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“The doctors are spooked, man.” Dean looks at him carefully. “They said wisteria vines cling together and choke each other out.”

Sam snorts, and then immediately sobers up. “Sorry.” He doesn’t add sounds about right. “It’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not.” Dean’s back to being mad about it in lieu of Sam’s flippant attitude. Sam doesn’t mean it -- it’s just funny. The Victorian era flower book said wisterias were to be viewed as a warning over passionate love. Not to get too entangled. And yet. “This is going to kill you, Sam. It already almost did.”

Sam sobers up and quietly says, “I know.”

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The sickness that befell Dennis in Ireland still has him coughing.

“Dude, maybe it’s like, water bugs or something,” Charlie says, throwing his whole body weight down against the bottom of the bar sink. He peers back over one shoulder, direct eye contact as Dennis stares back at him. “You heard about these water bugs? Tardigrades?!”

Dennis presses a hand to his chest. God, water bugs? “Where did you hear of these?”

“These things?” Something sucks, and the sink swallows, and the backed up ring of dirty water at the bottom funnels away. Charlie looks at Dennis seriously, eyebrows two little peaked arches on his forehead. “You can throw radiation at them, and they eat it up like candy.”

Jesus. Dennis grimaces. “How do you get rid of them?”

“That isn’t for me to know,” Charlie says inexplicably. He whips the hose out of the sink and bar water goes flying through the air. Dennis ducks. “It’s not the kind of thing you want to go sharing around, you know? It’s not like, information for the common man.”

Dennis scratches at his chest. Water bugs. “No offense, man, but then how do you know about them?”

“Oh, Mac told me.” Charlie threads the hose back into his tiny tool belt. “He’s got some sources about these kinds of things.”

Which is great for Charlie, but doesn’t really work for Dennis.

“I’m not talking to Mac right now,” he says diplomatically.

continue reading on AO3

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Complex Part 2/2

The viability of Mac’s current relationship quickly becomes a prickly topic of conversation.

“It’s disgusting, is what it is,” Frank tells Dennis while they’re counting the bank deposit. Mac has been gone for two weeks. Dennis doesn’t bother looking up from where he’s thumbing twenties. “Next thing you know, they’ll be getting married. You know gays can do that now.”

Dennis snorts. “I doubt that’ll happen, Frank. You’d have to be crazy beyond repair to attach yourself to Mac in such a permanent fashion.”

“Is this Connor guy rich? Maybe it could be mutually beneficial.”

God, getting married to Mac. Dennis can’t think of a worse idea in the world. Every time you’d go into public, people would see the ring, because Mac would want rings, really obvious wedding band rings, and everyone would ask: oh, are you married? How is your wife? And Dennis would have to take time out of his day to explain, I don’t have a wife, you fucking homophobic bitch, Mac is a man, and we’ve been happily married for-

continue reading on AO3

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Dennis scratches at his chest. Water bugs. “No offense, man, but then how do you know about them?”

“Oh, Mac told me.” Charlie threads the hose back into his tiny tool belt. “He’s got some sources about these kinds of things.”

Which is great for Charlie, but doesn’t really work for Dennis.

“I’m not talking to Mac right now,” he says diplomatically.

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SEBASTIAN STAN via Chris Evans’s instagram

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Headfirst Slide live performances are the best

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“Pete had his own ideas [for Folie] and kept ‘pushing and pushing and pushing’ for a different sound, much to Patrick’s annoyance. 

“As a ‘fuck you’, I took a bunch of lyrics, read them and just angrily wrote two songs off the top of my head, just like, ‘Duh-duh-duh-duhduhduh… there!’ And ‘Duh-duh-duh-duhduhduh… there!’” recalls Patrick. “I said, ‘Now I wrote these two songs, and I didn’t fucking care about ‘em! I didn’t put any hope or love into these songs at all! And if you appreciate ‘em, then fuck you!” he laughs. 

The songs in question were Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes and I Don’t Care. 

“Perfect,” says Pete of the latter. 

“The thing that’s funny is,” adds Patrick, “I look back at those songs and they’re probably my favourite songs on that record. But I wrote them out of spite, where I was like, ‘Fine, Pete, if this is what you want with all your great taste, then here you go!’”

Kerrang! (Issue 1554) | 1.14.15

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Sebastian Stan on December 12th, 2022 in New York City

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“Think this is the kind of place that would get mad at me for putting holes in the walls?” Steve greets, thunking a box full of t-shirts down on the stage. He makes a face. “Not like the friggin queen’s coming anytime soon.”

In Muncie, Steve got in trouble for using thumbtacks. It ended with Eddie yelling FASCIST PIGS and then getting his polaroid put up on the banned wall.

“Dude, don’t ask me.” Gareth scratches his back with a drumstick as he thinks. “You could probably ask that guy,” he settles on, pointing over to where Eddie and Gene are still chatting away, now cracking jokes and smoking cigarettes by the guitar rack.

Steve looks over at Eddie, back at Gareth, and then back at Eddie.

“I’ll get Eddie to ask him for me,” he finally settles on. Gareth shrugs and watches as Steve drags the box back off the stage and turns around, looking for somewhere to set up his table.

Gareth goes on tour with Corroded Coffin, and Steve Harrington tags along to sell merch. Explicit, established relationship.

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They fall into a comfortable, familiar silence. Eddie peels out of his clothes and balls them into the foot of the bed so he can stretch out and read Misery in his underwear, and Steve sits in the front passenger seat with the mirror flipped down as he washes his face with a wet wipe.

“Gareth’s light went out,” he says, ten minutes later.

Eddie yawns and tosses the paperback to the side, then tips his head back so he can watch Steve squeezing himself between the two front seats. He’s down to his socks, underwear, and the tour shirt Eddie bought when he saw W.A.S.P. play Indy in ‘85.

“I heard some girls talking earlier,” Steve says, dropping to his knees on the bed. He looks down at Eddie and raises his eyebrows. “They were big fans.”

Eddie’s hand goes up to Steve’s bare waist as Steve strips the W.A.S.P. shirt up over his head and tosses it into their pile of dirty laundry. “Dirty” is a loose descriptor, specifically in the sense that Eddie will likely pick that shirt up and wear it tomorrow since it’s on top of the pile.

“Big fans, huh…” he trails off, hand skimming under Steve’s belly. Eddie’s fingers go right down to the front of Steve’s underwear, and he tugs on them, pulling the waistband away from his abdomen and the fabric away from his semi. “Did they say anything memorable?”

Eddie goes on tour with Corroded Coffin, and Steve tags along to sell shirts. Gross and filthy (both disgustingly and lovingly)

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reblog or reply with your love song. you know, the one that you think is what love sounds like

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Steve ’babe, catch’ Harrington

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it had to be done

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“Dude.” Steve greets him in an unamused fashion, cross-legged in the back of the van. “I’ve been out here for like fifteen minutes. What gives?”

Eddie promptly hauls his gear and then himself into the back of the van.

“Lifestyles of the rich and famous, baby,” he breathes, flicking his cigarette out into the night, and then pulling the cargo doors closed behind him. Still on his feet, Eddie turns back to face Steve, hunched over and grinning. “I saw boobs tonight.”

Steve snorts and looks up as Eddie comes down on top of him. “You should tell Robin. Maybe she’ll finally come and help.”

“Jeez, you could pretend to be a little jealous, at least.” Eddie pinches the front of Steve’s t-shirt and pulls it away from his chest in a set of pointy air boobs. They make direct eye contact as Eddie raises his eyebrows and adds, “She for sure would have given me an awful handy in the bathroom if I’d asked.”

That makes Steve laugh, which is always Eddie’s goal, and flop back onto his elbows so they can see each other a little better. The only light in here is coming from the bar outside.

“I know for a fact you wouldn’t know what to do with girl boobs,” Steve grins, double chin poking out as he leans all the way back onto their weird shag rug, the shitty little stack of pillows they jammed back here before rolling off of Eddie’s gravel yesterday morning. Eddie grins back and shifts his weight forward. “They don’t have hair on them, for starters.”

Eddie takes that as an invitation to start shoving Steve’s shirt up his belly. “That’s depressing.”

Eddie goes on tour with Corroded Coffin, and Steve tags along to sell merch. Explicit, established relationship.

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Hi I recently found your fic on Ao3 ( after seeing a recommendation for "The House down the the road" and I have to say I loved reading every one of your stories! I have one question though, and it's partly because I'm a nitpicker and sorry if this is something you hadn't planned on exploring before but in the "The house...." what did Chris do before he got his start up off the ground? Was he a house husband or???

Hi! Thank you very much. That's not a nitpick at all, I love talking about homewreckers. Chris was totally a house husband and Amy was a trustfund baby. He would have been a dude who was always working on some business project but never really had anything to show for it, and Amy would have been the $$$ behind it all.