” I promise. 

“I’m glad I met you,” Roxan says.

“You… don’t know my history.”

“You don’t know mine.”

“Touché,” I concede.

“What’s important is the now,” he says. “And right now, it’s a beautiful day.”

I breathe in the wheat-smelling air. I exhale. And we just sit there together, enjoying the blue sky and the purple, purple flowers.

OC by @fitzkn​

#hope i got your guy right!