#Bon Appetit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artiststarme · 3 days

Text

Swimming Ground

Warning: mentions of su!cide

Steve hated his pool. Not swimming or lounging near water but the pool in his backyard in particular. He hated the reminders it held. The pool in the Harrington backyard held too much power over him.

He remembers when he was in the eighth grade and his parents decided to get the pool. He remembers how happy they were to be one of the only families in Hawkins with a new in ground pool that Steve could practice for the swim team in. They never could have imagined that just two weeks later, they’d find Steve floating in it. His mom looked out of the kitchen window to find her beautiful boy fully clothed, face down in the water. They didn’t love the pool so much after that.

They didn’t love their son too much after that either. To his parents, Steve had tried to take their precious boy away from them and they could never truly forgive him for being so selfish. They started taking more business trips and longer vacations away from home to forget about the son that wanted to die.

And Steve was left at home with the constant reminder that he failed.

He used the pool to make friends and to throw rambunctious parties but he never stepped foot in it. The first time he did since the eighth grade was with Nancy when he pushed her in. That was the night his pool took Barb. After that night, the kids thought his hesitation around his pool was because of guilt over losing Nancy’s best friend which he went with because it was so much easier to explain.

He’d throw them pool parties and play lifeguard but he would not touch the water.

Some nights, Robin would swing by to the Harrington house just to find Steve sitting at the pool’s edge. Close but never touching the water. She’d lure him inside to complain about girls or any other topic that helped distract her from the uneasy feeling she got when she saw him sitting there.

After their final bout with the Upside Down, Loch Nora was destroyed. Steve’s house was barely standing and his backyard was a chasm. The pool that had haunted him for years was gone but the thoughts that gave the pool such power remained. Steve didn’t know why he deserved to live more than Eddie and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. As he thought about his fallen friend that could’ve been more, he yearned to feel the floating like he had in eighth grade. He wanted to feel his lungs burn for air and the fire in his chest when he finally breathed in.

But the pool was gone, he couldn’t do what he’d wanted to since he first tried and even though it was gone, the temptation remained. Instead of sinking into the chilly water, he slouched down next to the blazing chasm where his pool used to be. He felt the heat envelop his body and knew that it was the right decision. He was supposed to perish in the Upside Down as a martyr fighting for his friends. That didn’t work out though so now he had to pull the role of a coward and die a fiery, reasonless, self-imposed death alone.

He didn’t leave a note, didn’t think he needed to. His friends would care or they wouldn’t but nothing he said would make the situation better.

So, he closed his eyes and stepped into the void just as he’d done so long ago. There wasn’t peace or panic like there was the last time, just nothingness as he stepped into the crack in the earth.

Strangely, the afterlife wasn’t dark as he’d expected (but to be fair, he hadn’t thought about it much). Instead, it looked exactly like the Upside Down almost as if the chasm wasn’t a portal to hell but a gate to the alternate Hawkins.

When Steve sat up, still alive despite his efforts, it was face to face with Eddie. A bloody and scarred Eddie that looked a little pissed off but Eddie nonetheless.

“Well hello Harrington, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Goddammit, the swimming excuse wasn’t going to work this time.

#Eddie gives him something to live for and they get out of the Upside Down together #I’m having a rough time so now Steve is too #bon appetit #stranger things #steddie #ish #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #barb #fanfic

199 notes · View notes

garkgatiss · 3 days

Text

presented for your enjoyment: a full transcript of the sherlock official escape room! hustle 💜 loyalty 💜 respect 💜

#might still add transcripts of one or two last promo clips but the whole escape room is there in all her glory #bon appetit #the game is now #bbc sherlock

116 notes · View notes

oldfarmhouse · 2 days

Text

𝐛𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

https://pin.it/2suvNAsrz

#farmhouse kitchen #gourmet kitchen #country style kitchen #bon appetit

26 notes · View notes

luckydiorxoxo · 3 months

Text

Starting at midnight EST for 24 hours, DON’T CROSS OUR CLICK-IT LINE, that means no clicks, likes, reshares on:

GQ ❌

Vanity Fair ❌

Bon Appétit ❌

Architectural Digest ❌

Vogue ❌

Allure ❌

Glamour ❌

Epicurious ❌

Self ❌

Condé Nast Traveler ❌

Them ❌

Teen Vogue ❌

#Condé Nast #strikes #gq #vanity fair #glamour #allure #vogue #self #them #teen vogue #epicurious #architectural digest #bon appetit

4K notes · View notes

theacecouple · 6 months

Text

Happy Ace Week! We've got our cake and we're ready to dig in!

Learn more about the history and significance of cake in the Asexual community in Courtney's article for Bon Appetit!

4K notes · View notes

i-hate-reality · 23 days

Text

Dinner's ready 🍑

#curvy girls #big round butt #big a$$#cutie w a bootie #thick babe #curvybeauty #thicc af #beautiful #me #body confidence #cute #thicc girls #natural #bon appetit #curvy hips #curvy #i-hate-reality

1K notes · View notes

elesketchii · 1 month

Text

breath of life

#thir piece made me want2 kill myself #bon appetit #disco elysium #disco elysium fanart #harrier du bois #kim kitsuragi #harrykim #my art #digital art #illustration

1K notes · View notes

riality-check · 1 year

Text

This is not how Wayne was expecting to come home from work.

He had expected, as usual, that Eddie would be asleep, and he’d be free to watch the 5:00 AM news. He’d have a bowl of cereal for dinner (or was it breakfast at that point?), and then he’d be out like a light while Eddie did whatever it was he did before noon. Usually, that was sleep.

The exact opposite of what Wayne was expecting is happening right now.

He didn’t even get his keys out of his pocket before Eddie whips the door open. He looks a mess: hair tied back loosely, pajamas off kilter, panic mixed with exhaustion on his face.

“Oh, thank Christ,” he croaks. “Wayne, I need your help. I have no idea what to do.”

Wayne can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Eddie panic like this. He shoulders past him into the trailer and is greeted with the sight of Steve Harrington standing in the middle of his living room.

“What on God’s green earth,” he murmurs. He blinks, then blinks again, but Harrington is still there, in pajamas, the tire iron Eddie still keeps under his bed in his hands. He’s breathing real heavy, and he stares out the window, stock-still.

“The hell happened?” Wayne asks, keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know,” Eddie whispers desperately. “I don’t know what happened, but he got up and grabbed the iron and just stood here-”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

Wayne doesn’t like where this is going. “Has he responded to you at all?”

“No-”

Shit.

“-but I can try again?”

Wayne eyes the white-knuckled grip Harrington has on the tire iron. He’s ready to swing, and Wayne knows he’ll swing hard if given the chance.

No way he’s risking Eddie. No way he’s risking Harrington. Wayne doesn’t know him well, only met him a few times in passing, but he knows he’d never forgive himself if he hurt Eddie.

“No. Don’t try again.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Didn’t ask you to. All I’m saying is don’t go near.”

Eddie is very good at following instructions to the letter and to the letter only, much to Wayne’s fond annoyance. So, he doesn’t go near.

Instead, he says, voice strangely soft, “Stevie, sweetheart.”

Harrington doesn’t respond, but he turns a little in the direction of Eddie’s voice. Wayne takes that as a good sign, even if he can see the tension on his face now.

“Will you come back to sleep? Please?” Wayne hates hearing Eddie’s voice crack the way it is right now.

Harrington faces them a little better, and Wayne sees what he was expecting.

He’s staring through them, not at them. Wherever Harrington is, it sure ain’t here.

“I don’t know how much that’s gonna help, Eddie. He’s having-”

“I know he’s having a flashback, Wayne!” Eddie snaps. “I’m not stupid. It’s usually just not this bad, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Alright,” Wayne says because snapping back won’t help anyone. That and because he’s trying to process the fact that Eddie has had to deal with this before. “Let me try.”

He takes a few steps toward Harrington, keeping his hands up and his movements slow.

“Harrington,” he calls, keeping his tone light. “You’re at Eddie’s place right now. It’s almost five AM on a Friday night.”

Harrington blinks, and it looks like his eyes are coming back into focus.

“You’re safe right now. Eddie’s safe right now.”

Harrington shakes his head and lifts the tire iron a little higher. Christ, his arms must be aching by now. “No. I saw the lights flicker, and I heard a thud outside, and it got cold.”

“Stevie, the gate’s closed,” Eddie pleads. “You saw it happen. Nothing got out. You’re safe.”

Wayne doesn’t know what any of that means, but even though it was supposed to reassure Harrington, he just shakes his head again.

He hears Eddie sigh behind him, and he knows without turning around that he’s trying not to cry.

Guess he’s gotta try something different, then. “You just wake up?”

Harrington blinks, and for a minute, Wayne thinks this won’t get them anywhere. But then he whispers, just loud enough to be heard, “Yeah.”

“Okay. I just got off work.”

Harrington stares at him, confused.

“So, I think I’m a little more awake than you. I’ll take what you’ve got in your hands, and I can stay up.”

Harrington shakes his head. “It’s fine. I stay up most of the time when I’m alone.”

Alone. Wayne knows from experience, both personal and witnessing this shit, that alone is the last thing anyone should be when they’re having a flashback. Harrington says it like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

He dismisses his questions - why is Harrington having flashbacks, why is he alone - and focuses on getting him to put down the tire iron and go to bed.

“You’re not alone this time,” Wayne says. “You’ve got Eddie here, too, and I think both of you would feel better if you were together.”

Harrington looks over Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne doesn’t turn around, but he can imagine the pleading look on Eddie’s face just fine.

Wayne holds out his hands for the tire iron, and after a minute, or maybe a month, Harrington sets it there. Immediately, he looks lighter and heavier.

Eddie walks up next to Wayne and murmurs, “Come on, sugar.”

Harrington goes to him and just rests his head on his shoulder. Eddie holds him there, just standing in the middle of the living room, sunrise just starting to peek in through the windows.

Thank you, he mouths to Wayne.

Wayne nods, but he’s got a hell of a lot more questions than answers - what the hell brought this on, what exactly is Harrington to Eddie. That can wait for morning, though.

For now, he just hopes Harrington will be okay by then.

No, not Harrington. Steve.

After something like this, Wayne has learned, you start using first names.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #steddie #(from an outside pov)#angst #hurt/comfort #flashbacks #idk what this is #it's the night before midterms #i've had a shit week #bon appetit #this is old btw i promise i wasn't THAT irresponsible #to write new fic the night before a midterm #ria writes

10K notes · View notes

azperja · 4 months

Text

Mlem mlem mlem

1K notes · View notes

annanuna-arts · 23 days

Text

Very important Rolan/Anthony doodling studies

#baldurs gate fanart #bg3 #rolan #sketch #rolan baldur's gate 3 #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #period drama #gentleman Rolan #bon appetit #art studies #anthony bridgerton #regency rolan #holy rolan empire #Duke of Ramazith's Tower #and our hearts

596 notes · View notes

paulcirigliano · 22 days

Text

#bon appetit #foodporn

346 notes · View notes

foodshowxyz · 11 days

Text

Crispy Chicken Tenders with Béchamel Sauce

Ingredients:

Chicken Tenders:

1 pound chicken tenders

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 eggs, beaten

1 cup breadcrumbs or panko

1 teaspoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon paprika

Salt and pepper to taste

Oil for frying

Seasoned French Fries:

2 large russet potatoes, cut into fries

1 tablespoon olive oil

1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

1/2 teaspoon paprika

Salt and pepper to taste

Béchamel Sauce:

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 cup milk

Salt and pepper to taste

A pinch of nutmeg (optional)

Instructions:

Prepare the Chicken Tenders:

In one bowl, place the flour seasoned with garlic powder, paprika, salt, and pepper.

In a second bowl, have the beaten eggs.

In a third bowl, have the breadcrumbs.

Dredge each chicken tender first in the flour, then dip in the egg, and finally coat with breadcrumbs.

Heat oil in a large frying pan over medium heat and fry the chicken tenders until golden brown and cooked through, about 4-5 minutes per side. Drain on paper towels.

Bake the French Fries:

Preheat your oven to 425°F (220°C).

Toss the cut fries with olive oil, garlic powder, paprika, salt, and pepper.

Spread out the fries in a single layer on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.

Bake for 25-30 minutes or until crispy, flipping halfway through.

Make the Béchamel Sauce:

In a saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat.

Stir in the flour and cook for about 2 minutes until the mixture is pale yellow and bubbly.

Gradually whisk in the milk, and continue to cook, whisking constantly until the sauce thickens, about 5-7 minutes.

Season with salt, pepper, and nutmeg (if using). Cook for an additional minute and remove from heat.

Serve:

Arrange the chicken tenders and French fries on a plate.

Drizzle the béchamel sauce generously over the chicken tenders.

Optionally, garnish with parsley and ground black pepper.

205 notes · View notes

gangstagandalf · 1 year

Text

Don’t give me the anti venom, thanks. I’m perfectly contempt with this snake bite. 🐍

Come! Join me in the thirst trap!!!

(All characters aged up and well into adulthood)

#sebastian sallow #sebastian x mc #ominis x sebastian #okay but drawing this made me feel things #ominis x sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #thirst trap #slytherin #slytherclaw #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts houses #late night doodles #enjoy #bon appetit

2K notes · View notes

wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 17 days

Text

Springtime Caresses

III. Angsty Dadstarion, but it's quite alright.

“Here, papa, here! You have to lie down right here! Don’t move!”

Warm grass tickles the back of Astarion’s neck. With his eyes closed to the bright sun above him, he listens to his surroundings, takes in the bird song and wind dancing through the trees. The static buzz of honey bees. Children’s play.

Life.

He’s not asleep but pretends to be. It’s part of the game, or so he’s been told.

“Sweet dreams, papa!”

Most of his dreams are sweet these days, but he doesn’t mention that, just complies.

The scents of sun-warmed soil and perfectly ripened strawberries carry a promise of summer to his nose, lulling Astarion into a twilight state of content drowsiness. Maybe he will allow himself to fall into reverie, after all. He’s tranced in worse places, and with worse company, too.

But that was a long time ago.

Now, he enjoys ruining his silken shirts with grass stains. Fresh air filling his lungs all day long. The feeling of tiny hands weaving wildflowers into his silver curls.

Even after all these years, this experience will never cease feeling novel to him—the warmth, the tranquillity. This deep sense of belonging.

Peace.

It’s not a sweet dream, but reality. It’s as real as the wild shrieks and laughter sweeping across the meadow. Children jumping over and around him, eager to slay this or that imaginary fiend. The hem of a skirt he mended only last night brushing against his legs. A young boy humming a song his mother sang over breakfast close to his ear.

Astarion smiles, or tries not to, since he’s promised to be fast asleep—even when there’s a sudden tug at his hair.

The humming stops; the laughter fades into displeased groans all around him. Astarion doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that the face eclipsing the sun above him is a much younger version of his own.

“Careful, Miri, that hurts papa!” The boy scolds as he gently untangles his little sister’s hand from their father’s locks.

“Uh-oh!” the toddler mumbles before she helps the boy pick stray sticks from Astarion’s hair. “Bad!”

“Yes, Miri—bad.”

Astarion suppresses the urge to take his daughter’s clumsy hand in his and press a soothing kiss to her small fingers, telling her it’s quite alright. That no harm was done. There never is. Not here. Not with them.

But all he has to do today is feign sleep, so he will reassure the child later when it’s his turn to braid her hair in time for bed.

“Sorry, papa,” another girl calls from near the treeline. “Miri didn’t mean to hurt you! But don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the true beast!”

This time, Astarion cannot help the faint smile tugging at his lips.

It’s a lovely promise, lisped through missing front teeth. And it’s true—most of the time, at least.

These children, this family he helped create with nothing but love and devotion, distract him from the beast prowling the everlasting darkness far in the back of his mind.

Yet, sometimes, distraction alone isn’t enough…

Astarion doesn’t like to dwell on the rare occasions when the beast eventually does find its way to him. It’s tamer now, the years have made it lazy enough, but every now and then, it will probe him. It can still sniff out the weakness he’ll never be able to shed, knows whenever he’s at his lowest.

The beast only lunges at easy prey—it always has.

So, sometimes, when Astarion’s nights are tense with endless whining, misplaced toys and sharp words, the beast breathes down his neck, whispers in his ear.

On your back, boy, right here. Do not move. It will not hurt unless you let it. Your screams have always sounded the sweetest. Are you hurting, yet? Good, it’s because I want you to. It’s what you deserve, you insolent fool. Have you no respect for yourself? That’s why they hate you so, that’s why you’re but a pathetic little boy who’s never amounted to anything that’s why you’re nothing that’s why—

Once the older children perform their duty to scold the youngest among them, the laughter returns. Their faceless fiend is fair game again and all Astarion has to do is sleep, trust in his family’s sweet promise that holds his cure.

Because, as exhausting as it is, he has learned to ignore the beast, become numb to its poison. It’s a thing of the past and he won’t let it taint his future.

Astarion lets out a deep breath. He can feel himself grow tired under the little hands stroking his hair.

“No worry, papa.”

No worry, no. Not here. Not with them. Never with them…

There’s a gust of wind coming from up north. It carries the scents of sickly sweet strawberries and petrichor and, ever so slowly, Astarion can feel his mind slipping.

He doesn’t sleep; he hasn’t in a very long time. Sleep, true sleep, is vulgar and reminds him of death. Instead, Astarion drowns in memories, but even there he’s buried six feet under today.

There are no strawberries in this freshly dug grave, only the stink of decay. The damp wood of his coffin presses uncomfortably into his back while worms and maggots tickle his neck. Eating at him. Consuming him.

His broken fingernails hurt as he claws at the darkness surrounding him—this deep in the ground, all shades of grey are tainted black. Sometimes he wonders if his eyes are even open, but they must be because they burn with tears and blood and dust.

There’s laughter coming from somewhere above. It’s rumbling like far-away thunder; it hasn’t reached him, yet, but the threat of it is already stunning him with fear.

He cannot speak he cannot see he cannot be he cannot—

The laughter isn’t coming from above, nor is it coming from anywhere, really. It’s residing inside his head, this vile laughter that won’t let him in on the joke. And why would it? He is nothing, is he not? All he is is blood and screams and death. Bodies piled atop his aching shoulders, weighing him down.

So why is he moving? Why is he digging through wet soil until he can see moonlight illuminating his path to…

The beast eclipses the moon and the stars shining down on him. It has stopped laughing, though its maw is stretched into an unnatural grin, revealing a pair of sharp fangs—the key to the wounds on his neck. A promise of endless misery.

He cannot stop moving towards the beast. It holds its claws out to him, stroking his hair, scratching his scalp raw. There you are, boy, always crawling back to me. My good, prodigal son—look at you! Do you know why you’re here? With me? It’s because, after all these years, you’re still mine. And you will always be.

“Astarion?”

There’s a light drizzle soaking his skin.

Astarion opens his eyes to a sun that’s crawled past its zenith, taking the music of children’s play with it. The silence feels oppressive, just like the calm before a great storm, and all he can feel are the small, warm bodies Astarion helped create press against him. They’re curled up against his side, lying draped over his legs, clutching his arm. Weighing him down.

No.

Grounding him, always ever grounding him.

He needs to shield his sleeping children from the rain, he thinks, but his arms are still caged somewhere between nightmare and reality.

Fuck, how long had he been out?

Astarion inhales deeply. He just needs a moment to come to his senses.

He can smell rain-soaked cotton, crisp air and that faint scent of magic he would recognise even if he were buried deep in the ground.

Oh, of course…

“Astarion.”

He allows himself a relieved half-smile as the rain above him is coming to a sudden halt a moment later.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, my heart,” Tav says as she steps into the meadow, one eyebrow raised at the sight in front of her. “But what in the nine hells are you doing out here?”

Astarion can only watch as little droplets of rain run down the magic dome enclosing him and the children, tear drops that can never reach them now.

“I’m a sleeping princess, or so I’ve been told. But I’m rather afraid my knights in shining armour fell asleep before they got to wake me…”

Tav joins her family under her shield of magic, strokes the head of the child closest to her as she smiles at her husband.

“I see. May I kiss you awake instead, then?”

“You already have, darling,” Astarion whispers. “But do it again, yes? Just to be on the safe side…?”

His hand brushes the swell of Tav’s stomach as she’s trying to settle comfortably against him. It’s getting rather crowded—the house, life, moments like this—but there’s always room for one more, Astarion thinks.

Tav grins as she sweetly kisses her way from his cheek to his mouth, where she finally lingers.

To Astarion, Tav’s lips taste of freedom, of nightmares swiftly broken. Of home—the best distraction he never dared to hope for. One he never wants to end.

In the distance, there’s a gentle thunder rolling towards the meadow, but that’s quite alright. Astarion knows that it can’t do any harm. Not here. Not with them.

Never with his family around him.

@seaofdaydreams , my dear, I hope you do not mind me borrowing Miri's name for this one ♡