#I'm so happy you asked about them!!!!!

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[kottkrig]

People liking your personal OCs is still such a crazy feeling, I've been doing this for years and ppl asking about them still fills my entire heart with warmth and idk how to handle it

You enjoy this fictional guy I made up for fun?? Whose only content is random artwork or writing made by me and a handful of other artists at most? They have no show/book/game with a large fandom, it's just one person with an art blog?? I love u

[somnimagus]

My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.

[id in alt text]

[raycatzdraws]

A Linked Universe meets The Dark Crystal AU! I don't even remember what started it at this point. I remembered that the Dark Crystal and Age of Resistance are things I like, blinked, and woke up three days later with an AU and a bunch of art.

The designs and the story are a wip and for fun so expect a lot of variation! (I have a few different beginnings, ideas for different designs, etc)! :D

In addition to #linked universe I'll be using the tags #the dark crystal lu au and #courage of the dark crystal!

[paintedcrows]

If I ask politely enough would you post more Gaster x Stanford art

The Silly Scientists!

[a2zillustration]

Does croissant and gale get married in your story?

It's certainly something they plan to do!

But not just yet.

🥐 Croissant Adventures Masterpost 🥐

[hellsquills]

Disclaimer: I know about the duffle bag Filbrick threw at him, but you can ignore that if you want

My thoughts below the cut! (this turned into a whole ass fic lmao)

My personal headcanon is that Filbrick is as much of a coward as he is of an asshole. Therefore, he wouldn't have kicked Stan when he did in canon. Probably not for a while after that.

However, he does try to send him to military school. He keeps talking about how this kid needs to learn discipline and respect, and if he's not gonna bring money to the house, then he should at least bring some honor to his family.

Stan obviously does NOT want to go. Not only because it's a pointless war ("what've the vietnamese done to us anyways?") but because he remembers his mother's face when Shermie got drafted and he will NOT make her go through that hell again. Also, he doesn't wanna die!!!! Hello?????

He talks it out over the phone with Ford, who's obviously just as against it as he is. He tells Stan that, if he gets into a PhD program, he could skip military. Stan laughs in his face. It'd be easier to jump off the plane without a parachute.

And so, he comes up with a plan. When he goes to take his physical, he tries his best to botch it. If he is bad enough, if it looks like he can't do it, maybe he won't have to. Unfortunately, the recruiters are far too used to this by now, and they don't buy it. Stan goes home with a recruitment letter hidden in his jacket.

Everything goes downhill after that. He runs away from home, changes his name several times, does some crime here and there... The military is after him, and it doesn't take rejection kindly.

Stan stays out of contact with his family for a few years. He can't risk getting them involved in this mess. They don't deserve it. So he just leaves, without saying a word, in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no notes, nothing. Not even he knows where he's going. But if it just looks like he abandoned them, maybe they'll hate him. That will make them sound more believable with the police. They aren't covering for him, because they genuinely have no idea where he is. It's the best way to keep them safe.

In that time, Ford doesn't stop looking for him. He finds him every once in a while, but only his phone number, and he knows that could give away his brother's location and get the family in trouble. So, against his deepest instincts, he doesn't call.

One, three, five, seven years pass. Stan has been around almost all the country, and is genuinely considering leaving it. Maybe going to Mexico, or Colombia. Those sound nice. Maybe they'll be nicer to him.

He's passing his time and thinking about this in a small town restaurant in wherever he's in (somewhere he's not banned from, yet), when a family enters. He doesn't make eye contact, but he can't help but stare at them: a man and a woman, probably in their 50s, with 7 kids; one must be older than him, the second one around his age, the third one a little younger, the fourth one a teenager, and the last three between 10 and 15, no more. Except for the last three, they're all taller than him, even the mother, and they have various degrees of blond hair. Their clothes (overalls and plastic boots) suggest they must work in one of the farms he's seen around the state. They don't wear any accessories, except for the glasses that the father and four of the kids have. They're talking loudly and laughing. They look exhausted from a morning of hard work. They seem happy. They... look nothing like his family, and yet, he can't help but think about it.

He can't help the sob that comes to his throat. It's loud and messy from trying to suppress it, which obviously makes it worse. He covers his mouth immediately, and at that point he notices the tears that have run down his cheeks. "Great", he thinks, "that will make it easier to hide, for sure".

He doesn't move. He wants to escape, but that will draw even more attention to him, and he hasn't even paid for the food yet (normally he'd leave without paying, but the old waitress was kind enough to give him some extra food when she saw how little he ordered). He settles for not moving, lowering his head and covering his face, hoping that no one heard (unlikely) or cared (very likely).

"Ya'lright, son?"

The voice startles him. I wasn't very deep, but it was close enough to send his body into immediate danger mode. He looks up at the man towering over him, who's standing in front of him at a prudential distance.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, no worries."

He hates how broken his voice sounds. He's spent more than enough time sweet-talking his way out of trouble, he should be better at this by now. The man looks about as convinced by it as he is himself.

" 'lright then. Can I help ya?"

Damn villagers and their welcoming demeanor. If he wasn't a wanted man, he would appreciate it. But right now, it couldn't be worse timing.

"Come get ya food, kids!" The waitress' yell yanks him out of his thoughts.

"No", he blurts out, and he turns to the man. Least he can do is show him some respect and look him in the eyes. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man smiles lightly and nods. "Okay. Welcome to the town."

Stan watches as the man goes back to his table. He wishes he had been more polite, the guy was just worrying about him, but he can't afford it. They already know his face, he can't risk anyone else recognizing him-

"Sweet Mother of God almighty."

Stan turns to his right. One of the kids, the one about his age, is looking at him like he just grew a second head. He's frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates behind thick glasses. He doesn't say a word, and it's getting increasingly unnerving. Was the bruising on his face still visible? Maybe it's more apparent in broad daylight than in the shitty light that last motel had in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, I- Can I ask your name?"

The fuck?

"No", answers Stan. Considering how nice his dad was, this guy is pretty rude.

"Son, leave him alone." The mother seems to have manners too, good to know.

The guy does pretty much the opposite. He comes closer to him, until he's right in his path, blocking his exit. That can't be good. Stan feels trapped.

"Are you Stanley Pines?"

Well, that's about it.

Stan tries his best to stay still. This guy doesn't look like a cop, not even an undercover one. But he knows his real name, so maybe someone in his family or friends works in the police; or worse, in the military.

"Listen man, I don't know who you're talking about, but that isn't my name. See?" He reaches for his wallet. He pulls out an ID, with a very clear Jackson Cage on it. He makes a mental note to change it soon, just in case his hunch is right and this guy has connections. "Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to pay for my food and leave. Move."

Stan is already on his feet, but the guy hasn't moved. Stan looks him up and down, trying to appear threatening despite his face probably still being a little red from before. He also gauges how feasible it'd be to escape if things turned bad; the dude is taller than him, sure, but he's also as thin as a toothpick, and by the anxious look on his face, he doesn't seem eager for a fight. The real problem would be evading the restaurant's staff and the other costumers, which include eight carbon copies of the guy in front of him. Probably better to try to de-escalate the situation.

"I- I can't let you leave. Please. I know who you are."

This man is making it really difficult to believe he's not a cop.

"No, you don't. I'm new in town. Move."

"Listen, I-"

"Move out of my way."

"I know your brother."

The words are like a bullet between his eyebrows.

"You look just like him-"

Against his better judgement, he quickly grabs he guy and pins him to the wood in between the booth benches, arm to his throat. If he knows Ford, he knows too much. God he just wanted to have lunch.

The commotion is immediate. He doesn't break eye contact with the guy who's grabbing his arm, whose strength is frankly surprising. He can hear, however, the screams from the dad and the siblings, as well as a couple of gasps from the other costumers. This is not going to go well, but fuck that. He's escaped worse.

"Stop!", the guy shouts as he keeps Stan's forearm from blocking his airway. "Don't hurt him! Don't get closer!"

It takes Stan a second to process what he said. The first part, sure, who wouldn't shout 'stop' when you're being attacked? But the second half doesn't make sense. Is he protecting him? The attacker?

Whatever it is, it works. The family stops in their tracks, still very ready to attack if needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the three younger kids moving closer to their mother. For a split second, he feels a pang of remorse for the scene he just caused.

"Hang up the phone, Clarisse, it's okay. Please."

Stan looks in the direction the guy was talking to. Right behind him, the waitress reluctantly puts the phone down.

He looks back at the guy. He looks a little shaken up, probably from the impact his back (and his head?) made with the wooden plank, but he doesn't look scared. He almost looks... sympathetic? Stan is confused as hell.

"I know who you are", the guy whispers, low enough for Stan to hear alone. "You're Stanley Pines, and you have a brother named Stanford. I know him, okay? He's my friend. I met him a few years ago in a quantum physics congress and we've been talking ever since. He told me about his family in New Jersey, and about you. About how he hasn't seen you in years, and how he was trying to find you, to no avail."

Stan is gradually loosening his grip on the guy's neck, who takes a deep breath. He should know better, but- shit, hearing that Ford was looking for him was not what he expected. Even if he doesn't know yet if this guy is lying out of his ass, it's enough to make him doubt.

"I know you were called to Vietnam. He told me. I spent a week with him in his place when he found out, he was unconsollable. When you ran away, he called me. He knew what it meant for you and he thought he'd never see you again, whether you got caught or not. All because of that stupid war." Stan is now trembling a little, he knows it. This guy must know it too, with how close they are. If he stays here any longer he'll break down, but he can't move. Anything to hear his brother's name a little longer. "I know what it's like. Three of my cousins were drafted last year, and I know at least one of them won't be coming back home. Please... let me help you."

Stan meets his eyes. They're green and brown-ish, not unlike the immense fields he's seen in his last journey, the one that led him to this town. With the years, he's learned not to trust beautiful eyes, because they are better at hiding. These ones, however, seem serene and honest, just like his words, and he can't help but believing them. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, knows just about enough.

Stan lowers his right arm. The guy still has his hand on it, but this time is much less defensive and much more comforting. He doesn't complain.

"My name's Fiddleford McGucket, and I'm gonna help you find your brother."

______________________________

Essentially, after this Fidds calls Ford as if nothing happened (per Stan's request, since he's still paranoid about the police tracking his calls) and asks him to come to Tennessee. Ford argues that he's very busy and all, but Fidds convinces him in the end.

Obviously the twins have a dual breakdown and cry their heart out. In this AU they're much less emotionally constipated lol

Ford tells Stan that he's gonna build a house in a small town in Oregon as a part of his research, and asks him to move in with him once it's finished. Stan, of course, accepts.

In the meantime, Stan stays in the McGucket farm and helps them out as a way of laying low. He has a great relationship with his family, and they're very proud of him for what he did (i believe that the McGuckets are hippies at heart, and they're VERY anti-war, especially when it already took three of them)

I don't know how much of the canon storyline would this AU follow, but it's pretty much your average Mystery Trio AU with some different backstory

[gentlebeard]

If I could hold you for a minute, Darling, I’d go through it again

For @edsbacktattoo & @stedesearring 💕 Show: Our Flag Means Death - Season 1 & 2 Music: Francesca by Hozier YouTube

[uncanny-tranny]

If somebody in your life offers to knit or crochet or, really, create anything for you, please be an active participant in the creation of the piece they are making. I adore making and gifting things, but nothing bums me out quicker than a person who passively just goes "okay," to my ideas about what I'm making them - it can send the message that they won't like it, or that they don't care, even if they're happy about my offering. The back-and-forth feedback is a great way to make sure that you are being gifted something that was truly worth the time, effort, expertise, and money that will inevitably go into the gift!

I know it's really hard to be an active participant, believe me, I'm an anxious ball of horror, but it will only do good for both parties to interact in this situation. It is a big deal to be offered a hand-crafted gift, but it's also something we want you to love and use, and that can only happen if you tell us what would make you fall in love with what we create.

[feroluce]

I love the fact that the Silvermane Guards are essentially just a very devoted "We Love Gepard Landau" fanclub, and I desperately need for all of them to get into ship wars about it behind their Captain's back. The soldiers are all split into several factions:

Some of them ship him with Sampo 🛡💣 (enemies to lovers/hateship enjoyers; this does not necessarily mean they like Sampo- in fact it's more like most of them want to sic their Captain on him skzjsmdm)

Some of them ship him with Bronya 👑🛡 (knight and princess trope enjoyers and also a sorta-kinda "that is our mom and dad" type of deal; this faction gets riled up and ridiculously hypes Gepard up to Bronya every time she comes down to the frontlines mskdkxmd)

Some of them ship him with the trailblazer 🛡💫 (the smallest and newest faction, but steadily gaining!)

Some of them ship him with Pela ❄🛡 (workplace romance enjoyers; Gepard once charged out into the Fragmentum alone to save Pela from an expedition gone horribly wrong, and when this faction saw Gepard carrying Pela back princess style they threw a whole party)

Some of them ship him with Dunn 🛡🗡 (also workplace romance; Dunn is very flattered by this because yeah wrong Landau, but wow, the troops really think he's good enough to woo the Captain, what an honor)

And some of them ship themselves with the Captain 🛡❤ (yumejoshi enjoyers; this faction throws a massive group effort every Valentine's Day and are also all very supportive of each other)

The final faction is an odd one, because they're defined not by who they ship their beloved Captain Gepard with, but rather by who they don't ship him with. Their name is generally shortened to the A.B.S. Group- Anybody BUT Sampo 🚫💣 DKSZJJSMSOZ

[overtake]

“a sexual awakening so intense it registered on the richter scale” is the single best and most accurate description I have ever heard.

pov: you're 16 years old and doing the final test for your super license ahead of joining f1 as the youngest ever driver. you expect the doubt and hate, and you know you can prove on track why you deserve to be there once you actually get in a car, but until then, you just have to be the subject of everyone's headlines and criticism for a factor you can't control.

then this guy comes along.

race winner who got himself to a top team and is beating his world champion teammate, a cool older handsome charismatic guy with a giant smile and big brown eyes, beloved and kind while still being fiercely talented, competitive, and hungry? the guy who you met in 2011 and who gave you the time of day before you were old enough to sniff at the f1 grid. he's not even going to be your actual teammate (yet), but he still takes the time to tell you he's looking forward to seeing you on the grid when so much of what you've heard is nonstop criticism.

he tells you good luck for your super license with a big grin meant just for you

and this is how it makes you feel.

this is live footage of daniel ricciardo becoming a permanent fixture in max's spank bank. it's one of those foundational crushes you have at a young age that sticks with you for life and unconsciously affects "your type" forever and never truly goes away.

also, i just think everyone should hear the way max very softly says "he's a really nice guy, yeah" with so much affection packed into every word.

how are you not to psychosexually imprint on him? one look at that video and max was ready to risk it all. he's been metaphorically tucking his hair, kicking his feet, and giggling since day one. he found a guy who he could race hard, who would challenge him on track, but who would still make the miserable pr days better for them, who was always laughing at max's jokes every time he did his little glance over to ensure it landed. max is so fiercely loyal to his people, and daniel has clearly earned that trust.

tldr: max verstappen is number one dirlie and if he were on f1blr, he would be writing long posts with onboards, data, and that ☝️🤓 attitude of his explaining in detail why everyone is wrong about daniel, and i hope it haunts all the max fans who get their rocks off to calling daniel a washed asshole loser that max's porn folder is daniel late braking compilations.

[wardingshout]

I love your designs for them so so so much, your art in general is incredibly appealing!!! Your color works so beautiful, breathtaking honestly!!!

I’m super honored to be mutuals :D

SCREAMING CRYING PUKING THROWING UP WHEEZING HOLD ON HOLD ON HOLD ON OK HOLD ON HOLD THE PHONE THEY THEY THEM THEM!! THEM!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I'm sorry this caught me so off guard but omg they are precious this is so so precious!!!;;;;;; 💖💖💖 I feel like I could look at them forever thank you so much!!;;; their poses are so cute and the colours are so nice and warm and pleasant and the fabrics look so comfy I feel so comfy and full of love I'm;;; it's them I cannot believe it's Them,,,, 💕💕

and what do you mean YOU're honoured, your art is absolutely insane I'm the honoured one !!!!!

all of your works are so incredibly done and you're so full of really cool ideas and concepts and you have Such a nice way of portraying all the characters like everything you post just feels so full of Care !!! ;v; the posing the expressoins the environment and colours and everything is just! a chef's kiss isn't big enough, it's 'blows a massive embarrassing smooch across the earth' kiss !!!! ;v; I'm so excited to see everything you're gonna create !!!!

and omg I am especially in love with your WW designs already I hope you have an absolute blast with the game !!! ;v; 💖💖💖

[formosusiniquis]

a smile for the in-laws at the holidays

written for @thefreakandthehair's spicy six-ber challenge - It’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad

WC: 5414 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | platonic Stobin & pre-steddie | AO3

It starts with the red light on the Harrington answering machine. Blinky and out of place, he's shouting, “Who would leave you a message?” Before he even stops to wonder if anyone can hear him. Steve had followed Robin straight to the bathroom when they'd gotten back to his place, he's given up on trying to figure out just what had them joined at the brain, hip, and bladder preferring instead to just wait and see which of the hundred and fifty bathrooms in the McMansion they would re-emerge from.

“I talk to more than just you.” Steve’s voice echoes off the walls of the hall bathroom barely audible over the sound of running water and Robin’s half of the conversation the two of them were still actively having. 

Echolocated, he moves to the door they're hidden behind to continue to conversation at a volume that hurts his fucked up throat less.

“Jury's still out on that. But it's not like Wheeler is gonna leave a message.”

He can feel Robin’s spiritual hum of agreement, his conversation with Steve now interesting enough that she's paused hers.

“I keep telling you that Nancy and me are friends.”

His personal jury is playing a game of 12 Angry Men on that subject. Seven months post apocalypse and what started as one especially delusional voice insisting that there was “lip looking” and “chemistry between himself and the prettiest boy Hawkins has ever seen” has now become a beautifully hung 6 versus 6; with the part of him that was hoping he would get to learn if Steve Harrington was as beautifully hung as the rumors said gaining traction.

“If Nancy Wheeler needed you, she isn't leaving a message,” Robin picks up the track Eddie's wishful thinking abandoned, “she’s going to get your machine, hang up, and call me and then Eddie and then the Hendersons and then Family Video, the arcade, the-”

“Assuming it's life or death.”

“It's always life or death.”

Through the bathroom door, Steve's eyeroll is practically audible. “It is not.”

“I don't think Nancy Wheeler has ever once shot the shit, the breeze, or anything that wasn't an active threat on her life, so again not leaving a message.” Eddie calls out.

He's rewarded for his status as shit-head as the door swings open and he gets to see Steve's fondly annoyed face. Bitchy eyebrows raised and lip curled into something pretending it isn't a smile. He wipes his hands down Eddie's shirt in a failed attempt at returning the annoyance. First the backs then the front running down his chest from collarbone to chest.

Maybe it's his imagination but he could swear it lingers. The tips of his fingers taking their time on their pass down his chest to his sides. The jury will be accepting it as evidence.

“Dustin then,” Steve says.

“This is the Professor to the Hair, come in Hair.” Robin comes out of the bathroom mimicking the familiar sound of the walkie.

“Claudia then.”

“If it's Claudia, that means dinner.”

And that's the best thing about Robin, he thinks, her attention to the important details. Then there's her follow through, as she leads the charge back to the end table where the answering machine sits, all before Steve's hands have fully left his sides.

Her rewinding is unmatched, she takes the tape back to the final seconds of the outgoing message.

When it plays his first thought is honestly that Steve should probably replace the tape soon. The “Sorry I missed you,” has the warped and wobbling sound of an overplayed ribbon. But the woman speaking is not any more familiar as the tape levels out. “The lawyer recommended some time separated, I would have preferred actual separation. What's the point of this no-fault thing after all, but I suppose threatening to castrate a man at a public dinner doesn't make for a very good case for favorable asset division.

“Listen to me blabber on. I've got some things to see to here, but then I'll be on the first thing that gets me home. I’ll see you for Thanksgiving! I love you, Shadow, see you soon.”

There's enough detail there to pick out the obvious: he's now heard what Steve's mom sounds like. Which rattles his world the same kind of way learning that Freak lived with his grandma and her ‘best friend’ did.

And well maybe he has spent the last seven months, and a good five years before that, convinced that Steve doesn’t actually have parents. That he sprung into a fully formed, perfectly manicured existence like the Athena of Midwestern gay bait. Which is to say he’s too busy realigning his entire world view to notice how Steve is reacting to the sudden introduction of his mother until the door is already slamming shut behind him.

“Shit.”

The first time he sees Steve after that he’s alone.

It’s unnerving enough that he touches his back pocket to make sure his walkman is there. Steve might be smiling but it doesn’t meet his eyes, his hair flops at the awkward angle it does when he’s been tugging at it. It’s the Right Side Up Family Video, so he tries his best to approach the object of his possibly reciprocated affections like he’s a normal person and not like he's afraid that a secret pod person is behind the desk.

“Stevie, hey,” the probably Pod-Steve finches at the practically inside voice level way that Eddie has greeted him. He assumes that all further communication should be done in the same style he uses to talk to Tom Bombadil, the tray tabby he is going to coax into the trailer.

With both hands raised in a subtle non-threatening gesture, he tries for levity when he says “ I know it's Thanksgiving, but it’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad.”

“This is the first time she'll meet Robin.”

He says it in the easy way Eddie has learned is habitual for Steve. He tosses out facts like putting them out in the world like they aren’t a big deal will make it so. But unlike admitting he knows a teenager with psychic powers or that he helps reset Hawkins expiration date on a yearly basis, this time he can’t hide the quiet desperation in his eyes.

“Oh.” His rings tap on the clamshell box in his hands, the dull sounds of each contact annoying even him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s Robin.”

Normally he likes when Steve’s eyes linger on him. It makes his stomach flutter and his heart race, and it's the closest thing anyone will let him get to high now that he's technically died, twice. The vacant way Steve's eyes hold on his doesn't feel like that.

The thing is Eddie isn't sure if the jokes Dustin keeps making about Steve and Robin having their own little hive mind are actually jokes. It's sort of a reverse Clark Kent situation, he's never not seen the two of them in the same place at the same time, and now that he has Superman is looking pretty vincible.

“Exactly,” Steve says, after pausing for too long. “It's Robin.”

His improvisation fails him. It feels like his brain is moving a thousand miles an hour and not coming up with anything. His foot is on the gas but the road is wet, and his tires are spinning without catching on anything. He thinks maybe, maybe, he could bullshit something about good parents and families you make being just as important as the blood ones. When the bell above the door chimes saving him from fucking it up.

Steve straightens up like someone in the sky just yanked on his strings, smiling like he doesn't have a care in the world; and like Mrs. Johnson isn't glaring at Eddie like she has the Ronald Reagan given power to kill him with her eyes.

Eddie escapes before she can move to trying to bludgeon him with a copy of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly that she's returning.

He's safely in the van.When he realizes he's still holding the movie Wayne asked him to return.

He'll try again later.

Robin is behind the counter when he comes back. Alone. She looks adrift. Staring out over the counter at the wide expanse of shelves and tapes, she doesn't seem to be taking any of them in. Just staring, empty.

There's a movie playing, Back to the Future, but it's noise. Just noise. Because Robin is in Family Video right now the same way that Steve is.

Video in hand once again, Eddie approaches the wide-eyed thing at the counter cautiously. Robin's shirt collar is popped on one side and he doesn't think it's a fashion choice. Her face is bare and it doesn't move when he reaches the counter. Not when he sets the tape down. Not even when he says, hey.

“Did you rewind that?” She asks. Her eyebrows don't furrow, her mouth only moves enough to get the words out.

“It's Wayne's.”

Robin grabs it from the counter, scans it, and adds it to a stack that only looks taller than it did this afternoon.

“Look, Robin,” he tries more gently than he spoke to Steve this morning, still smarting from the way he had responded. “It's just dinner. It can't be that bad.”

She blinks once. Twice. Three, four quick times before she finally seems to be looking at him. A lemon pucker frown twisted across her face. 

“She knows we're married.”

Robin turned 18 three days after the end of the world didn't happen. She spent the day in the hospital, in a chair that sat in the space between his bed and the bed they ended up putting Steve in. He hears one doctor call it, “Miraculous, really,” that he had been standing at all this long after his injuries and with the infection that had set in.

He collapsed in the middle of the Hawkins High gym with someone's donated sweater tossed over his shoulder.

And they won't let Robin in the ambulance. Tears streaking down her face, voice hoarse, and the EMT who survived doing his job in a place like Hawkins has the balls of steel to look her in her red faced, dripping nose glory, and tell her only family can travel in the back of the bus.

Wayne Munson, who was only in the gym to put up more posters of Eddie when he was caught by a limping Dustin Henderson, is the softest touch on this side of the Ohio River. Wayne Munson found himself playing taxi, making a quick stop at the Buckley house before taking all of the loved ones that the ambulance left behind to Hawkins General.

Inside the backpack she forced Wayne to let her grab, is a change of clothes for both of them. A strange amalgamation of pieces from both of their closets and, more importantly, a blank marriage certificate waiting to be signed.

You can, it turns out, get just about anything with the right forms mimeographed from the library or a bright enough smile when you ask for them.

And what Robin got with the correct forms was getting to request a marriage license without anyone at the county clerk's office looking at her twice. And with the smile she gets the hospital notary ready to officiate their marriage once Wayne and a sour faced nurse agreed to be witnesses. Eddie only gets to watch, too shaky still to sign his name on the license, he chose privately to think of himself as the flower girl with some extra special buds he could give the happy couple once he could get out of here.

It wasn’t storybook, but Robin and Steve were smiling so wide that it made the stitches on the side of his own face hurt. He could tell from the set of Wayne’s shoulders that he was trying not to cry and if they had him on a little less morphine he might be on the same boat. He called for the first cheers to the happy couple and it didn’t feel weird at all that neither the Harringtons nor Buckleys were there to watch their two children get hitched.

Eddie is the only witness left when later that night the cot comes out and Robin and Steve Harrington-Buckley bed down separately for their hospital honeymoon. It's not like he wants to overhear their marital pillowtalk, but even though he knows he's supposed to be asleep it won't come.

It’s Robin’s voice he notices first, a rough whisper that soothes something in him. The words wash over him for a second before his brain catches up. “In two years,” she pauses, but even Eddie who barely knows them can tell that Steve is and always is riveted to whatever she is saying. “When we get out of this shithole, I'm gonna have an affair with the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.”

"Is that the feminism Glory Steinway is teaching people, women doing men's jobs?” Steve’s little giggle makes his heart monitor jump, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and hopes they think he’s just dreaming. “That would explain why my dad doesn't like her.”

“A Steinway is a piano. It's Gloria Steinem.”

“And you can try, but I've seen your taste,” Steve continues his part of the conversation like she hasn’t even spoken.

But Robin continues hers too. “And anyway, I don't know if that second part even applies anymore anyway, asshole. Not after that stuff we've been talking about.”

He’s not a good person, he knows that, that’s the only explanation for the way he was straining to hear like he could make his ear stretch across the floor toward them to hear better.

Steve blows a raspberry, surprising enough that Eddie flinches back in his bed. “I can't think about that if I can't sleep on my back.”

“That's not how it works,” Robin says with the confidence of someone who isn’t sure what she’s saying and lets Eddie be sure that he’s not going to learn anything else about whatever stuff they had been talking about.

“It is how it works. I've got to have my arm all funny to get comfortable enough to sleep.”

“Make sure I'm in here when Nurse Ratched comes to check on you and learns you dislocate your shoulder to sleep on your side.”

“I don't think that's Becky's last name, I think it's Collins.”

“Who cares. Now scoot over, one of us should get some sleep tonight and this cot is worse than Eddie's floor.”

He understood the bone deep instinct for protection Steve had now. The same drive that had Steve, still high on painkillers and a lack of sleep, stumbling out of the bed beside Eddie’s in the hospital. “They always say it’s gone, and then it comes back,” he’d whispered while clutching Eddie’s hand tight. 

Underneath the warning, he’d heard the want. The desire to take Robin and Eddie and the kids and everyone he cared about, to shove them all in the back of a car and drive as far away from Hawkins as he could. To stop them all from doing something stupid that shouldn’t be their responsibility anyway, to drive until Hawkins was a stain on a map that couldn’t be seen in the rearview mirror.

That’s how he feels right now.

It’s been three days and he hasn’t seen Steve and Robin in the same place at the same time. It feels like a sign he should have been looking for that this thing is coming back.

So he tries to think of his next steps as self-preservation. He has a certain reputation to uphold and going to the mall isn’t very counterculture. But Sam Goody is Sam Goody and getting his nearest and dearest their favorite tracks on cassette feels like the same kind of practical as the thick wool socks Wayne gave him last year. If he brought Steve and Robin then their presents wouldn’t be a surprise, is his reasoning And maybe that’s self-preservation too, it’s a long drive to Bloomington and it’s hard to imagine mirror-Steve and Robin being very fun to road trip with.

He’s talked himself around on it by the time he’s window shopping the Gap. Nancy is trying to organize a Christmas party from Boston with the single minded determination he would expect of a general arranging a siege. She had them pick names for Secret Santa while she was home for fall break and he’d drawn the short straw and ended up with the general herself. Which puts him outside The Gap, all he really knows about Nancy is her penchant for guns and a good sweater and he’d hate to get her a 9mm she’s already got.

The pastel colors are probably some kind of danger signal, but he’s already stepped inside and has his hands on a sweater he hopes says ‘I’m a badass and there’s a gun in my handbag don’t fuck with me’ in prep when he spots the danger.

The danger being Steve, alone still, with a dark plaid skirt pinched between his fingers.

He drops the sweater and slips back out the store, hoping he hasn’t been caught. He’ll find Wheeler a fancy pen or a nice notebook somewhere in Indy.

It's two days before Thanksgiving and when Eddie walks into Steve's place the first thing he hears is shouting.

Hand on the door knob, he pauses, listening as Robin's voice carries throughout the house. “I'm not wearing it.”

“Robin-”

“No, listen to me! I am not wearing that. I’m not gonna meet your mom looking like some, some-”

“Nancy.”

“You said that, not me.”

“Robin. Robin!” Footsteps, Eddie hears footsteps. Robin’s angry heels slamming down hard on the floors beneath her enough that he can track her movement through Steve’s house even though she’s only wearing her socks. He takes a step back toward the door. Puts his hand back on the door handle, ready to pretend that he had just walked in. Ready to pretend that he hadn’t heard the two most in-sync people in his life arguing like the Wheelers.

“Let me storm out! Let me leave. I can’t just stay here and argue with you until we both say something-” The knob twists in his hand to the sound of the desperation in Robin’s voice. Eddie’s feet don’t move, frozen in place by courage or cowardice or the seven years of high school engrained need to hear every last bit of gossip possible.

Steve has always been good at making good gossip. “Robin!”

“I’m not wearing that fucking thing just because you want to and can’t!”

He knows the sound of an argument ending when he hears it. The holidays always leave him a little more tuned in for the sounds of smashing glasses and raised voices.

The silence that comes after a landing hit. 

The door knob gives in his hand, pulling it just wide enough that he can feel the chill of the late November air, Eddie is a little surprised at what side of the door he finds himself on when he slams it shut again.

Footsteps moving faster toward him, heavy heel first steps. He starts putting on the production of arriving: shaking his shoulders like he’s shaking off the frosty chill of the early winter hitting Hawkins like the latest plague. He’s got a toe at the heel of one boot, ready to kick it off when Robin comes barreling toward him. Barrelling into him, he stumbles over his tangled up feet to keep them both from falling to the floor.

She’s got a hand pressed into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, using it to drag him impossibly closer. He can smell the coffee on her breath when she hisses, “As one of the people responsible for saving your life, I need you to put me in that death trap you call a van and repay your debt.”

“I-?” Closer than he thinks he’s ever been to Robin, the fight he just overheard playing through his head once again, he tries to parse through the pissed off urgency in her voice that’s now being directed at him.

Her eyes are wild and she only looks more insistent as Steve’s voice carries from the kitchen. “Is that Eddie? Eddie, come in here and taste this.”

“If you have never trusted me before, trust me now, if you value your life you'll leave.”

There’s a part of his brain that believes her. There really is.

But then Steve whines, “Seriously, Eddie, I need you.” It’s a tone of voice Eddie has only heard in his wildest fantasies, and sometimes not even then.

“Oh that's a cheap trick,” Robin snaps.

“Please?” He drags the word out into a moan. Something sultry that Eddie wouldn’t dare dream of, so it has to be real.

“Cheap trick,” he pats Robin on the shoulder as he walks toward the vision he can only just begin to imagine in the kitchen. “Yeah sure, put them on.”

“This is for your own good.” For a band geek, she’s strong. Maybe it’s the world saving. 

Eddie has only managed a step toward what has to be everything he’s ever dreamed of when her hand closes tight around his arm and pulls him back toward the door. The jury in his head has just reached the unanimous decision that he does actually have a shot with Steve Harrington as he’s being lifted kicking, but not yet screaming, by a scrawny band nerd and now they’re calling for her head.

“Eddie?”

“I’m taking him with me. Maybe between the two of us we can get the right onions.”

“Who would use a sweet onion for a green bean casserole?”

He’s stunned, still enough that Robin can finish pushing him back out the door he just walked through. Not because Steve was being a bitch, Steve’s always kind of an ass, but that Robin wouldn’t respond. The ‘god you never listen to me and I’m actually mad about something else but this is the thing that’s broken me’ tone is one he associates with the bitterly married Mr. and Mrs. O’Leary from the trailer two down, the frowning couples in the grocery, not Steve and Robin.

Steve and Robin had full conversations in their brains with nothing but facial expressions and laughter, they didn’t storm out of the house angry and resentful. 

It feels like something is broken, waiting to be fixed. Broken things have always preoccupied him, and they’re halfway down the road before he realizes they aren’t headed toward town.

And that he isn’t the one driving.

“Um, Buckley? Did you get your license when I wasn’t looking?”

“I have my permit. We have the beamer, it's not like we’re going that far.” He grabs the oh shit bar as she rounds a corner without breaking.

“All due respect to the royal carriage- Shit, brake. Brake! Arwen doesn’t exactly handle the same.” He recognizes where they’re headed now, if only because the edge of the quarry is quickly approaching. Maybe he hasn't given enough weight to the amount of stress she’s under.

“It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous.”The edge of the quarry is looming and her foot is too light on the brake. Even as the dust flies out behind the van, he’s torn between listening to her and watching the windshield. The brakes squeal as her foot finally presses down hard enough to actually stop the van all the while chanting. “It’s a dinner. A dinner. All this for a dinner.”

They stop. The car rocks back, Eddie lunges for the column to make sure it’s in park while Robin launches herself out of the cab.

He can see her pacing beside the van in the side view mirror, her mouth moving in a rant he can’t hear over the sound of his own panting breath. “Okay, this is okay,” the words leave his mouth but they might as well be coming from some third tag along in the van. “Robin is freaking out, so you can’t freak out.”

He scrambles into the back, knees smarting as he crawls across the blankets that aren’t doing enough to cushion the floor. Robin almost gets hit, when he tosses open the doors to usher her in.

“Climb in, we’ll partake in the time honored tradition of escaping from family, getting high, and bitching.” 

She doesn’t look convinced, hands shaking when he grabs ahold to help her get into the back. Eddie makes it a point not to look at her as she settles. She fusses, fidgeting with pillows and smoothing out the afghan that Steve picked out from the thrift store, and he holds any comment about how Steve had done the same thing the last time they hit the drive in mostly because he knows she was there for it. His time is better spent carefully rolling up a fresh joint, lighting it, and taking a big hit.

He still doesn’t know everything that happened to them before he got involved with the Upside Down. But he knows that the Harrington-Buckleys don’t handle being high well these days. But with the doors open, the ambiance, and the faint second hand smoke it isn't long before Robin is speaking.

“It was funny when he was showing me the best way to climb into a girl's window or scale a trellis.” She isn't looking at him while she speaks. Her eyes are locked on the toes of the new Chuck Taylors that she and Steve had lucked into at a thrift store in Seymour of all places. One blue and one red, they'd split the pair after decorating them. The two of them so in sync they even share a shoe size.

Still the words keep tumbling out, slow but gaining speed like a snowball rolling down a hill. “It was fun learning the best way to shotgun a beer and the flirty hand thing. And I liked, like, having someone who will gossip with me and we can paint our nails.” 

She stops, breath shuddering and it's worse, now that he's got the smell of weed around him but none of the haze, when she looks at him with red, watery eyes. “But now I'm gonna be the girl who isn't girl enough who ruined her perfect son and made him not boy enough and ruins their relationship forever. He loves his mom.”

“And he loves you, Rob.” There's no right amount of emphasis to put on the words. It feels like he’s repeating facts to a conspiracy theorist. DnD isn't devil worship. The Earth is round. Steve Harrington loves Robin Buckley, no matter what.

And just like spouting facts, he isn't met with a good reaction.

“I know,” she croaks, voice breaking as she holds back a sob. “I know and he knows better than anyone that loving someone isn’t enough to keep you from resenting them.”

It's miserable. He feels miserable. Robin looks miserable. And if there’s anything he hates more than injustice it’s misery.

“What can I do?”

 She sits up further, grabs the wrist that’s holding the forgotten joint, a look on her face that makes him think of the urgency of a quest. “I can’t be someone he ends up resenting in a year, in five.”

“What can I do, Robin?”

“Say you’ll come Thursday?”

That sounds like the worst idea in the world, Eddie Munson, former murder suspect, joining in at the Rockwellian dinner table. But he isn’t good at denying his friends much of anything these days. “Will it help? Me being there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. But you’ll be there for me, for him, for us.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

Thanksgiving comes and Eddie’s hands are sweating around the wheel of the van as he sits in the Harrington driveway.

He hasn’t celebrated the holiday in earnest like this since he was little. When his own mom was still alive and they would load up in the pick up to drive to his Mammaw’s house where it would smell like roasted turkey and fresh baked bread. Now he and Wayne need the money too badly to skip out on the holiday pay. They would have turkey sandwiches for lunch before he would leave and Eddie would float around town selling to the teens who had slipped out their front doors for a “walk” before dinner so they could stand to be around their overbearing relatives.

Which leaves him in the position of trying to figure out his role here.

Is he the dirtbag that Steve has somehow managed to befriend, there to take the heat off of Robin and make her better by default? 

Is he the reformed killer that the two of them have fixed through the power of their goodness, there to make them both look like the power couple that they are? 

Is he there as their friend Eddie, there to be moral support in a stressful situation?

He isn’t sure and each different version of himself that he can imagine looks different. Each a different performance that requires different costuming.

It’s left him arriving late, wearing a hodgepodge of pieces that speak to each version. Stitched up jeans and a thrifted band shirt, overtop that one of Wayne’s cowboy shirts and he’ll kick off his trusty Reeboks at the door if he can get himself to go inside. He isn’t sure what anyone is going to think if he manages to make it in the door, but he can imagine what the neighbors are thinking right now.

Trudging up to the door, nerves prick at his fingertips but he doesn’t regret coming. Not even as he tries to anticipate the stuffy, frigid silence he’s about to walk into.

At least the food will be good, the stuff Steve made anyway.

Through the door he hears laughter.

When he knocks, it doesn’t stop.

And then he’s looking at Steve wearing that skirt from the Gap with his hair pinned back. “Eddie!” His eyes are wide, sparkling with a bright joy that Eddie hasn’t seen in days.

From down the hall voices, Robin’s he knows too well not to identify and the other’s can only be Mrs. Harrington, chorus, “Oh Eddie!” Before he hears the sounds of giggling laughter once again. Steve’s face flushes a beautiful, distracting pink.

“I should have brought something,” Eddie finds himself saying. Empty hands clenching even as his eyes are locked on those two moles on Steve’s cheek and how they stand out on that blush.

“You never have to bring anything, Ed.”

“Stevie! Quit hogging Eddie, we want to see him,” Robin’s voice has the slip sliding quality Eddie has come to associate with drinking.

“There’s still time to run, if you want to avoid everything,” Steve teases.

“You know I’m not a runner anymore, and anyway your missus invited me.”

“And nobody has ever accused Eddie Munson of being rude.”

“Got that right, baby.” Eddie can feel the smile on his face broaden as Steve rolls their eyes, a smile tugging at their lips, and that sweet pink kissing his face again. 

But when Steve’s hand runs down his wrist, a tentative touch reaching to tangle their fingers, the situation he’s in fully cements itself in his mind. Fingertips brush past one another as Steve keeps walking and Eddie stays put. He can hear Robin’s familiar cackle and a pleasant laugh that shares the same cadence as Steve’s coming from the kitchen. Warm brown eyes look him up and down, he tries to ignore that as he listens for whatever conversation is accompanying that laugh.

“She wants to meet you, y’know.” Steve says finally. “Hasn’t shut up about how my tastes have gotten better now that I’m back to my old self.”

“And she means me?”

“She means Robin,” he laughs, “but she’ll like you because I do. Because you haven’t said anything about this,” he flicks his hand down to his skirt. “Because you won’t say anything when you see she’s wearing the same outfit.’”

“Mama’s boy?”

“Something like that. C’mon, I need someone on my side in there.”

“Yeah, alright,” Eddie agrees, reaching out to grab Steve’s hand for real, “It’s just dinner. It can’t be that bad, right?”

[veinsfullofstars]

🍷 Kirbtober 2024 Day 22: Ship or Hangout 🍷

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Daroach and Dark Meta Knight overindulging on “fancy grape juice” together, their faces brightly flushed from the several bottles standing empty around them. The thief sits with a glass held loosely in one paw, laughing and resting the other paw on the unmasked knight’s head as he lays sprawled over Daroach’s torso, disgruntled but not particularly inclined to move, his wing lazily draped over them both. END ID.)

“Ha! Who's the *hic* lightweight now, sunshine?”

“Mmrrghshuddup. Smartass rat with your stupid pretty mouth stupid mmghngh..."

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 10/02/24, finished on 10/03/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[nakaremfarlei]

Was just thinking about the amount of animals Obi-Wan interacts with compared to literally everyone else and in the Clone Wars episode where Kamino gets attacked he literally gets saved twice by the same ray-like animal and just...

The growth from judging Qui-Gon for the 'pathetic lifeforms' he picks up to whatever he has going on during the Clone Wars era. He must have gotten that from Qui-Gon though, right?

And because it's my brain and it's rotting with all the star wars stuff I am consuming I was thinking of Obi-Wan saving all these creatures and the 212th having to deal with that. Surely they made one of the rooms pet proof in case one of them needs a new home. There also have to be clones who love that because of course Obi-Wan can't really take care of rescues on top of all his duties.

After the first few times this happens Cody learns to order animal food and other necessities. And if the Republic doesn't fulfill these requests or asks too many questions he'll just have to make sure to organize them on planet during the campaigns.