#but i need them written still

[dearbongjae]

can someone write a fic where galex schemes with each other by getting landoscar padel lessons for them to finally get together i need it please

[nebuladreamz]

What if I want a kiss from the DCA huh. What if i want to hold their big ass faceplate in my hands and tell them how much they mean to me huh.

What if I want to hold their giant ass hands that is never going to be proportionately human and I just let their fingers completely encase my hand. And I still give their palm little rubs with my thumbs. Because no act is worse than an attempt.

What if I want to hold them so so close to me and tell me things will be okay because I'm doing my best and that's what makes me human. What if I want to lay on their chest and gently trace each fleck of paint that's worn off of their face, their hands. Seeing the wear and tear and still seeing nothing but a shiny new spark of hope.

What if I want to tell them how stupid and goofy they are and they do something just to prove it. What if I want to do mundane things with them and still feel that spark of something new and beautiful because they are that to ME.

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she���s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[rebrandedbard]

How does the great Sandpiper successfully smuggle 130 children out of the Nilfgaard-occupied territory of Hamm? With the power of a forgotten story, a traditional song, and a masterful lie.

A piece for my upcoming fic, The Piper of Hamm, based on The Pied Piper of Hamelin, next in my fairy tale series.

[quetzalpapalotl]

I know Orion and Zeta's relationship is not at all homoerotic if you compare it to Shockwave and Megatron, but I want to reiterate that Zeta was indeed important to Orion

Literally to this day Zeta is a figure that haunts Optimus and whose lessons he recalls, for good or bad

Barber literally wrote a mini-flashback arc dedicated to explain how Zeta Prime is linked to Optimus current neuroses

[rottengurlz]

oc introductions

[ricciardo133]

Lusail 2024

maxiel, phone sex, praise and sweat kink, missing Daniel hours

-

Everything feels off-balance to Max, but he knows one person who can make him feel grounded. He slips away from the team and his family, saying he needs a moment by himself before qualifying. He hides away alone in his driver's room, but he wants to be alone with Daniel.

He presses Daniel's contact on his phone and holds it up to his ear. Of course, Daniel picks up on the first ring.

"Howdy," Daniel says in his relaxed tone. "Car off-pace?"

"Yes," Max says. Naturally, Daniel already knew why he was calling. He much preferred when Daniel was also in the paddock and Max could slip out and navigate each memorized, covert path from his driver's room to Daniel's. Max paces instead, feeling caged and pent up. "Where are you?"

"Somewhere along Mescal Canyon Road near Azusa Canyon. Gorgeous spot. Gotta take you here sometime when you're in LA again."

Ah, he's biking. "If you're with your friends," he starts nervously.

"Nah, Maxy. Solo tripping at the moment, so I can help." Daniel pauses. "If you want me to help...like we used to."

Max hates the past tense. He wants him here. He wants him now.

"You're outside," Max says.

"I'm alone, not a soul around. And plus, I want to hear you do it." Max catches his breath, imaging Daniel in front of him as he closes his eyes. "Tell me as you do it, Max."

"Daniel," he breathes. He holds the phone against his shoulder as his hands undo his coveralls. "I'm getting undressed."

Daniel used to peel off the layers with the most gentle quickness, smooth and effortless to curl the fireproofs off Max's thighs. Max sits on the sofa in his driver's room and feels his bare ass hit the cold, plush surface. He's already hard, just remembering how Daniel used to grip his length. His own hands feel too big, too shaky.

"Daniel," he says again. "I'm...I'm sitting down."

"Are you feeling yourself?"

"Yes."

"Tell me more. Also don't do it dry, Max," Daniel laughs gently. How, Max wonders in warm awe as he leans over to his backpack and gets out the lube. Daniel is thousands of miles away and he still knows just how Max is jerking himself off. It feels too cold on his palm as he goes back to pumping, now slick in his hand as he grows dizzier with need.

"Jesus, Daniel," he whines quietly. He looks over, assured the door is still locked. "I wish you were here."

"I am there. I'm with you now," he says back. "Talk to me. How do you feel?"

"Nervous. I hate it." His eyes tear up as his hands work faster. "The car's fucked. The team's fucked. I'm fucked."

"I can help with that last one," Daniel says. Max can see the way he smiles as he talks. "Not that you need my help being incredible, Max. You do that on your own. You just forget sometimes."

Max feels his body awash in a fantastic heat, like each of Daniel's words is drenched in sunlight. He works harder on his cock, hand slick and tight but not as tight as he wants.

"Daniel," he whispers.

"You're amazing, Max. I said it all in that video message but it's nothing you don't already know," Daniel says through the phone. "You did it, Max. Four times. And you'll do it again if you want because you're just that fucking good."

"Daniel." His voice is hoarse, pleading. His tempo picks up, pushing on the edge.

"You got this, Max. You can do fucking magic in any ride. Even riding me. We can do it again, next time we're back in Monaco," he says words playful and heated. "I still got your ass in paddle a few weeks ago but you were so fucking sweaty after, so fucking good."

Max feels careening dangerously to the brink. He remembers pressing his face into Daniel's shoulder, breathing into a grey sweatshirt Daniel had worn for hours, damp with sweat from their paddle match and then even sweatier after eager ruts on Max's sofa in his empty apartment. He remembers races and races of Daniel drenched in sweat. That sharp, heady smell that was distinctly Daniel. It was pine. It was evergreen. It was him.

"Daniel, I need you," Max says. He feels his eyes leak as his dick twitches and spills with precome. "Oh, God, Daniel. I need you so fucking bad."

"I'm here right now. I'm always here for you, Max."

Max can't help it. He chokes on a small cry as he works his cock harder and faster, trying to catch a ghost of the way Daniel would grip him and slide from head to base. Max whispers his name over and over as Daniel showers him in such unrelenting praise. Max almost thinks to riffle through his bag where one of Daniel's shirts is balled up inside, but he's too close. He has the scent of his sweat firmly etched in his memory, always on tap. Years of breathing in him.

"I"m going to come," he says softly over the phone. "Daniel, I'm going to come."

"Come for me, Max. You can do it. You got this, baby."

Max breaks, grabbing a nearby towel and gasping in shock and release as he comes. He holds his now spent cock and leans back into the sofa, reeling in the heady warmth that unspools in his chest. He looks down at the towel, thinking of days past when Daniel would abscond things like this, coated in Max, just as eager to smell and taste whatever he could.

Max heaves a sigh and stares up at the ceiling. "I miss you, Daniel."

"Almost the holidays, Max. Soon."

"Are you," Max blinks fast. "Are you...do you need me to..."

"I plan on being wicked horny all on my ride back. But call me tonight," Daniel says. Max savors the joy in his tone, the warmth. "Call me after you get pole. Then I can be a little bit more private instead of jacking off in the woods."

He once told Daniel his sweat smelled like trees. The sharp twang of pine with a hint of mountain air. He pictures Daniel out there now, fitting so perfectly in the woodsy tapestry. Still, he fits better here, sweaty after a race and in Max's arms.

"I'll be there for you, Daniel. Like you're always there for me."

"Mutual emergency contacts," Daniel smiles.

"Always."

"See you soon, Max," Daniel says. "You know you got this."

And Max does, too. He knows it. He grips the phone and feels that familiar assurance he needed so badly. "We got this," he nods into the phone. He blinks back wordless tears and smiles as they end the call. He thinks of Daniel, the sheen of his sweat, and a wide expanse of forest as he gets dressed and heads back out to the garage to get pole position.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

something bad did indeed happen to that man. spent abt 25 minutes trying to find a better picture of that one (1) offical piece with his eyes open that wasnt compressed or tiny

[wavewavethoughtsonly]

just want you to know that you're an incredible writer

🥹💙💜

[azelmawrites]

I miss my hoes (yelena & hange) why are they so ignored now that aot is over? why are we forgetting the visceral effect they had on us?

therefore, please give me ideas to write about either. I beg.

[triglycercule]

i love that the murder time trio all have dangerous little greetings. horror has his little hand drill thing. killer puts a knife up his sleeve and then does a little switcharoo. dust INSTINCTIVELY shoots whoever he sees with a bone. no greeting whatsoever. so just imagine how things go on a first meeting or whatever. immediately horror and killer have to dodge bones from dust and horror's like hey wtf man. mildly irritated but he just met these guys so he's willing to forgive. he's not gonna lose his cool in front of these two random ass guys even though one just tried to kill him. killer just has that dumbass smile on his face like always (but he was intrigued when dust did that. like who tries to kill someone on first sight?? he's curious now :3)

and then theyre all just standing together and staring for a moment and horror sticks out his hand. killer takes the bait but then he just points a knife to horror's stolen eye once he realizes that he got duped and his other hand is now currently being drilled into. dust didn't shake either of their hands because he could see the drill and tell that killer had something off about him in general. but he does give a tiny smile when he sees the state that the two r in rn with the drill and knife. it's an eensy bit funny in his eyes

least violent mtt interaction

[blackfilmmakers]

I hate how Aang is just never allowed to feel bitter about having his culture colonized. Like he apparently shouldn't feel so upset about colonizers that destroy his people's temples and replace it with pipes and smog. He apparently shouldn't feel angry when he learns that they build weapons of mass destruction for the Fire Nation

And then they try to make him out to be an "airbender purist" in Korra and like....he literally wouldn't be like that

"Aang is a bad father because he only paid attention to his one kid that was an airbender" his culture literally involves venturing out to other nations, and he befriends so many people and learn their cultures through these exchanges

If Aang is excited to share his culture, he is literally going to share it with his entire family, whether they are an airbender or not. He is literally excited to show Katara and Sokka how to play airbending games.

And he would want to do the same with the Southern Water Tribe because that's his wife and brother-in-law's homeland. He would take his children to travel around the world with him because that's what his people do

[kacievvbbbb]

Maybe it's just me and I just don't understand the arc. Or maybe this arc will get some grand conclusion I'm really starting to doubt. But like I'm sick and tired of Tashigi being used as Zoro's misogyny proxy. Like the "a woman swordsman could never beat a man" belief and trauma made sense for both Kuina and Tashigi and was a very valid fear way back in the East Blue when they were still fighting relatively normal people and had no scope of how big the world is

but at this point where there are literally 20 feet tall dudes and people can blow up a whole city with just Haki the only reason Tashigi is still weak is because she is being written that way. Which is really hard to understand because it seems now more than ever One Piece has been getting more and more strong female characters so I don't know why every time Tashigi is on screen with Zoro we have to rehash this. It's even worse cause all she does in the scene is prove Zoro right by getting in a fight that she can't handle and needing saving. It's such a confusing message and honestly doesn't really apply or come up anywhere but with Tashigi and Zoro (outside of that one time where Zoro yells at enel for blasting Robin because she's a woman which was weird because Robin's been in a lot of fights before but seemed there just so enel could point out just how ruthless it is.)

Hell with the exception of the G5 all being in love with her. She is treated like a regular character and not just "the woman"

It honestly feels like both Tashigi and Smoker got lost in the narrative and Oda just doesn't know where to put their arcs. It feels like she was being written to help Zoro overcome whatever mental block Kuina's death instilled in him about facing female opponents with his sword. But she is just sooooo far behind him it renders the point moot and strengthens his convictions (it's weird that he will literally crush a woman's face rather than use his sword and is the only reason I won't say he doesn't fight women he does he just seems to have a mental block about cutting them down especially if they fight with anything blade like) but also we've only ever seen him face female character he knows can't challenge him it would have been interesting to see what he'd do in a fight against someone like big mom, tsuru or smoothie doubt that will happen though. But here's to hoping for Tashigi to have an actual arc.

[good-beanswrites]

Some LCSYS thoughts to make me feel better after the new update ;-; More Mahiru-centric, but Haruka and Shidou are definitely here chillin. At some point I'll need to rewrite that last chapter, too, ough...

“Alright, is everybody ready for Curtain Ca–”

“Stop!” Mahiru pressed a finger to Jackalope’s lips, despite the look of exasperation he gave her. “No work talk at a party.” She breezed away from him to the table where the others were gathered.

At the very beginning of planning, as she was pitching the idea of recognizing everyone’s birthday along with hers, Mahiru had placed an order for ten whole cakes. She insisted that the others would miss out on getting a proper one during the trials. Jackalope insisted that ten was a ridiculous number of cakes to have. They ended up comprising on three – a personalized one for each of the prisoners that would be staying behind. (Jackalope would have pointed out that it defeated the purpose, since they were the ones that could now ask for a cake any day they wanted, but he was just glad she had agreed to the terms.)

He followed her to the spread of treats. “I know you’re disappointed, but eventually you’ll have to face that the others are leaving. We have a few last timelines to write up, and then you’ll have to deal with a very short break from–”

“Please!” She pouted her bottom lip. “It’s Mahiru’s birthday, for goodness sake!”

Jackalope crossed his arms. “I thought you said today was everybody’s birthday…”

She looked pointedly away. “I said we’re celebrating everybody’s birthday, but we’re holding it on my birthday.”

“Interesting.”

He reluctantly left her as Yuno called him over to the games corner. Mahiru fluttered a goodbye wave. Shidou and Mikoto joined them at cake table, both sipping from color-coded cups Mahiru had organized.

“Oi Mappi,” Mikoto held his drink out to her. “You should try one of these! Kazu-san’s been making them, I forget what he calls them, but they’re great. You want a sip?”

Mahiru turned him down. A hand tugged gently on Mikoto’s sleeve.

“U-um! Can I try a sip?”

He stayed firmly facing away, feigning confusion. “Huh, what was that?”

“Just a-a little sip.”

“Ahhh… you know, I really miss Haru-kun.”

“Mikoto-saaaan.”

He wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye. “You know, sometimes I can still hear his voice…”

“Pleeease? Y-you said you were gonna see how many you could get Fuuta-san to-to drink tonight!”

Mikoto choked back a sip as Shidou’s eyebrows raised. “Fuuta’s over twenty! I wouldn’t give alcohol to a kid, that’s a crime, y’know?”

Before any of them could poke fun about his choice of words, Muu marched over to them. She held out a slice of purple-frosted cake on her plate and wrinkled her nose. “Shidou-san, something’s wrong with your cake. It’s horrible.”

“Oh no, there’s nothing wrong with it.” Shidou smiled. “It’s vegan.”

“Oh.” Her scrunched face didn’t change. “Muu’s going to get a different piece…” She grabbed Haruka by the hand, leading him away to his own cake. Mahiru noticed she was wearing the gift that Haruka had given her. Birthday presents hadn’t been part of the big party plan, but a few sentimental gifts had been exchanged. Jackalope was still mentally weighing what could be taken into the prison without raising suspicion, while the prisoners were mentally weighing what could be snuck into their cell whether he agreed to it or not.

Shidou frowned. “You better have been joking about Kajiyama-kun.”

“Eh, that’s not a crime.”

“Please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m already losing sleep about the toll this all will take on Es-kun. Don’t do anything next trial to make me worry about the rest of you, too.”

“Es-kun…” Mahiru’s expression darkened.

Across the room came a laugh. “Come on doc, don’t you trust us?” Kotoko asked the question with a crooked smirk, heading over from where the game was breaking up. By the way Yuno lead Amane in a gloating walk, it was clear who had won. “I can assure you, everything is under control.”

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” Mahiru offered, her wide smile bordering on frantic. “Everyone keeps talking about Milgram, Milgram, Milgram! Let’s talk about something nice, mm? Kazui-san, tell me that funny story you were just telling Shidou-san!”

Kotoko gave her a look. “Have you already forgot your big conversation…?”

“Not at all! I remember every word he said to me.” Mahiru clasped her hands together. She relaxed her face, her eyes closed in perfect peacefulness. “I’m learning to live in the moment. That’s what I’m doing right now.”

“No. You still need to deal with your negative emotions head-on. So, do you have something you want to get off your chest before we head back in there?”

Mahiru was met with pleasant gazes from all sides. A few nodded in encouragement. “I… I actually do.”

She inhaled for a moment. She exhaled just as long. She looked around at the faces around her. She saw the half-eaten cakes. The board games scattered around. The gift wrapping and the cards. She studied the smiles all turned her way.

Lunging at Kotoko, she wrapped her in a tight embrace. Her voice trembled with tears. “Happy birthday.”

She was met with a loud sigh, and Kotoko returned the hug.

“Ah… you’re nuts.”

From the back of the group, Jackalope frantically typed something up on his phone. “Damn, that’s good,” he muttered.

[buskingalbatross]

lo! the conclusion of my phanfic bookbinding quest!

I finished binding together two final books! each one is a 144-page, 28,863-word collection of six of the phanfics i've written in 2024. the book with the starry-cover is unquestionably the neatest, prettiest book i've made since I started learning about bookbinding back in august. but i'm actually kind of emotional over both of them and think they turned out to be really cool objects.

here are some pictures i took of them on this rainy sunday morning (+ a few more under the cut) 🌧️🌧️🌧️

previous bookbinding updates: 1, 2, 3, 4

[lucky-clover-gazette]

hey. why are these genuinely good. why are these verses from pokemon game beautiful.