#ed scribbles stuff

[edmcmayonnaise]

@painlandweek Day 7 - All Clues Lead to You.

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

ed elric is way too fun to draw ok

[sunshineram]

for letting him talk about all his trinkets theyve gifted you one of em :) @brosif40

[onelittlespiral]

You should definitely do a preppy boy tf!

FML: Contact

I knew I should have charged my phone before I left, but I was running late and didn’t want to miss my study session. I know, I know it was stupid. But the walk was only supposed to be a few blocks. I have no idea how I got this lost. It felt like I was wandering for hours, but I kept just going around in circles and ending up in front of this gym. Great, just what I needed before finals week. Maybe I should stop an- ugh. My bag spilled out in front of me as I wa a knocked to the ground.

“Hey, sorry bro.”

It seems like on about my third time around the block I finally ran into one of the gym’s patrons, idiot. For the life of me I will never know how those guys will walk out in shorts in December. I started to scoop my belongings back into my bag.

“Here, let me help- Ah fuck, that could be bad.” He picked up my laptop and handed it to me. Thankfully it seems that there wasn’t any real damage, but a few deep scratches were carved in the metal and the screen was definitely cracked.

“Just what I needed today! Look where you’re going next time!” I was nearly in tears. I was lost, I was frustrated, I think the fall tore a hole in my khakis, and now my computer would be busted till after finals.

“Hey, I said I was sorry. Didn’t mean to knock a shrimp like you down. I didn’t even hit you that hard…”

“Well sue me if I don’t have time to get swoll bro,” I spat, “but some of us have finals to study for.”

“Oh dang, that’s where I know you from! English 110, with Professor Kim. Yeah, you’re always in the front and answering shit.” Immediately the puzzle pieces clicked. I can’t blame myself for not recognizing him. He must have been one of the dudes who sat in the back, and they all basically acted, talked, and looked about the same. A bunch of gym rats struggling through the gen eds. I’m genuinely surprised he can to class often enough to recognize me. “Hey man, are you studying for this final later? I’m just like not getting this stuff. Like, why are they having Exercise Science majors out here studying English anyways?”

“Uhh, yeah maybe.” At this point I was past the point of caring about this conversation. It was such a simple class I hardly had even glanced over the study guide. I had packed my things and was making to get up and leave.

“Here bruh, lemme help you up,” and he extended his hand to me. I grabbed hold as a small shock passed between us. It was just a split second, but as his calloused, sweaty had grasped mine, I felt a jolt that stuck my hair on end. I hardly had time to notice as he hoisted me up. “Hey, if you do end up reviewing later, maybe give me a heads up. We could do a study session or something.” He pulled out a pen and scribbled on the back of a receipt. Grabbing my hand again, and pulled me into a bro hug before I could protest. Up close he was warm and humid, sweat cooling in the cold winter air. He left the paper in my hand when he pulled away. He smirked, “You should ask inside, they may be able to help. I’ll see you later tonight.” There was a confidence in his voice that sent a chill down my spine. Before I knew it he had booked it, and I was left with a piece of paper, a broken computer, and a sinking realization I was still lost.

With few options left, I popped into the gym my classmate had just come out of. Maybe they would have a charger I could borrow or be able to help me with directions. At least it was warm inside. I walked over to the man at the desk, asking “Hey, sorry to bother. Do you all have a phone charger? I am completely lost and out of juice.”

“You can bother me any time,” the attendant said with a wink, “We’ve got some chargers in the locker room, but management is struck about people using facilities without paying. You already a member with us?”

“No, do I look like a member with you all? Please, I’m tired and at this point I just need to get home.” I groaned.

“Well sorry bro, you’ve gotta get those gains somewhere… let’s see, a day pass only runs about $5,” he slid the card reader to me.

“Fine.” I thrust my card into the machine and grabbed my receipt, storming off towards the locker room.”

“Enjoy your time! Oh, sir. Those aren’t the locker rooms they are the changing ro-” and the swinging door cut him off. I cut to the first door on my left. The overhead lights activated as I walked in. The inside was warm, hotter even than the lobby. For locker rooms, there were very few lockers. Just cooler with some sports drinks, some mirrors, and a charging station. No one else was inside, so I sat down on a bench and set my phone down on the charging station. With the heat I quickly began stripping layers, till I was down to my sweater, but I was not going shirtless in this place. It looked like it would be a while before my phone would be charged. I tried to put the whole situation out of my mind as I laid back and relaxed, carried to sleep in the thick heat…

I woke up a while later, disoriented and thirsty. It may have been a bad idea to sleep in the sweater, the thing was practically dripping in sweat now. I began to pull off the damp thing when I was shocked to see what was underneath:

Abs. Pecs. Abs and pecs. I had to be dreaming, when did I go from a stick to having abs and pecs. Not only that, but my arms. Thick and smooth, my arms looked swollen, as though I had been working them out for years. And my legs, they felt like lead beneath me, so heavy I could hardly move them. I could crush a melon between my thighs. And my poor shoes, they were practically in tatters on the floor. My toes poked out of the remains, leather torn between my meaty soles. I looked in the mirror to get a full picture. If I didn’t see it I wouldn’t have believed it, I was a whole different man.

I grabbed my phone and booked it out the door back to the front desk. The same attendant was there, looking me up and down as I passed by:

“Well hey there handsome. How are you enjoying our amenities?”

I just about strangled him, “What the hell happened? What did you all do to me?!?”

“I did try to tell you. Locker rooms are the other side. Those are the changing rooms.”

“What’s that supposed mean?”

“Well, look at yourself. Must have gone for the muscle enhancement, eh? Not a bad look on you.” I could just about wipe that smug look off his face.

“Cut the bull crap, I didn’t ask for this. If you all changed me into this change me back.”

“So sorry,” the apology dripped from his lips, “but things don’t quite work that way. For more specialized changes you have to get a full membership.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” I shouted, “You never said shit about this. I don’t need your membership. Change me back, now.”

“Woah, calm down there hot stuff, no need to get so worked up. How about this. My boss is home for the night. I know what you looked like when you came in. I can sneak you back into one of our specialty changing rooms, and I’ll calibrate it myself. Deal?”

I was about in tears, “Deal.”

He took my hand and lead me to the changing room all the way in the back. Same set up, same bench in a mostly barren room. This one was maybe a tad smaller. His voice came on over the intercom:

“Alright, now just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”

This time, deep red lights came on and that same heat began to fill the room. It somehow felt a bit different. The other heat wrapped around, this one felt like it pierced. In moments my body was flooded with warmth. Sweat rolled down my body as the room began having its effects. But something wasn’t right. Instead of shrinking down to my lithe self, my body felt like it was bubbling, and began to swell even more.

“Hey. HEY! What the hell! What are you doing out there? Wrong way asshole!”

He chuckled into the intercom, “What? I think it’s a good look on you.”

“You’re supposed to change me back!” I shouted

“I said I would calibrate the room. I didn’t say how. You should feel lucky, you’re getting the VIP treatment for free!”

Everywhere sweat rolled my muscles stretched as my body began writhing under the feeling of its growth. It felt… it felt… oh god it felt… so…good. But it had to be stopped. I couldn’t keep going like this. I put all my effort into standing up and lunged for the door handle. It didn’t budge, locked from the outside.

“Oh, is this not to your taste?” he teased “Well, I already did smooth jock tonight. Fine, let’s try this then.”

The red lights switched off as dull LED’s took their place. At the same time, a mist began pouring into the room. The smell made me dizzy as I slumped back on the bench behind me. The haze curled around me and stuck to my skin. It smelled like aftershave, sharp and fresh, with a coolness that made me shiver. My skin began to tingle wherever it touched. I watched as my skin turned to goosebumps, then slowly a fine layer of fuzz began to coat my pecs. It grew and curled wherever the mist lead it. It blazed a treasure trail down my abs and branched out to cover them. I could only moan as my body pushed out my new pelt. It curled around my back as a forest erupted behind me. Working it’s way up, I felt a tickle on my jaw and cheeks. It caressed my face as a five o-clock shadow pushed out from my smooth face, and in moments a full beard was pushed out. It’s curling tendrils even worked on the hair I already had. I felt the hair on top of my head stand on end before following the mist into a thick mop. It worked it’s way into my gapping mouth too, and I felt my throat stretch and adjust, my moans coming out much deeper. Then it concentrated on my groin and pits. My previously trimmed bushes grew wild, quickly becoming a tangle. As my pubes grew around, it felt soooo good. I began getting hard, but the mist only took that as an opportunity. Something else to grow and curve. It stretched 6, 7, 8, 9 inches straight out before curving distinctly up. I was in pure ecstasy, with only the thought of the man outside watching keeping me from fully jacking off.

“Wow, what a grower. I knew you had potential but, woof.”

“You… won’t… *gasp*…get away… with… with this!”

“Oh, still a little rebel in you? Maybe we can bring that out a bit.”

The mist receded, and overhead the lights began to strobe and a loud white noise began to play. The pattern was disorientating and it hurt to watch. But even when I closed my eyes I couldn’t escape. A splitting headache developed as my emotions all turned to anger. I tried to shout, to call for it to stop, but my words didn’t even reach my ears. I watched in glimpses as I began to scream, deep and primal, rage in my eyes. My arm clenched into a fist and I ran up to pound the door down. It still didn’t budge but the shock sent a ripple down my arm. In the mirror I watched as in slow motion a full sleeve tattoo stretched down my arm. I sat down in pain and fear and anger as I grew close to tears. But the back of my mind knew that I could not cry, not anymore. Then, all at once it stopped. I realized I was still shouting. I felt pissed off, aggressive. When I got out of this room, I was gonna pummel that twink into submission.

“God, that one always gets me. I love a man with tattoos.”

“Fuck OFF” I growled. I looked in the mirror at the monster I had become:

My mind was being flooded with emotions, a sense of loss for the person I was, a rage at the man who had done this to me, an animalistic horniness from my sizable new cock, and a deep terror for what else could happen. I channeled that fury and made one last attempt on the locked door. I yanked and rattled the door with all the strength this new body could muster. I felt the handle flex beneath my grip, before a loud *snap* sent me plummeting to the ground. The handle had come off the door. I banging against the door, shouting for anyone to come help me.

“Hmmm,” the attendant contemplated, “I may have gone too far with the rage this time. You’re a beast bro, but let’s reign it in. A healthy dose of this should help.”

A new cloud filled the room, this one thicker than the last. It was damp and sticky and clung to every inch of me. This one smelled rich and acrid, like an arm pit that had long since sweat through any deodorant. It was as though every patron of the gym had joined me in the room fresh from their workout. The fog was so thick I felt as though I was beginning to choke. It slid heavily down my throat and made my eyes water. That’s when I felt it begin to corrupt me. My enraged mind became calm, then addled as my brain filled with the all consuming fog. Memories flashed before my eyes as I felt them slip from my mind, replaced with false copies. I felt my college experience shift from books and classes to working out and tutoring sessions. My classes in journalism and writing were swapped for work out routines and remedial math. Then my cock began twitching as memories of hot workout sessions with my bros filled my mind, replacing my book club. As my mind relaxed and the new memories came to me easier and easier. My IQ was slipping down quickly, resting now somewhere around 75. As my mind relaxed I felt my body do so too. The cloud began seeping into my pores, filling me with its corrupting influence. My body betrayed me, greedily sucking up the cloud until the room was completely clear. I felt warm and tingly, my body pressed flat against the cold floor. I lifted my arm to get a good wiff of my funk. My cock jumped in response. God I needed to fuck. The cloud had saturated me, inside and out, soaking me in a new identity.

“How are you feeling in there big guy?” a voice was on the other side of a speaker in the room.

“Aight I guess man. I’m tired. Guess I passed out in here,” I replied. God, just waking up from a nap and I had my morning wood. The door opened, a cute bro was on the other side.

“Have you enjoyed your day pass sir?” He asked.

“Hell yeah Lil’ bro, it’s been good. This gym is stacked. I haven’t felt this worn out after a workout in a while!”

“Have you considered upgrading that day pass to a full membership? I know I would love to see you around,” he said with a wink.

“Mmm, wouldn’t mind seeing you every day. Gimme the forms.” He led me out to the lobby, I signed a few forms, and handed me a card.

“Now remember next time, locker rooms are over there,” he smirked. “Here, this is free with your sign up.”

He threw a tank top over to me. Good thing too, I think I forgot mine at home. It fit snugly over my huge chest. It made my arms look huge too. Just a shame I sweat so much after a workout, I already had some pit stains going. Shit, I was rank.

“Thanks bro, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I strolled out the door into the cold winter air. I flexed, feeling the breeze wick some of my sweat away.

“Hey, excuse me?” Some dork walked up to me, looking desperate. I felt like I knew him from somewhere, though I couldn’t place it. “Would you happen to be able to help me? I have been going around in circles and can’t seem to find my way. I have an exam in just a few hours.”

“Nah, sorry man. I’m not quite sure I’m able to help. Never been good with directions huhu,” that’s when it clicked, “Hey, you’re in my bio class aren’t you? Ah shit, is that exam today?!? Fuck, I’m never gonna pass that crap.”

He looked a little flabbergasted, but made some excuses and was about to move on when I grabbed him. I felt something pass between us, as his gaze fell onto me, unblinking, “You should check in the gym bro, I know they can help you out.” I pulled away and the moment passed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two receipts. The first was my receipt for my day pass. I scribbled down my contact info, and handed it off to the nerd. “Here, if you want to talk about lifting with me and my buds later you should give me a call. Looking a little scrawny bruh.”

He took the receipt before wandering towards the gym entrance. I then looked at the second paper I pulled out. Oh yeah, it was that hot gym bro from earlier. Yeah, I could meet up with him for sure. His name at the top rang a faint bell. For a split second, I remembered a friend I would sit next to in class. Smart, nerdy, nothing like the man I had met on the sidewalk earlier... But just then I felt my brain pounding, and I couldn’t focus on… whatever it was I was thinking about. Oh, right. Hot jock. Yeahhh, I’m gonna go see if he wants these rank pits shoved in his face while I ride his cock.

————

Maybe not what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy anyways ❤️

[rainintheevening]

Peter writes home from the battlefield every chance he can.

Lucy's letters are full of barely rhyming, rambling poetry, talk of stars and trees and any plants or animals he's seen. He puts in all the words that will never describe any of this, but still there is a great sky above him, and a big heart in his chest, and he hopes she will understand. She could if anyone can.

To Edmund he sends the muddy, bloody, wobbly-writing letters, the ones with rambling memories of Narnian battles and strategy, though he takes care to phrase it as 'playing in the woods', not wanting the censors to get leery. There are also many theological musings, and usually the continuation of whatever Bible verse Ed has sent in his letter. I wish you were here, and yet I am glad you are not, is a sentiment oft repeated.

Susan and Mother usually get the same letter, little stories of kindness shown or soft things appreciated. He asks them for more socks for Jackie, an extra bar of chocolate for Hamish, tells them how he's gotten his whole unit to memorize the Jabberwocky poem, and they make each other smile with it.

Dad is usually named with Susan and Mother, but sometimes he gets an extra scribble, usually a single scripture reference, or the name of a local boy now dead, and a few things Peter asks him to go tell the family.

Eustace gets the occasional missive folded in with the rest, usually sketches of aeroplanes, with which Eustace is fascinated, though they aren't very good sketches. If there's a sketch for Eustace, there is usually also a sketch for Jill, something Narnian, a sword or a forest or a castle.

Professor Kirke only gets occasional letters, usually short and to the point, but written in particularly formal language, as of a king writing to a dear advisor.

They all write to Peter.

Professor Kirke sends exerpts of whatever philosophy or theology or history books he just happens to be reading at the time he remembers to write. Sometimes it seems very random to Peter, but he loves it.

Eustace's letters are infrequent, but burst with colourful descriptions of his school life that make Peter laugh.

Dad usually just scribbles scripture references at the bottom of Mother's letters. Susan signs those too. Mother's letters are full of ordinary home life, rich with the warmth of hearthlight and fresh baking and good books and comfortable chairs and a much loved old quilt. She says what everyone is doing much more clearly, tells how the garden is coming in.

Mother and Susan are also very good at writing to the boys who don't have anyone to write to them. (Peter has a picture of his family, and everyone in Peter's unit thinks Susan is the prettiest girl in Europe, that she should be a queen, but they all watch what they say around Peter, they know how he feels about his sister's honour. But it really does bring up morale.)

Edmund doesn't usually say a lot, but he's regular, always engaging with whatever musings Peter put in his previous letter, making some of his own references to Narnia, usually to things Oreius taught them, and always concluding with a Bible verse. Half the time Ed absently addresses the missive To High King Peter, my brother... He never actually says I'll find you when I join up, I promise, it's just sort of there, between the lines.

Lucy's letters are like blue sky and fresh air and a fierce hug. Sometimes Peter can almost smell Narnia on the paper. They're not long, but she says I love you all the time, and talks of the weather and the flowers, and the girls at school who are struggling, and how she's trying to help them, and there's always a bit of poetry or a hymn that she's written, but it's actually good, compared to Peter's stuff. Courage, dearest brother, she always says. Remember the Lion, she always finishes.

Peter gets so many letters he has to start sending them back to his family for safe keeping.

[hotluncheddie]

For the lovely @sidekick-hero as part of @steddiesummerexchange

Using the prompt 'meet ugly' which was so fun and pushed me to do some new stuff! so thank you! i hope you enjoy!! 🫂

Ao3 | wc: 6.2k | rated: M | cw: panic attacks | tags: 90's AU, No Upside down, Meet-ugly, Platonic Hellcheer, Background Buckingham, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Yoga Instructor Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson needs a hug

₊✩‧₊

‘Munson, this, there’s nothing here man.’ His manager sighs, looking over Eddie’s scribbled notes. 

Eddie sucks another lungful of his cigarette. arms and legs crossed on the too soft office sofa, foot tapping. 

He knows. 

Of course he knows. 

It’s shit. 

All of it. 

Disjointed song ideas and cord progressions that don’t work outside of a shitty blue grass wannabe and the weird none metal bullshit that somehow got him here; that people keep insisting is grunge.

‘You have till mid June, ready for Lollapalooza in July. Label said so.’ And Jake is a good guy, a good manager, but Eddie wants to rip his skin off and never see this ugly fucking Chicago office building or anyone in it. Ever. Again. 

He wants to write. He wants to create, and perform. 

But he can’t. 

It all shit. There’s nothing here. 

-

He speeds down the interstate. Foot pressing on the accelerator, pressing steadily harder and harder. The speedometer ticking up 10mph, more, 20, more. 

‘Shit, fuck.’ Eddie curses, trying to light the cigarette at his lips. Lighter sparking but no quick catching flame, just the click and fizz, dead. ‘Stupid. Fucking.’ He sniffs, scrubbing at his eyes, tears leaving sticky tracks across his cheeks. 

‘FUCKER!’ He shouts, throwing the shitty bic lighter out of the passenger window, into the inky blackness, scrubbing at his eyes again. 

He can’t fucking see. He needs a fucking cigarette. 

He’s running out of gas, fast. Rain starting to fall, heavy and sleeting. His hissy fit can’t last forever, but the itch is still under his skin. Mind blank to anything that could be remotely useful. He’s so creatively drained it’s a joke. A mean fucking joke handed out by god himself. 

Because Eddie had his whole life to write that album. To pour his brain out and stick it together into a mangled beautiful little thing. 

And now he’s expected to do the same thing. In months. 

And he knows. He knows, it’s possible, and it’s been done, and he has thoughts and feeling and music left inside him. 

But it’s hard. And he’s scared. 

Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever write another song again. Dry to the bone. Like his Dad always expected. Always knew. Knew he had nothing in him. Good for nothin’. 

Snot drips onto his top lip. He, he can’t see. ‘Fuck.’ He whispers - he. 

The lights of a gas station shine up ahead. 

Tiredness dripping down into his bones, suddenly. 

Eddie pulls off, parks off at the side. 

Punches the steering wheel till his knuckles go bloody. 

‘W-wayne ‘m sorry, I, I just can’t Wayne.’ Eddie stutters into the receiver. The distance between then crackling. Cold wind rattles the glass walls of the little gas station payphone. 

‘Ed’s? I need ya to take a breath for me kid.’ Wayne’s voice sounds deeper through the phone, more smoky. 

Eddie’s hands are shaking so hard he shoves one up under his armpit, can barely feel his fingers, tucking his elbow in close and squeezing. Stomping his feet, trying to ground himself into this time and space. He breaths in through his mouth and nose, shuddering as he tries to get as much air as possible into his frame. Blood pumping loud in his ears, and he still can’t fucking see. 

‘That’s it son, and again for me.’ Wayne says, in the same tone he says most things; calm and plain, for as long as Eddie can remember. 

He only heard his uncle raise his voice a couple of times, and never once over Eddie. It was always the disappointed looks that would get under his skin, keep him on the straight and narrow (or, not straight, and mostly narrow), kept him safe.

The main one that Eddie remembers, was when his dad came. 

His dad came to try and get him, take him home, wherever that was, whatever that meant. Wayne lost his shit, as much as Wayne can. Held his hunting gun too close to his dads heart and told him brother-in-law to ‘Get! Out!’ 

Eddie had hidden behind the arm of the sofa, crouched and only daring to peak over when he heard his dad huff, punching the doorframe once and stepping back to leave. ‘Fine, fine!’ He’d spat. ‘Don’t want the kid anyway.’ He glanced at Eddie then, a dark sort of indifference in his eyes. ‘Fucking useless.’

That darkness fills Eddie now, coating his lungs and stopping the air flowing through. His Dad’s right, he can’t be anything, not really. Doesn’t have it in him. 

Part of him is still there, cowering behind the couch. A coward, still now. Maybe always. 

‘You stop that right now Eddie y’hear? You might be yer Daddy’s son but you’re in no way him. Ain’t no way.’ Wayne says, stern. 

Eddie sobs, palm pressed across his eyes, fingers digging into his temple. ‘Fuck.’ He fucking, he just can’t. 

‘M’sorry Wayne. M’sorry. It’s so stupid but I nearly fucking killed him Wayne, if I wasn’t there he woulda’ got away, woulda’ got away fine.’ 

‘If you make one more excuse for that sack of shit Eddie I’m coming up there myself to talk it outa’ you.’ Wayne says. ‘You were a kid Ed, didn’t do nothin’ wrong other than trustin’ your own Daddy.’ Wayne’s voice softens, making sure Eddie’s still listening. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault kid.’ He says, like it’s final. 

‘Okay.’ Eddie takes a wet breath, shivering. ‘Yeah, okay Wayne, I hear ya.’ Closing his eyes, squeezing the receiver and rolling his forehead across the cool glass of the booth. 

‘You ring Chris for me now Ed, tell her you’ll be home soon. And I’ll ring tomorrow once ‘m off, leave you a message if you’re not in.’ Eddie sniffs again, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks. 

‘Ok Wayne.’ He agrees, it’s easier. He’s so tired. ‘Night.’ 

Eddie sneaks through the door, not sure if he wants a whole pity party right now. He kind of just wants to go to bed. 

Chrissys head pops up over the couch, looking at him with wide, wet eyes. 

Maybe he does want a little party, actually. He feels tears well in his lashes again. 

‘Hey Chris. I um, sorry for leaving. It uh, it’s bad again.’ He admits, voice cracking. 

‘Eddie.’ She soothes, coming around to him by the door and wrapping him in a hug. Holding him so tightly in her skinny arms. Too good for him. ‘I’m sitting with you while you ring the doctor tomorrow okay? And you’re coming to yoga with me Thursday.’ She says, wiping Eddie’s tears with her sleeve. ‘And I don’t want any buts mister.’ She mumbles darkly, squeezing his waist when Eddie snorts. 

‘Fine. I, fucking, anything to not feel like this anymore Chris.’ He sighs, he’s so tired. ‘Even fuckin’ yoga.’ And he knows she can hear his eyes roll but she just squeezes him again, humming. 

He buries his face in her neck. Taking deep breaths, till the shuddering goes away. 

-

They’re in the coffee shop below the yoga studio. Eddie’s anxious, already itching for another cigarette even though he finished his last one right before entering the cafe, not five minutes ago, shivering against the cold wind. He didn’t sleep last night, or get any words out, he just watched the shopping channel all curled up on the couch, biting his nails and wishing for something to come change him. 

But he’s here, as much as he doesn’t want to be. He trusts Chrissy, and the last call with the label about the very none negotiable schedule for a new song release in conjuncture with the tour has him ready to try anything. 

Even fucking yoga. 

‘I just don’t see how this is going he help Chrissy, it’s just breathing and shit.’ Eddie says loudly, stress making him obnoxious, the bell above the cafe door tinkling. ‘It’s not gonna help me get stronger. Plus it’s wrapped up in all that pseudoscience bullshit. Just trying to make money off unhappy people and their shit.’ He’s staring down and the flyer in his hand. They were on the counter and Chrissy had shoved it at his chest as she ordered. Probably a queue for him to shut up. 

‘Who the hell even is Stevie anyway?’ Eddie asks, flapping the paper around. It’s pink, with bold black writing and the outline of a striped flag in the corner. Hm. 

But no, gay yoga is still yoga, Eddie won’t be converted that easily. 

‘Chrissy, hey!’ Comes a deep voice from behind him, making Eddie jump. When he turns his arms fall limp at his sides. 

Golden skin and soft brown eyes. Hair that curls around his ears and sits on his head in a highlighted swoop; kinda messy, like he runs his fingers through it. Little gold hoop in his ear, neck covered in moles. Beautiful. 

They’re around the same height but this guy is broader, thick and sturdy with a layer of squish over his muscle, a layer of chest hair over his pecs, peaking out of his tank. He could suffocate Eddie with those thighs. Eddie could take great pride in holding all that bulk down, making him scre- 

‘Stevie! Hey!’ she beams. ‘Eddie meet Steve Harrington. And Stevie, this is Eddie Munson, my best friend.’ Chrissy say, introducing them and pulling the stranger into a side hug. 

Eddie can’t think straight. 

This, is Stevie?

The barista calls his name, Eddie coming back to himself to turn and grab his order. Plaster some kind of smile on his face in leu of an actual human greeting. 

Chrissys looking at him, smiling like she knows something. Knows more than Eddie does. 

He sips his tea. Doesn’t look at her. 

‘…Well nice to meet you man, I’ll see you both in there.’ Steve says, pointing his thumb towards the door. ‘just wanted to say hi. Gotta go prep some more pseudoscience bull before it all starts.’ He says, clapping. Smiling at Eddie like a fucking Stepford wife. Eddie gapes at him. Steve winks. 

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut. 

Slimy fucking guy. Eddie seethes, sipping his tea, watching Stevie leave. He looks like he could be the son of any of the record execs that’ve tried to fuck over Eddie’s music. Breathing down his neck to get another hit album, like Eddie has any control over that, can get himself to write anything like that again. Like he can handle the plans for a tour next spring, into the summer for festivals, said they want new songs to keep the fans interested. Fucking Steve looking at him like that, all spotless and put together and prefect and Eddie cannot fucking let this guy beat him. Not today. 

‘What does that look mean?’ Chrissy asks, amused. 

‘Means that I’m about to have the best fucking yoga session that guy has ever seen.’ Eddie says, still glaring at where Steve had just been. He hooks his arm through Chrissy’s and heads for the door. 

The studio is a renovated townhouse with hardwood floors and long windows. There’s a wall of mirrors and a bar across one wall, aerobics equipment stacked in the corner.

Eddie finds a spot with Chrissy nearer the back, but the rooms really not that big, he can see Steve’s set up at the front just fine. 

Chrissy leave his side to go pay, and apparently flirt with the tall freckled girl who’s taking said payments. Standing in the corner with a clipboard and a laugh that ends in a snort. That must be Robin, Chrissys long time yoga crush, and by the way Robin playful taps Chrissy on the head with her pen, she’s not doing too badly. 

Looking around Eddie’s surprised that there’s other people like him, with tattoos and some more visible piercings. 

Older ladies with pink in their hair. A younger guy with a cane and a Prince shirt on. People of different sizes, colours, shapes.  

Steve is making his way around the room, talking to people, he knows most of them by name. 

It’s. It’s almost nice. 

But when Eddie looks at Steve all he sees are the jocks who spat on him in high-school. The rich kids who said they couldn’t be friends because their parents found out he lives in a trailer. People who look at him with awkward, dead eyed pity when he mentions his uncle but not his parents. 

Steve walks over, snapping Eddie out of his head. ‘Hey, so Chrissy knows how it goes. But Eddie, I want you to take it easy tonight, okay? First session means you should be careful.’ 

Eddie leans back on his palms, festered. ‘Don’t think I can handle it Steven?’ 

Steve doesn’t take the bate, neutral face barely twitching. ‘Have you done yoga before?’ 

‘No’ 

Steve crosses his arms. ’Then no, I don’t think you can handle it actually. Last thing I want is you disturbing my class because you pulled a muscle being dumb, kay?’ 

Eddie just grunts, smiling at him in a little closed lipped sneer. Jerking his head and clenching his jaw. 

Stevie just rolls his eyes, walks away. 

Eddie hates him. 

Fucking yoga. How hard could it fucking be…

Eddie muscles are burning. He takes it back he takes it back. 

But he can’t let Steve know. Can’t bare to see that smug little smirk on his face again. 

‘Stay here if you're comfortable. But, if you want a little push tonight’ Steve says to the room, eyes flashing to Eddie in warning. ‘Move with me.’ And he bends down to touch the floor, hands then coming away, held in place by his core. 

‘Fuck’ Eddie grunts, tries releasing his hands but he comes too close to toppling over. His palms are sweating and his hair is sticking to his neck. Fucking yoga… 

‘Just breathing and shit right Munson?’ Steve says as Eddie spaces out on his mat, session over. Eddie can see more thigh at the angle, up the stupid fucking shorts Steve’s wearing. A little patch of sweat on his tank, sticking to his chest hair. 

‘Whatever Harrington.’ He grunts, forcing himself to sit up. Not looking Steve in the eye. 

Everything hurts. Even his fucking brain hurts from trying to imagine the smooth lake that Steve talked about during the ending meditation. Eddie couldn’t seem to imagine his without a ghostly pirate ship bobbing in the middle of the water. 

Fucking yoga. 

-

‘I hate him.’ 

‘Yeah sure, next thing you’ll be pulling his pigtails’ Chrissy rolls her eyes. ‘You don’t even know him, and I heard how well you slept after the session, your snoring woke me up Ed’s. Don’t give up just because the teacher is hot.’

‘He is not hot!’ Eddie seethes. 

He is so hot. So, so incredibly hot. 

Chrissy raises one eyebrow. 

‘Fine. I’ll keep going. but I hate him. ‘ 

-

One session, a few weeks in, Eddie feels it.

He dips down, back bending, coming out of downwards dog. Flowing onto his palms and toes. He breaths, feels his blood flow in his veins and his lungs fill. Rising back up and feeling the stretch in his feet, in his shoulders and hips. He breaths through it, moving with himself, connected to himself. 

Mind blank, room gone, just him and his breath. The smooth voice of Steve telling them to repeat. Eddie does. His eyes close and his mind smooths out. He flows. 

He doesn’t look at Steve again. Misses the glint in his eye, noticing the space Eddie holds on his mat, the tensions that’s been released. Misses Steve’s smile. 

Eddie breathes in. A chord progression plays in his mind. 

He breaths out. It plays again. 

It works perfectly with that scribbled line he re read this afternoon. 

Eddie breaths in. 

He goes home and writes. 

-

Winter eventually thaws and Spring begins slowly, slush still gripping to the sidewalks as the sun peaks through thick clouds. 

Eddie continues to work on demos, that don’t quite hurt so much to look at anymore, and goes to yoga once a week.

Twice a week for a couple weeks now, while Chrissy is away visiting family. Eddie doesn’t want to disturb her too much by phoning. But he misses her, the apartment too quiet, and empty. 

He gets to class early. Kind of exited to feel the stretch in his muscles tonight, see if he can hit the lower warrior stance he’s been working on. Any excitement sifts into annoyance though, once he sees Steve, mingling, in a bright pink shirt and shorts that sit way too high up on his thighs. Eddie’s not a prude, but, does he really need to see so much leg hair and smooth inner thigh when he’s trying to work out? Trying to relax?

‘Ready to feel the burn Munson?’ Steve asks as he saunters past him, clicking on the boombox as he goes

‘Bite me Harrington, ‘m not in the mood.’ Eddie says. annoyed. Always annoyed that Steve is still as fucking handsome as last time. Always so annoyingly handsome. 

He misses Chrissy. 

He’s annoyed

Steve’s shorts are too fucking short… 

Steve’s smug smile does not go unnoticed when Eddie actually falls asleep during the wind down meditation. Steve had skipped the ending applause and instead ushered everyone out quietly, leaving Eddie to sleep for a solid 20 minutes while he packed up. 

Eddie has glared, not able to extend any gratitude to that being the best sleep he’s had all week, his cheeks bright red at being caught. But Steve’s smugness seemed to be thawing with the ice. A softness to his eyes as he bid Eddie goodnight; once Eddie had wrapped himself back up in his winter coat for the walk home. 

Eddie couldn’t help but say goodnight back. ‘See you next week Harrington’ Didn’t seem to sound so bitter anymore. 

-

Eddie watches Chrissy try and show Robin an old cheer move, somehow moving topics once Chrissy had added her money to the pot. Robin’s arms don’t seem to stay straight for long enough, too distracted so she looses form. Chrissy giggling and reaching over to grab her wrist and squeeze. 

‘You two been dating long?’ Steve asks, suddenly next to Eddie and joining him in watching the two girls dance around each other. Eddie gives him such a look of confusion and judgment that Steve puts his hands up in defence. 

‘I’m joking dude, Rob’s been crazy about her for months. Too bad she’s too chicken shit to ask her out.’ 

‘I know, I’m honestly just glad she’s real, Chris wouldn’t shut up about her.’ 

‘Tell her to make it obvious, would you? More obvious that she would expect, Robbie needs that.’ And Steve is smiling, eyes sparking as he looks at them. 

Eddie nods, and he doesn’t know why he feels the need to say what’s he’s going to, why he needs to explain. Why he feels like Steve needs to know, but.: ‘We uh, both swing away from each other on the ol’ spectrum, just so, so that we’re clear.’ 

And Steve is looking at him. At the side of Eddie’s head, because he refuses to see what kind of face Steve is making. 

‘That right?’ Steve says quietly. ‘Well, good to know.’ 

Eddie.. he. ‘Good?’ 

‘Yeah good.’ And Steve’s voice is soft. And Eddie still doesn’t know why but, he blushes. 

And Steve’s moving away and calling Robin to start the session. 

Eddie doesn’t look up from his mat. 

-

He can’t be in the apartment anymore. Going stir crazy, buzzing, trapped in his own head. Its too early, class doesn’t start yet. But Eddie needs out. 

Chrissy isn’t going tonight, working late. The weatherman said there might be a thunder storm in the early hours. the rain already started, pelting his windows and sending a deep swirling ache dripping through Eddie’s nervous system. 

It’s raining so hard he can barely see in front of him but he manages to slop to the studio in one piece, waterproof and face dripping all over the floor. 

It’s warm, once he’s through the doors, the now familiar soft yellow lighting and smell of hardwood greeting him. 

He can hear laughing from the usual room. Moving closer can hear Robin and Steve giggling about something. 

Eddie slips through the door, not really sure what to do but he’s almost ready to admit that he craves the soft light of the familiar yoga room. 

He slips through the door and the first crack of lightning snaps in the distance. 

Steve is in a head stand, giggling and telling robin to knock it off, whatever she’s said making him almost loose his balance. 

Upside down Eddie can see Steve’s back, his T-shirt up around his shoulders. 

There’s old raised lines of jagged scars all along the planes of skin and muscle. Sewn back together and healed all wonky. 

Eddie’s mouth is dry as he stares at them. The muscles moving under Steve’s skin, the softness at his hips. Eddie gulps. 

His dad setting the stupid boat house on fire, once he’d heard the sirens, not leaving enough room between himself and the gasoline. Throwing the lighter while he was off balance. The flames licking his arms and face. He told Eddie to run. Eddie did. 

Eddies mat slips from his fingers and smacks against the floor. Steve coming down from his position and turning around, shirt falling back and covering him. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Eddie stammers, not sure what about. His hands are sweating. Steve, with skin like that. He’s not his Dad, he’s not. 

Eddie doesn’t even know if his Dad is out of prison. The lightning cracks again, closer. It was raining the day of the verdict, the courthouses grey brick so waterlogged it looked black. 

Eddie can barely look at him. Who even is this guy? 

‘Hey man, you okay?’ Steve asks, voice soft and Eddie needs to leave. He needs to leave. 

‘Water.’ Eddie slips back out of the room, into the hallway and he speed walks down the corridor to the water cooler. Thudding his shoulder into the wall next to it and sliding down into a crouch. Thunder claps and rattles its deep booming cry. 

His breath is shaky, a little too fast. When he closes his eyes he sees the black smoke and orange flames licking the forest skyline as he ran. Feet pumping and sweat dripping into his eyes. His dad told him to run. So he had. Leaving him there. 

Eddie can barely breathe. He’s already run for so long, the sirens faint and distant. His dad’s cold eyes on him in the hospital; burns unit. In court. Wayne dragging Eddie home in tears. Soaking wet. 

His head jerks and smacks the wall behind him. Pulling him back to the present. The wet slap of his hair against his cheek. Eddie can’t breath, his hands are shaking and, and. 

Steve is crouched in front of him, lips moving but Eddie can’t hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. 

Steve counts on his fingers; one, two, three. Holding them up for Eddie to see. Then his other hand reaches forward and pokes Eddie in the sternum over his slimy waterproof. Steve breaths in, fingers counting again. Steve hold it, fingers. He breaths out, fingers. 

For the next round Eddie follows, hands shaking and cupping over his ears. He breaths in, unable to hold it but he breaths everything in his lungs out. Does it again. Following the count of Steve’s fingers. He has a plaster over his thumb. Eddie wonders what happened. Eddie’s breaths in, holds it for three, breaths out. 

Eventually Eddie can breathe on his own, still shaky, but consistent. The thunder and lightning having moved off into the distance. 

Steve gets him a cup of water from the cooler, handing it over slowly and Eddie grips it in both hands. ‘You scared me there Munson.’ He says without heat. 

‘Yeah I, sorry.’ Eddie cheeks burn, it’s been, a long time since he’s had one like that. 

‘S’okay. I know these are pretty scary.’ Steve motions to his back, shifting to sit against the wall next to Eddie. Sad sort of smile pulling on his lips. 

Eddie panics. ‘No, no that. They’re, they’re not.’ Because they really aren’t. He just, he wasn’t expecting it. 

‘I’m kidding Eddie, you’re good.’ Steve says, smiling for real now, small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Those will look pretty as he ages, Eddie’s thinks. He nods. 

Steve nods back, eyes Eddie, flicking over his face. ‘You wanna do class tonight? I can take you home?’ 

‘Oh uh no.’ Eddie drains his water. ‘I mean no, I want to do class. It um, it helps.’ He stares into the little plastic water cup. 

But in his peripheral, Steve is smirking, smug as shit and Eddie tries to scowl. But he just ends up hiding his grin behind his hair. 

‘Let me give you a lift home after though, yeah?’ Steve asks, bumping their shoulders together. ‘Storm isn’t due to let up until tomorrow and I can’t have one of my best students getting sick.’ Steve says, standing up from the floor with an ease that Eddie still envy's. Holding his big hands out to haul Eddie up. 

It takes a second to reorient himself, Steve is, Steve is pretty strong. ‘Uh, thanks. Thank you, Steve.’ He manages, squeezing Steve’s fingers once. 

‘Don’t mention it.’ And Steve’s eyes are soft and kind and endless. 

Eddie pulls away. Slips down the corridor and back into the studio. 

Steve’s car is nice. A beemer that’s a few years out but it looks like he takes care of it. The interior cream and the leather soft, it’s tidy, and there’s an air freshener hanging from the mirror, a pinup of a sailor. Eddie flicks it, smirking. 

‘Gift from Robin. We used to uh, work at a sailor themed ice cream shop. The uniforms were, really somethin’.’ Steve says with a pained sigh, pulling into the street. 

Eddie smiles, aggressively forcing his mind away from Steve in any kind of sailor uniform, steering towards safer territory. 

‘Can I?’ He asks, motioning to Steve’s little box of tapes at his feet. 

‘Have at it man.’ Steve says, squinting slightly and turning up the speed on his wipers. 

Eddie picks the new Queen tape, Steve has a decent collection, a lot of pop and some 70s rock. Eddie nodding his head slightly to “innuendo”. 

He sneaks glances at Steve as he drives. His hand big and veined where it rests on the gear shift. There are raindrops stuck in his arm hairs and the bomber he slipped on is dark across the shoulders. He doesn’t really look anything like those record execs, or their sons, probably. His socks are mismatched and there’s a spot of stubble on his upper lip that he must’ve missed this morning. He runs a yoga studio and is aggressively accommodating when he teaches. He always learns clients names before the end of their first session and he loves his best friend. 

Eddie feels his fringe sticking to his forehead, half sweat half rain. The car windows are slightly misted and he blinks a few times to clear his eyes. ‘Thanks, uh, thank you. For the lift man. You really didn’t have to.’ 

Steve smiles at him, glancing away from the road. Some of his hair has tucked itself into the his little hoop earring, something in Eddie’s chest softening. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Earlier?’

Eddie, he doesn’t. Not really. 

‘It was raining the day my dad got sent to prison. Thunder and lightning by the time my uncle could got me home.’ Eddie settles on, voice thick.

‘Fuck, Eddie. I’m so sorry.’ 

‘’S fine. I’m, he wasn’t that great of a dad.’ Eddie huffs, he really doesn’t want to get into that. 

Steve glances at him, smile sad. ‘I’ll cheers to that man. But yeah, still.’ He shrugs. 

‘Thanks. Um, if you take a left here my place is just at the end.’ Eddie says, quietly, tired. 

They arrive at the base of his apartment, the rain hammering on the roof and blurring the glow of the yellow streetlight. Eddie moves for the door, hand on the mat between his knees. 

‘Oh hey, wait, uh.’ Steve says, moving in a little closer. 

He reaches out, fingertips brushing the soft skin below Eddie’s eye. ‘Eyelash.’ He murmurs, holding the little hair up for Eddie to see. ‘Make a wish.’ 

Eddie swallows, feels the ghost of tear tracks still crusted over his cheeks. A boy just touched his cheek. He sniffs.

When he was a kid and his dad remembered his birthday he’d get Eddie a slice of pie from the diner. Linda who worked there always managed to find a candle out back for him; squeezing his shoulder and giving Eddie a smile that only read a little bit like pity. His dad would tell him to make a wish and ask for money, or fame, or for Al to one day own a new Mustang. 

Eddie always wished for the same thing.

For something to change. 

Figured something had to give. 

Now Eddie thinks about it, again, and maybe evrything has changed. Maybe everything is exactly what it looks like, and he’s here, in the centre of it. And there are parts, parts that are quite beautiful. 

He breathes in, opening his eyes and watching the eyelash flutter away on his breath. Eddie wishes to be able to see it.

-

‘Mind if I touch you?’ Steve asks from behind Eddie. ‘You almost have it.’ 

Eddie starts, muscles shaking a little. ’Sure, sure Stevie.’ He whispers. 

Steve’s warm finger press gently under Eddie’s arm so he lifts it slightly. Then on his shoulders so they dip minutely lower. Finally his palms wrap around Eddie’s waist, twisting him so he’s facing forward more fully. 

Eddie breaths out the air he’d been holding, long and slow, sinking into the pose. 

‘That’s it. Perfect.’ Steve soothes and moves on to the next person. 

Eddie falls asleep that night with the phantom press of palms on his waist. 

-

It’s raining again, but, no thunder. On a Tuesday, the session that Chrissy and Robin can’t make. The session that only Eddie attends in his now comfortable bi-weekly yoga routine. 

The night that it’s also routine for Steve to drive Eddie home. 

Tonight Steve wore a long sleeve and track pants to class. It’s not that unusual but, it’s warmer out now. So, a little unusual for Steve really, who’s usually sweaty during class even with ice clinging to the windows. 

He’s quiet too, doesn’t roll his eyes at Eddie playing one of the handful of tapes that he’d squirrelled into the car for these short rides. Doesn’t bat Eddie’s hand away from the temperature dials, telling Eddie to zip his coat up if he’s so frail. 

Tonight Steve is just quiet, moving the class into child’s pose three times. Leaving the ending meditation in silence. His breath wavering on the classes final group goodnight. 

‘…Steve? Are you okay?’ Eddie finally asks, the quiet too suffocating, the downward pinch of Steve’s mouth making Eddie’s heart feel heavy and rotted. 

‘Hm? Yeah, I’m just. Bad day, scars itch.’ And Steve smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks almost sadder. 

‘Can, uh. How did? I mean, you don’t. But.’ Eddie stammers, he’s never been much good at comforting but if Steve needs someone to listen, he can do that. Wants to. 

Steve sighs, pulling up next to the sidewalk, Eddie’s apartment just at the end of the street, cutting the ignition so it’s just the two of them, and the rain. 

‘They’re from a car accident. When I was 18. I, shouldn’t have been driving, it was so stupid. I wasn’t drunk or anything just, upset. Had a fight with my Dad, bad one. This other car was driving, pulling up along side me. It was this asshole from my high-school asking to race. I said yes like an idiot. But I was so, so angry. At everything. I thought, winning maybe, winning and wiping that smug fucking look from his face. Would like, help?’ 

Eddie doesn’t really know what to say, or do. Steve is picking at the skin on his knuckles, the joints going red and raw. So Eddie takes his hand, holding his finger between both of his own; smoothing his thumb over its ridges. 

Steve sniffs, corner of his mouth tucking up, bottom lip wobbling. ‘Anyway, we’re driving way too fucking fast and then there are these kids, suddenly, biking on the road. And, and this asshole, he speeds up. Planned on running straight into them, I could see it in his, cold fucking eyes. And I just, I swerved. Went right into him. Better me than those kids u know?’ Steve runs his free hand through his hair, laughing in a way though could just as easily be a sob. ‘He got off without much of a scratch, but uh, my door crumpled against a tree and like, fucked up my back a load, got these scars and aches and stuff now. Didn’t get charged with anything, luckily. Those kids actually vouched for me, babysat them here and there and, now we’re actually friends, as much as they annoy the shit outa me.’ And Steve’s cheeks are red, wetness glistening in his lash line, threatening to spill. He sniffs again, scoffing and turning his head away. 

Eddie pulls their joined hands into his lap, so Steve turns back towards him again. He’s hunched; looks young, and scared, and tired. 

‘But, yeah. I dunno why I told you all that honestly but. I guess. Anger only gets you so far, usually somewhere stupid. That’s my, uh, my pro tip I guess. Harder to forgive but way better for you.’ 

The silence stretches again, more comfortable this times. Eddie runs his thumb over the downy hairs on Steve fingers, over the scar by his thumb. Massages his palms, digging fingers into sinew. 

‘You know, I hated you that first session.’ Eddie says, tired of the ache that Steve’s tears are causing in his ribs. Tired of being angry, tired of being scared. 

‘Yeah.’ Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes, grin stretching slow and sweet. Like it’s a good memory, a memory to savour. 

‘Yeah. Too fucking handsome for his own good this guy. And charming, and rightfully cocky; you’re good at your job Stevie. Really good, and it pissed me the fuck off.’ Eddie says, his own smile stretching.

And Steve laughs, a honking snoring ugly little thing and it makes Eddie heart swell, his cheeks flush and his cheeks hurt from smiling so big. 

Steve is looking at him, tears gone. 

‘You wanna go get something to eat? The diner around the corner does really good cheeseburgers? My treat?’ 

‘Yeah Eddie, I’d, um, I’d really like that.’ Steve says.

-

‘We’re going to get coffee, don’t wait up.’ Chrissy shouts at them, linking arms with Robin and pulling her down the street. 

Robin sends Steve one wild grin, honking a delighted snort of laughter and following Chrissy. 

‘Well.’ Eddie says at Steve who’s grinning like a loon. 

‘Home?’ Steve asks, twirling his keys on his finger. 

Eddie nods and get in, so used to the smell and the feel of the car now. The way Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on the window ledge or fiddling with the temperature or gesticulating as he talks. Eddie comfortable in the passenger, curled up in his sweater and squeezing the mat between his knees. Some rides home he realises he didn’t even take a glance out of the window, eyes set on Steve the whole time. 

‘Hey, do you want to come up?’ Eddie ask. 

‘Come up and do what?’ And Steve’s smiling at him, cocky and confident and sweet and Steve. 

Eddie leans forward, kissing the corner of Steve’s mouth, which is a little stubbly from his moustache coming in. Where he smirks and licks his lips before a difficult pose. He’s Steve Harrington, and Eddie kissed him. 

-

‘Hey Wayne.’ Eddie smiles, squeezing the receiver. 

‘Hey kid, you all packed.’ Wayne sounds tired but relaxed and Eddie nudges the box by his foot, full of merch ready to load in the van come morning. 

‘Yeah, just a few more bits, Steve just left so, got distracted.. you remember Steve, he my, the uh, the yoga instructor?’ Eddie asks, cheeks flushing. 

 ‘Mmm I ‘member Steve. You sweet on him boy?’ 

‘Yes Wayne, he is!’ Chrissy shouts as she walks past. 

Eddie jumps and almost hisses at her like a cat. She, where did she even come from?

Wayne’s smoky laughter draws Eddie back to the phone. ‘I. God Wayne are you 12?’ But that just makes him laugh more. 

‘I’m going okay? Love you old man, I’ll call when I can.’ 

‘Love ya too ed, be safe. I’ll come visit once you’re back. Wanna meet this Steve everyone keeps going on about.’ 

Eddie huffs but he can’t help smiling, imagining Steve and Wayne together. 

‘You deserve someone good Ed, ye understand?’ 

Eddie blinks, blinks back tears. The things he has around him now, the people, the tools, his music. What he’s been given. What he always wished for. 

‘Yeah, yeah Wayne, I think I do.’ 

₊✩‧₊

Tag list: @pearynice @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots

@marvel-ous-m @tangerinesteve

title form 'Today' but The Smashing Pumpkins

[werepuppy-steve]

april fic rec

a monthly rec list to help me handle my tbr

<- march fic rec ❀ more fic recs ❀ my ao3

jake from state farm - T, complete @matchingbatbites

tags: modern au, cheating (not between steddie), getting together, valentines day

After a moment the ringing stops, and a voice says "Hello?" "Uh, hi, is this Steve?" "It is, who is this?" "It's Eddie, Jake's roommate? I got your number from him." Well, from his phone when he'd left it unattended one day, but Steve doesn't need to know the details. "I really, really hate to be making this call, especially the day before Valentine's, but uh. Jake is cheating on you."

wrong number - G, complete @steddiealltheway

tags: modern au, texting, getting together, friends to lovers

Steve waits a few more minutes before he makes his way out of the house and goes to his own. Once he gets into his room, he pulls out the piece of paper and types it into his contacts - after messing up the password and struggling to find his contacts. Steve: So not a serial killer I hope? There’s instantly some typing back that worries Steve. Shouldn’t Robin be distracted by her date? Robin: Not a serial killer but you might be… who is this? You intrigue me. Not Robin. Steve’s heart races as he looks at the scrap of paper. Damn scribbled mess.

Baby, It's Cold Outside - T, complete @steviewashere

tags: established relationship, nightmares, ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff

He was blissfully asleep in bed when a sudden cold shock to his back awoke him. Steve yelped, “Jesus!” And turned around to see who had snuck into his house this early in the morning (it’s only nine) and came face to face with his boyfriend, Eddie. “Eds, what the fuck? Hello? Hi? What happened to those? Christ.”

Am I The Asshole? - N/A, 5.6k, complete cairparavels

tags: modern au, AITA, getting together, autistic eddie, misunderstandings, fuck chad all my homies hate chad

Eddie hates his best friend’s new boyfriend and believes it is proof that he is homophobic. He takes to reddit to find out.

We could plant a house, we could build a tree - E, 3.7k, complete what_about_the_fish

tags: breeding kink, established relationship, feminization

When Eddie's dirty mouth stumbles into an interesting kink that makes Steve moan, they have to explore it further. A messy smut filled ride through Steve's breeding kink.

Come on Baby, Eat the Rich - E, 4.2k, complete nativity_in_black

tags: mild exhibitionism, daddy kink, feminization, dom/sub

“Eddie, we can’t- you know how they are. Just a bunch of rich snobs who think they own the place. What if we get caught?”, he worried aloud, trying to keep his voice steady as Eddie smoothed his hands along Steve’s waist. “Mm,”, Eddie hummed in thought, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Clicking his tongue, he looked back up at Steve, “Guess we’ll just have to be quiet, then. What do you say, baby?”

Come Back To Me - T, 3.8k, complete @beetlesandstarss

tags: major/temporary character death, grief/mourning, angst with a happy ending

“Where— uh. Where are you gonna bury him?” Eddie asks. “We’ve got… We’ve got some of his stuff. A box. We thought maybe…” “That’s a fine idea, son,” Steve’s grandpa says. And then, “Next to his parents seems the most fitting.” And— oh. Oh, God. No. Steve’s parents are— Are they dead too? (Or, Steve dies. And then he comes back.)

Hazy Shade - T, 5k, complete weird_witchcraft

tags: season 2 compliant, canon divergence, eddie gets involved earlier

Eddie stumbles into Merrill’s farm late at night on Sunday, November 4th, 1984 and runs into the last person he’d expect to see: Steve Harrington.

Worth the Effort - T, 9k, complete @solarmorrigan

tags: post-s2, friends to lovers, eddie takes care of steve, sick fic, hurt/comfort

Eddie ambles up and drapes himself against Steve’s locker door, head tossed back and eyelashes fluttering wildly. “Oh, Steve,” he simpers, high and breathy, “aren’t you going to whisk me away for a whirlwind Valentine’s romance?” “I’d love to, but I’m pretty sure I have a stats test tomorrow,” Steve drawls, sending a sidelong smirk at Eddie. “Ugh. Romance is dead,” Eddie declares. - In which Eddie contends with his crush on Steve Harrington, learns what a migraine is, and gets a valentine, more or less in that order.

nice to meet you, where you been? - T, 3/3, complete @flowercrowngods

tags: modern au, tattoo artist steve, friends to lovers, ace steddie, transmasc eddie, i could scream forever about how lovely this fic is

When Eddie enters the tattoo parlour that Chrissy recommended to him, he doesn't know what'll hit him. Never in a million years would he have expected the pastel or the minimalistic decor or how really fucking polished everything about this place is. It's like an antithesis to Eddie's entire existence has been created with the makings of this shop. The absolute cherry on top is the man that walks into the room to greet him, though. Because there is no way that Steve Harrington, whom Eddie had the maddest crush on in high school, owns a tattoo shop. No way. Nuh-uh. Not dressed in pastel like he is. Eddie wants to hate it. But he doesn't account for how genuinely amazing Steve is, or how crushing on him is the easiest thing. Really, it's a losing game from the start.

Mutually Beneficial - E, 1.2k, complete @steddie-island | kintsugi_kid

tags: mean dom eddie, age difference, power imbalance, choking, bottom steve

It had started innocently enough, with Steve getting kicked out as soon as he’d graduated and with Eddie Munson, town outcast, advertising a room for rent and a kid who needed a sitter. Moving in would be mutually beneficial. It evolved into, “Pretty thing, you take care of me… and I’ll take care of you.” Really, how was Steve supposed to argue with that?

Love and Smoke - T, series, WIP @stevieschrodinger

tags: cottage witch steve, snake familiar eddie, fluff

She sighs, rolling over on the couch like Steve’s just committed a huge offense, “I just don’t understand why you're so against it.” “There are a lot of reasons why a familiar is a bad idea Robbie.” And because they’ve been over this what feels like a hundred times, Steve can list them easily, “it’ll be fur or feathers, so not only would they shed on my furniture, and I’ll have fur or whatever everywhere, you know I don’t do so well with bird dander. Makes me sniffly. They get separation anxiety, so they have to go with you everywhere. Not exactly going to be convenient if I pull a- a – dire wolf or something, and you want to go to the movies. And if I leave them home alone, it would be cruel.” “You might get something small and hairless! Like a- a frog!” Rob insists. Steve just rolls his eyes and huffs, “but I might not. So no. Also, a frog? Really?” Not that Steve has anything against frogs particularly, just...where the hell would it stay? The sink? “Steve!” “I said no Robbie, okay. I’m not lonely. I have my garden, my books, I have plenty to do. I see you at the weekend, I see plenty of people at Tuesday Market. I am fine.”

Can I Kiss You? - G, complete @transvampireboyfriend

tags: crushes, first kiss, fluff

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks, eyes glued to the side of Eddie’s face. Eddie is sitting on his couch and Steve is hanging out across from him, lounging on Wayne’s recliner. He gets to use it whenever Wayne’s at work, with his explicit permission and now priority, since Eddie was jealous enough to start a mock argument and Wayne took Steve’s side just to tease his nephew. So now Eddie has to give that place up whenever Steve’s over. Which, he almost always is, these days.

If Found, Return to Me - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: established relationship, couples t-shirts

He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

fear the inky blackness of night - T, complete @griefabyss69

tags: post-s4, pre-steddie, steve getting over his fear of the dark

So when Eddie walks into his room, as he does, you know, like a person will just walk into the room he sleeps in, bed and dresser and guitars and all, he doesn’t expect there to just be… A fucking guy in there.

burgundy kiss - E, 6.5k, complete @hawkinsbnbg

tags: soulmates, modern au, dom/sub, under-negotiated kink, daddy kink, light breeding kink

Steve got Good boy inscribed on his butt, just on the right cheek. It would be funny if it was a tattoo Steve had gotten one time when he was too drunk and on a dare. Except it wasn't a tattoo. At all. Even though it kind of looked like one. In truth, it was the first word his soulmate would say to him.

Or, a meet-sexy story where Steve's soulmate is a man of culture.

dance with the devil - E, 2/?, WIP @sourw0lfs

tags: modern au, guardian angel eddie, monster steve, magic

The apartment is quiet around him, the only sound is the rush in his ears from the growing hangover, but it’s not so big he can’t find the owner. When he finally does, Steve actually throws up. If it weren’t for the smallest sliver of still clean blond hair amidst the sea of blood-clump strands, Steve wouldn’t even believe that the mangled corpse in front of him is the same guy as the night before. What the fuck happened? OR: The one where Steve turns 21 and his life turns upside down in the worst ways, complete with gaining the most obnoxious guardian angel known to man

go for it - T, 4.6k, complete @steveseddie | mseg_21

tags: flirting, getting together, pining, first kiss

Steve huffs. “What makes you so sure that you can convince me?” He asks with an arched eyebrow. “The kids have tried and failed and you know how relentless they are.” “Yeah, but I can be very persuasive.” He gestures at himself with a hand flourish. “You know, as a cult leader and all.” Steve hums. “Of course.” He leans his hip against the counter, only an inch away from Eddie’s thigh. “There’s gotta be something I can do to convince you,” Eddie says, moving his thigh until it touches Steve’s hip. “Something I can give you in exchange. To make it worth your while.” Steve’s eyes immediately dart down to Eddie’s lips. Eddie’s stomach swoops. There it is. or Eddie and Steve finally stop dancing around each other- too bad that the Hellfire Club is there to witness it

The Hawk - T, series, WIP @fastcardotmp3

tags: nancy wheeler centric, "the bear" au, multi pov, grief/mourning, character studies

A "The Bear" AU about the restaurant that falls into Nancy Wheeler's lap and the people that help her make it more than a burden. (Ensemble, Multi-POV)

the sweetest thing - E, 7/7, complete @cranberrymoons

tags: no nut november, established relationship, dom/sub undertones

It had started out simple enough between them, Eddie making some off-hand comment about Steve not being able to hold out for a whole month and Steve, ever unable to back down from a challenge, rising to the bait. “Whatever,” he’d said, rolling his eyes. “A month? Please.” He could do a month. Easy. He just hadn't counted on Eddie being – well. Himself. eddie goads steve into a No Nut November challenge; he never said anything about taking it easy on him

The Hole Story - E, series, complete @griefabyss69

tags: pre-relationship, fantasizing, slow burn, rimming

Steve wishes he hates the way he can't stop thinking about Eddie's tongue.

surface-level freak - E, 7k, complete @starryeyedjanai

tags: modern au, transmasc steve, werewolf eddie, human steve

Steve Harrington, Werewolf Fucker. He thinks he should be able to put that on his business card, but Robin says it's a little crass.

But My Heart Is Just A Little Boy - T, 2k, complete Atalia_Gold

tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, steve has dyscalculia

“Look, just carry on without me,” Steve muttered, and stood up quick enough that his chair scraped on the floor. “Steve -” Dustin started, but Steve was finished, striding towards the stairs and blinking back tears. He wasn’t going to cry in front of the kids, not over a fucking game, not over something his boyfriend loved so much. But they were coming faster than he could blink them back as he headed out of Mike’s stuffy basement and out to the driveway, the cold night air caressing his flushed face. This was supposed to have been a treat for Eddie. It was supposed to be fun, and Steve had ruined the night by being fucking stupid. ***** Steve wanted to surprise Eddie by joining in on D&D. Unfortunately, he's struggling with the math involved, and the kids aren't making it any easier.

Just a Shirt - T, 1k, complete @shares-a-vest

tags: established relationship, fluff, love confessions

Eddie makes Steve a customised Hellfire shirt, just for him.

The Taste of the Divine - E, 4.3k, complete tsmkeeler

tags: steddie as roommates, phone sex operator eddie, dom/sub, getting together

The exhale Steve was releasing staggered, and Eddie’s ears caught what sounded like Steve’s moan. The shuffling on the other side of the line reminded him he was on the clock and this was a good paying customer. He couldn’t just drop the line to handle Steve. He just needed to get him back in position and doing something, then he could get Steve out of there. He made a correcting noise. “On. Your. Knees.” Little brat thought he could do whatever he wanted for the pleasure. To Eddie’s surprise, Steve lowered to his knees. His chin tilted to his chest, hands on the tops of his thighs. He was sitting so pretty. What was stiff was now throbbing against the rough material of his dark jeans. “Yes, sir,” Steve replied breathily. Surely, Eddie was asleep and this was a night fantasy well beyond his best daydreams. There was no way. No fucking way. OR Steve and Eddie aren't only co-workers, they're roommates. While working his second job late at night, Eddie forgets to close the door and is pleasantly surprised by his roommates willingness to join him.

The Right Wrong Number - M, 8/8, complete @apomaro-mellow

tags: wrong number, getting together, phone sex, first meetings, modern au

Steve gets the wrong number and starts texting an interesting guy.

Kinktober 2023 - E, 19/19, complete @stevesjockstrap | deansdemondick

tags: kinktober, multiple pairings

Kinky Drabbles for October 😈

The End Of The Line - E, 6.4k, complete entanglednow

tags: post-s4, nightmares, (platonic) mutual masturbation, phone sex, feelings realization, fantasies, humor (like so much humor this fic made me laugh so hard)

Eddie knows better than to ignore a phone ringing in the middle of the night. After everything they've done for him the least he can do is be there for a friend in need.

Never Caught my Breath - E, 6.1k, complete @emchant3d

tags: established relationship, dom/sub, service dom eddie, role reversal (kind of), needy dom eddie, transmasc steve, daddy kink

“I know you had a long, long day,” he tells him, his touch tracing down, down, down, Eddie’s torso shivering beneath the ticklish drag of his hand, “so why don’t you just let me take care of you, huh? Does that sound nice?” “Yeah, baby,” Eddie says, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah, that sounds real fuckin’ nice.” Eddie works too hard. Steve helps him relax.

You're the Missing Piece - E, 7.9k, complete brokenpromisesandhope

tags: modern au, established stancy, polyamory negotiations, 5+1, stoncy endgame, exhibitionism,my first stoncy read and it made me feel Emotions idk

5 times Steve, Nancy and Jonathan had sex without each other and one time they did it together.

[theladyinwhite13]

dial 999 its a good time

⟡ sky ⟡ 17 ⟡ she/her ⟡ scorpio ⟡

↳ sideblog: @fivefeettobeexact

↳ header by @majestycrush

pinterest | spotify | letterboxd | storygraph | ao3 | last.fm

〚 basic stuff 〛 ↳ scorpio ☼ | taurus ☾ | capricorn ⇡

↳ whore for poetry

↳ bisexual

↳ journalism major

↳ music-obsessed

↳ writer at heart (rarely in practice)

↳ think pink!!!

↳ trashiest fashion lover you’ll ever meet

↳ @goosecoven 💕

〚 music 〛

↳ 5 seconds of summer | fleetwood mac | charli xcx | inhaler | sabrina carpenter | wallows | dua lipa | taylor swift | one direction | olivia rodrigo | jewel | grace enger | cate | aidan bissett | gracie abrams | alec benjamin | maisie peters | ashton irwin | finneas | camila cabello | luke hemmings | wet leg | zayn | chappell roan | ed sheeran | billie eilish | harry styles | stevie nicks | conan gray | echosmith | nirvana | jake minch | lana del rey | peach prc | niall horan | suki waterhouse | hole | boygenius | noah kahan | patti smith | joshua bassett | lizzy mcapline |

〚 tv/movies 〛

↳ the princess bride | lisa frankenstein | daisy jones and the six | brooklyn nine-nine | gilmore girls | some like it hot | the hunger games | lady bird | mean girls | lemonade mouth | dance moms | mia hansen-løve | gentlemen prefer blondes | bluey | funny face | 10 things i hate about you | kuwtk | parks and recreation | bottoms | the handmaid’s tale | hazbin hotel | a series of unfortunate events | percy jackson and the olympians | sofia coppola | goodbye first love |

〚 books/authors 〛

↳ the great gatsby | the hunger games | fahrenheit 451 | six of crows | mary oliver | little women | kafka | daisy jones and the six | pjo | the beautiful and damned | eve babitz | sylvia plath | the song of achilles | frankenstein | emily dickinson | vicious | oscar wilde |

〚 other shit 〛

↳ marilyn monroe | driving with the windows down | writing | vivienne westwood | old newspapers | the color pink | marauders | scribbling in books | concerts | picking flowers everywhere i go and then leaving them in peoples cars | fashion | journalism | listening to unhealthily loud music |

〚 platonic wife: @halucynator 〛

〚 i love lots of people but especially @shortnsweetgf 〛

[glorious-spoon]

WIP Wednesday

@inell, @sibylsleaves, @clusterbuck, @daffi-990 and probably some more people i've missed have recently tagged me in WIP games, and hey! i actually wrote a bit today!

this is from the hickies and hangovers fic, which remains as yet untitled and slow-going. but at least it is going.

-

"Come on, this is like a totally new you—even more than the mustache—"

"Would you give it a rest about the damn mustache?"

"We'll come back to that. But the backseat of her car? That's like, some lost youth stuff right there, Eds."

That nets him another eyeroll. "I was a teenager in Texas with Catholic parents. I've had sex in the backseat of cars before. Can we please stop having this conversation in public?"

"Okay, okay," Buck says, partly because the waitress is coming back over with the receipt, and partly because of the unspoken subject of that second sentence. Shannon. He doesn't say that out loud. Or the fact that before last night he's pretty sure Eddie's list of sexual partners could be counted on one hand with fingers left over. This isn't exactly like him.

Eddie scribbles down a tip and signs the receipt before shoving his chair back and nodding toward the street. "Come on."

The neckline of his shirt is back in place, hiding the hickey. Buck stands more slowly. The hilarity of a moment ago is curdling into something heavier, more concerned. "You're sure you're not going to see her again?"

Eddie scoffs. "I don't think I'm up for another relationship."

"Now?" Buck asks cautiously. "Or ever?"

-

no-pressure tagging back everyone listed above, plus @fraddit, @pineapplecrushface, @phdmama, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @alessandriana, and anyone else who wants to play

[stevesjockstrap]

hallo hallo hallo, I am here to send you a prompt? If you’d like to do it? (You don’t have to, feel free to ignore this ask)

I feel like Steve would radio-in with everyone post-S4 after a nightmare or something, just to make sure he’s okay, but when he calls Eddie he sounds super upset by it even though he’s trying to play it off and act calm, and after Steve puts the radio away to go back to bed, Eddie goes “oh fuck no” and drives over to check on him in person?

Again feel free to ignore this, I was going to write it myself but I’m tired and have other fic stuff to work on so I thought I’d send it to you since you have requests open :)

have a good day 🩵

Hiiii 🖤 Thanks so much for sending this and for being patient with me!

Keep My Hands In Yours

• @stcreators event 05: dynamics whoops I forgot I was doing this

The ground shuddered under him and Steve looked frantically around at the group. “Move!” He managed to yell and leaped a few feet away, just as the dirt fissured under where he had been standing. Where they’d all been standing. He heard screaming and rushed back over to the edge, where Dustin was grappling to hold onto the edge of the crevice.

As he tried reaching for him, he turned into Robin. And then Max. And then Will. Their faces dirty, their eyes wide as they screamed for his help. As they lost their grip before he could reach for them and Steve screamed with them as they dropped.

Shooting up in bed, he was still screaming. His throat was on fire, his stomach in knots.

Knocking his lamp off his bedside table in his rush to grab for the walkie.

“All call check in. Repeat. Check in. Now. Over.” He realized when he heard his own voice that he should’ve waited another minute to calm down. Even to his own ears it sounded panicked and crazed. Oh well, as long as everyone responded he’d deal with their concerns tomorrow. His heart hammering in his chest, he waited for anyone to answer.

“Henderson clear. Over.” Dustin’s sleepy voice crackled through first.

“Wheelers clear. Over.”

“Sinclairs clear. Over.”

Steve paced his room as one by one they all checked in.

“It was a dream. It’s just a dream. They’re okay.”

“All good here. Steve, man, you alright? Over.”

A sob ripped out of his chest at Eddie’s question. After another long moment of trying to calm down, he knew if he didn’t answer he’d have everyone over here.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Uh all clear. Good night. Over and out.”

He threw the walkie onto his bed and went to the bathroom, running cold water to throw on his face and the back of his neck. Letting himself ignore the hot tears as they came.

Eddie stared down at the walkie for half a second after Steve’s shaky answer. Then he was shoving the blanket off of him and looking for pants on the floor in the dark.

He’d never heard him sound like that before. Even in the middle of the upside down he was confident, in control and solid. Something was wrong.

Shoving his feet into his shoes, he went to their tiny card table to grab his keys and scribbled a note to Wayne. At Steve’s. Meatloaf in the microwave.

It wasn’t until he got in the van and saw the little blinking time that it dawned on him. Three in the morning. Steve must have had a nightmare. Called the check because it was a bad one and needed to make sure everyone was okay. He sped through town, cursing Steve’s parents in their Loch Nora cul de sac all the way on the other side of Hawkins.

He quickly parked next to Steve’s beemer and rushed to the front door, letting himself in.

The deathly quiet house sent a chill up his spine. He’d never really been here alone at night. Movie nights and pool days with the kids were never still or silent.

As he walked down the hall towards Steve’s room, he came out of the bathroom. He looked terrible. Face red and blotchy, dark circles under his eyes.

“Eds, you didn’t have to come. I’m fine,” he sighed, almost collapsing into the doorway.

“No you’re not.”

“Eddie… I-“

Closing the distance between them, he stopped his next lie with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Steve looked up at him with wide wet eyes and Eddie’s heart clenched. “D-do what?”

“Be the strong one all the time. You don’t think I have nightmares? Wake up screaming and look down surprised I’m not torn to shreds again? Huh? And I’ve only been through this shit once. You’ve-“ he reached out and took Steve’s shaking hand in both of his. “You’ve been strong for a long time. You can let it go now, okay? I’ll hold onto you.”

Steve let out a long breath and nodded, letting Eddie guide him back to his bed. This was new, but they’d been dancing around each other since Spring Break. Lingering touches and glances. Hurrying to look away before the other caught them.

Laying on their sides facing each other, their hands still laced together between them, Eddie watched as Steve’s shoulders finally relaxed from their protective hunch by his ears. His breathing slowed, but his eyes were still wide and never leaving Eddie’s face.

Taking the chance, Eddie slowly pulled their conjoined hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. When he didn’t protest, he kissed across all of them before looking up into his eyes again.

“You take care of everyone else. But who takes care of you? All alone in this big echoey house.” He let go of his hand to push the wet droopy hair out of Steve’s eyes and off his forehead. Tucking the too long hair behind his ear, tracing down his jaw with his fingers. His gaze lingered on his lips, watching as they parted on a gasp.

“Eddie, please,” he breathed, so softly he may have missed it if he wasn’t staring at his lips.

“Anything sweetheart, anything you want.”

They searched each other’s eyes for a heart stopping moment before both moving at the same time. Eddie’s hands cradling the back of Steve’s head to angle his face up to deepen the kiss.

Kissing Steve was otherworldly. He could write dozens of songs about the way his lips move against his own. Eddie pulled him closer by his waist and felt his groan rumble through his chest. Softening their kiss, he pecked chaste kisses to his bottom lip then his jaw before pulling back.

Steve kept his eyes closed after Eddie pulled away. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Eddie to remember who he was kissing. He wanted to stay in this bubble, this perfect moment forever.

He received a kiss to his forehead and it shocked him enough to open his eyes.

“Hi.” Eddie was smiling softly, his lips red and wet. He looked so soft, Steve wanted to kiss him again.

“Hi,” he said, uncertainly. His throat was tight again, new tears threatening to spill over.

Eddie noticed, of course. “Stevie. Hey. What is it?” He cradled his face again, so gently, wiping the tears off his cheeks as they fell.

Clenching his fists in Eddie’s shirt, he could only hold onto him and cry as he let the fear and worry and despair wash over him. It was strangely cathartic, crying in front of someone for the first time in as long as he could remember. Usually breakdowns were saved for when he was alone in his car or the shower, where he’d not bother anyone else.

“That’s it, let it all out,” Eddie said lowly.

It sent a new wave of sobs through him. He found himself pulled against a warm chest, tears soaked up by a worn soft band tee.

When the sobs subsided, the sniffling and tears slowed to a stop, wordlessly they moved as one until Eddie was on his back with Steve’s head settled on his chest. Deft fingers played with his hair, soothing the last gnawing doubts in his mind.

He fell asleep listening to the steady beat of Eddie’s heart. Everyone was safe. And now so was he.

🖤

Title from Everywhere, Everything by Noah Kahan, the bf has been listening to the album on repeat and this song is so steddie

[edmcmayonnaise]

デッドボーイ幼稚園 / Dead Boy Kindergarten Listen listen I cannot help it. I don't know why either.

[livwritesstuff]

part 3 to eddie’s tattoo saga, feat. girl-dads!steddie

part 1, part 2

The first time Eddie’s oldest daughter draws on his arm with her Crayola markers, Eddie immediately gets it tattooed onto him permanently. 

She’s barely two so it’s mostly scribbles, but she’d never done it before, and she’d looked up at him with this big, proud, cheesing smile when she was done, and Ed had been caught so off guard with just how insanely much he loved her – that indescribable love parents felt for their children that, before becoming a parent, Eddie had thought he’d be able to beat the stereotypes and describe, but Moe proved him to be incorrect just about the second she came along – and he hadn’t known what else to do. 

He doesn’t even really think about it, just takes a photo so his artist will get the colors right and has her put it in an empty spot on the sleeve he’s been working on for years.

With Eddie and Steve’s second daughter, Robbie, it goes mostly the same. She's just about two years old and draws a collection of swirling scribbles on the back of his hand. Steve advises him to not get it tattooed in the same spot, and Eddie can understand why it might not always be opportune to have permanent child-scribbles in such a visible spot, so, again, he has his artist use it to fill in a gap in the sleeve on his left arm.

When their littlest girl, Hazel, is born, Ed intentionally leaves a spot on his bicep open for whenever she feels so inclined to draw on him like her big sisters had. She takes her sweet time, so much so that Eddie starts to get nervous that she might never end up doing it at all, and he wasn’t going to ask her. It had to be a natural thing, obviously. In the end, she’s nearly five years old, sitting in his lap with a pack of markers while he reads a book to her (Charlotte’s Web, because it was the first chapter book he’d read aloud to both Moe and Robbie, and now it's Hazel’s turn), coloring inside the lines of the tattoos he already has when she gets to the empty space on his arm he’d left just for her. A little bit later, it’s filled with a marker drawing of a blue house next to a green tree, with a yellow sun above the chimney.

“It’s our house,” Hazel tells him.

Eddie calls to schedule the tattoo session the second he finishes the next chapter.

He gets the okay from his artist to bring Hazel with him to the appointment, which he hadn’t done with Moe and Robbie because they’d been too little. They hadn’t had the disposition for it either, but Hazel is their sweetest baby, all solemn and shy, and the session is right before her usual naptime, so once he’s in the chair, she just sits in his lap and quietly watches his artist work until she dozes off about halfway through the process.

Eddie spends much of that session lost in thought – he’s becoming introspective in his old age (forty-five and some change).

He’s thinking about all the tattoos he’s gotten, all the spontaneous ones he’s gotten for Steve and for their girls. He’s thinking about what that means. 

In the family that Eddie and Steve have built, Steve is the one taking all those pictures and home videos and stuff. He’s the one who gets photos printed, framing their favorites and hanging them around the house and setting small ones on side tables, sticking others to the fridge with little magnets they’ve collected over the years, storing the rest in overstuffed shoe boxes he swears he’ll organize into photo albums someday (but their life is so hectic he probably won’t ever get around to it).

This is Eddie’s version of that.

This is his way of displaying to the world how much he loves his family, this thing that he’d spent years pretending he didn’t want because that was easier to sit with than the belief that it wasn’t even attainable for him, that now he gets to have.

It’s fucking incredible, is what it is, and it deserves to be documented.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Gotta say your au mixed with the art style and such and amazing work in what we seen so far with the horror and some laughs it's just become a treat every time I saw new details (whenever you supplies them up, thanks for that)

I know you already disclosure that it's gonna be bad BAD TIMES for the puppets gang but does it have it's soft ad fluff times??

The shot were Frank ask Wally if they're dying will looking up for the ceiling hasn't leave my brain, such a raw emotional clear on them, I wonder when they were just the two of them for a while they cuddle or hold hands for comfort??

I just.i just want them to have small victories of comfort

of course it has fluff and comfort! a lot of it! having a nice blend of both makes the fluff feel sweeter & the hurt hit all the harder <3 i will now supply some (written (for now)) examples and tidbits. putting it under the cut cause it got kinda Long

Frank & Wally do become very affectionate with each other! ofc as soon as Frank woke Wally was like "ok im holding your hand everywhere we go, this is Non Negotiable". because its dark! he doesn't want Frank to stray too far or get lost! and it's easier to yank Frank outta harm's way if they're already holding hands. comfort factors into it later, when Frank starts initiating & Wally does it purely to make sure Frank is still there. but yeah they get Very comfortable with each other, to the point where when Eddie wakes up he asks Frank - misinterpreting the situation entirely - "if you'd rather have Wally than me, i understand." ofc Frank laughs his ass off bc uhhh no that is Not what their relationship is, Ed

~ similarly, (almost) everyone acclimates to Wally's need to be as close as possible at all feasible times. he's Very physically affectionate and has little to no regard for personal space or boundaries anymore. like, he'll listen when someone asks him to back off or somethn, but until then he does not give a fuck. and this rubs off on the others as they get used to it

and then there's OH WAIT IDK IF I'VE MENTIONED THIS YET but! Wally - during his main exploration phase - found the Welcome Home episode recordings! and he eventually figured out how to work a tv he found, so he added "watch an episode of me and my friends" into his Routine. when the others wake up, he includes them in this. is it horrifying for them at first? yeah. but they get used to it and find similar if not the same comfort and enjoyment in it that Wally does. like in This Scribble, Frank & Wally & Poppy & Howdy are all watching an episode, and are quoting the lines they've memorized. they all cuddle up on a couch together and watch their favorite show <3

& Wally also teaches them (as they wake up) how to repair and care for themselves / each other, sleeping or otherwise. picture a little sewing circle of Frank, Wally, and Poppy, with Poppy giving tips and guidance on how to improve. these sessions provide them with genuine smiles and sometimes even some laughs.

before Wally & Home's divorce, they'd pass much of the time with games! go-fish, charades, i spy, etc. one of their favorites was when Wally would toss a ball at Home's door, and Home would hit it back. additionally, whenever Wally discovered something new, he'd rush back to Home with it - either the information or the actual thing, if he could carry it. ex: when he'd find books or files, he'd bring them to Home and (quietly) read them aloud while resting against them

and just in general know that the Post Office is a place of safety. Wally has made sure it's secure. i like to imagine like... little craft sessions and impromptu dancing lessons and story sharing going on in there among the awake neighbors. they try to have fun despite it all

that's all i can recall for Act One's fluff tidbits rn, but trust me there is More. and also abundant angsty comfort. the downright painful stuff has to earn its existence yk yk this au is Not grimdark

[thursdaygxrls]

Hello! Can I request for tasm!peter parker (maybe taking place at the school or something) where he meets the reader who has a band? Like they are always tapping their pencil and muttering songs and they become friends and he ends up going to their show?? THANK YOU!!!

ahhh i love this request!! i used to be in a band, so this is like a repressed fantasy. also, i sort of imagined this band as being rock/soft punk, i'm sorry if that wasn't the intended genre

At the Roboto

summary — gen-ed classes really suck, but a pencil tapper provides peter with a great distraction.

pairing — college!peter parker x drummer!gn!reader

disclaimer — as always, i don’t own peter (wish i did)

warnings — unedited (literally always is)

The Roboto Club was not a place Peter thought he'd ever find himself. It was small, stuffy, and definitely sticky. The walls were covered in stickers and signatures of bands who had played there (as well as patrons who'd come up with some very colorful insults). The thumping of music filled his ears as his body was jostled by those around him. As he tried to force himself to not freak out from the overstimulation, he made himself remember why he was here:

Gen-ed courses were the worst. Peter had already earned a semester’s worth of college credits in high school, but it wasn’t enough to save him from the agonizing hour and a half long lectures about the Industrial Revolution. His one saving grace had come in the form of a chewed-up number two pencil tapping against the desk next to him.

From the first day of class, he could hear it. Rhythmic pulses of the eraser followed by the staccato of the graphite. He'd glanced over, seeing the owner of the pencil lazily watching the lecture, busy clicking the utensil against the desk instead of writing. He had always assumed it was some sort of nervous tick of theirs until he paid more attention to the beat. There was a pattern to it--the thump of the eraser and the click of the graphite.

Thump. Thump-thump, click-click. Thump. Thump-thump, click-click.

It was a month into the course when he noticed that no matter how it may change, they always held a steady beat with the pencil. It was around this same time when he began hearing the humming. Peter thought he was hearing things at first from how quiet it was. It was too melodic to be an insect, so the bee-theory was ruled out quickly. When he listened in a little closer, he was able to find that the faint noise he was hearing had been coming from the Pencil-Tapper.

When deep in concentration, they had the tendency to hum under their breath. It was like they didn't even notice. They would be moving from typing out notes on their laptop to scribbling on a post-it when they'd start mumbling out a soft melody. Though it was rare, sometimes these murmured melodies would align with the beat of their pencil.

Peter had always been known to be a star student, no matter how boring a class may be, but this Pencil-Tapper was a welcome reprieve from the monotonous lecture he was subjected to twice a week. It was nothing more than innocent interest, of course. No creepy stalking or constant surveillance. Just a way to pass the time as the professor droned on.

Two months into the class, the first lecture of the week had just ended. As always, Peter and the Pencil-Tapper packed their stuff away in humdrum routine. What was different, though, was when the Tapper's pencil fell from their desk. It rolled slowly enough that it hit the ground without a sound, but, of course, Peter heard it. His breath hitched.

He had two options: grab the pencil or ignore it entirely. The kind thing to do would be to return it, but the difficult part of that would be that he would have to return it. Chewing his lip, he looked down at it. It was so small, sharpened down to half its original size. Surely, they wouldn't mind missing something like that. When he looked up, he saw them already walking away. Damn his savior complex.

"Hey," Peter called, his fingers wrapped around the end of the pencil that wasn't ridden with bite marks, "You dropped this."

"Oh, thanks," Tapper's voice came out slow as they looked down at the pencil, "Gross. Sorry about that."

"No big deal." He shook his head, handing over the utensil with a small smile. They returned the grin and turned to exit when Peter interrupted with a small cough.

"Um—" Peter, you dumb, dumb kid, you have nothing to say, why the hell are you speaking? "—So, you tap a lot."

That seemed to catch them off guard. They stopped, letting students filter out of the classroom beyond them. With a quirk of their head, they began speaking again, "I didn't realize I was that loud."

"You're not!" Peter rushed out, "No, no, I just meant that sometimes I get bored, and I sort of tune in to your tapping. Not, like, in a weird way."

"I see," they tutted, "Well, I mean, if you're interested in the pencil tapping, maybe you'd like to hear it on the drums?"

Silence fell between them. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt more like a few hours. The gears in Peter's head turned a little slower than he was used to.

"That was a stupid question, sorry," Tapper let out a sheepish chuckle.

"Not at all," Peter replied quickly, "I just realized that you must've been tapping actual songs."

"Oh, yeah," they nodded, "I'm in a band—Dial 616? We're not big or anything."

"Cool," Peter grinned, regaining a fraction of his calm.

"We have a gig this Saturday at the Roboto. It's just off campus," they explained, "You could totally come if you want. I mean, if you're interested in hearing actual music, not just tapping."

And so he came. The Robot Club was located in a skinny building wedged between a record store and a laundromat. Admission was ten dollars, and there were a few acts. The music was loud and sort of overwhelming, but he held on. Somewhere between the second and third act, he wondered why he was subjecting himself to this. He was reminded when Dial 616 was introduced.

Tapper looked a lot different from the normal sweatpants and t-shirt he'd usually seen them in. Dramatic makeup had been painted on their face that had the illusion of changing color with the flashing of the club's LEDs. Ripped jeans, chunky black boots, a tank top, and two battered drumsticks finished off their outfit. There were four other members of the band, all in equally striking clothes. The crowd around Peter whooped in recognition as they took to the stage, introducing their first song.

They played a few originals and a few covers, Peter's favorite of which being their rendition of California Über Alles. Tapper was a force on the drums. Their face was drawn in utter concentration as they slammed away. They moved from precise beats to messy patterns all without ever losing control of the tempo or their sticks.

When their set was over, they hopped from the makeshift stage, leaving the borrowed instruments there for the next band. Peter was sure it wasn't concert etiquette to immediately follow them, but his body was moving on its own accord. He threaded through the people and to the clump that formed around the band. Maybe they weren't huge yet, but there were still a lot of people bombarding them with screams and hollers of excitement. He noticed Tapper at the end of the of the band members, smiling as they signed someone's arm with a sharpie. When they were done, they looked up, and just like fate, their eyes met Peter's.

"Hey!" They greeted, their voice loud over the already booming music of the next band, "You came. I didn't think you would."

"Why wouldn't I?" He asked, unable to wipe the grin off his face.

"Well, because we only talked once. And you don't know my name, and I don't know yours," they said. Their tone held no malice or condescension, just the aftershocks of adrenaline from being on stage.

"I'm Peter." He had to yell to be heard.

"Y/n," they replied. There was another moment of standstill silence. This time, though, it wasn't awkward. It would actually be calm if not for the thunderous clash of drums behind them.

"I have to go, but, uh, we were gonna go out for pizza if you wanted to come?" Y/n suggested, their behavior suddenly coy in contrast with their appearance.

"Yeah—okay," Peter grinned. They offered him one last smile before disappearing with the rest of the band. Gen-ed actually wasn't that bad after all.

a/n — me 🤝 making up nicknames for the reader

taglist

@reidslovely @iamliterallyspidergwen

[amsgrey]

sick days

requested: yes

What sick days are like with Jay and Will.

I wrote this completely forgetting that Covid has the same symptoms and stuff so let's just know that it's not covid. I don't want to say we'll pretend that it isn't a thing because that is extremely ignorant.

Not proofread, so apologies for that.

It took you and your brothers almost two years to get into a steady routine with you and school. After you started high school, it was easier for you to go home after school than to be picked up, but every Friday they would pick you up. It was nice to have a guaranteed afternoon to spend with one of them knowing their busy schedules.

The routine you all established went like this, every morning Jay or Hailey would drop you at school (provided they weren't called in) and on Monday through Wednesday Will would pick you up and take you home or to the precinct. Thursdays and Fridays you'd catch the bus home or to one of your brother's works to bother them. The three of you fell into the routine and stuck to it, the only times it was ever disturbed was when Jay went undercover or Will had to pick up extra shifts. You enjoyed the routine you had set up, it meant that you got to spend time with both of your brothers regularly.

The last few weeks the routine had been abandoned, something about schedule changes at Med and a big case that involved Jay and Hailey working a lot of overtime. That meant you were getting yourself to and from school, which didn't bother you one bit. You tried to stop by Med or the precinct every now and again, bringing them cookies or leaving your brother's stupid notes just so they knew you were okay.

You'd dropped by Med and stashed cookies in the doctor's lounge, Maggie had told you Will had taken a patient upstairs. You could wait to see him but you knew not to bother him when the ED was so busy. You scribbled out a note, 'For the hard-working Doctors and Nurses at Med, except you Will :)', sticking it on the top of the container and giggling as you left. An hour or so later you got a text from Will, Thanks for the crap I got from your note.

Oh, you are very welcome. You replied.

A couple days later you started to feel exhausted, you knew straight away that you were getting sick but in true Halstead fashion you ignored it. You figured you didn't have a fever so you would be fine, going to school even though you knew better. You got halfway through third period before your friend convinced you to go to the nurse. The nurse had taken one look and said you should go home and take the rest of the week off. You groaned, nodding and accepting defeat. The nurse had let you sign out and go home, you'd lied about your brother coming to get you. They were too busy to drop everything just because you had a little cough. So you forced yourself to walk to the subway, get on your train and go home.

When you got through the door, you didn't make it to your room. You just face-planted into the couch and let your body rest. You didn't even have the energy to shrug off your coat, just curling up on the couch and 'resting' your eyes.

You woke up to a hand on your shoulder, Jay was hovering in front of you with a slight frown.

"Y/N?" He said quietly, gently pressing his hand to your forehead. You groaned, pulling away and pressing back into the cushions to get away from him.

Jay sighed, he knelt in front of you and said, "Your school called, why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?"

You waved him off, "I didn't want to bother you."

Jay shuckled, "You know that's a bad excuse,"

You laughed, cutting yourself off in a fit of coughs. Jay helped you sit up, rubbing your back as you coughed. As you were sitting up, Jay helped you shrug off the coat that you had fallen asleep in. When the coat was off, you immediately complained about being cold.

"I'll get you a blanket," Jay replied, forcing you to lie back down. He disappeared into your room and returned with your duvet crumpled into his arms. He dramatically shook it out and fluffed it over you, tucking you in like he did when you were a toddler. You rolled your eyes, pouting and pretending to be upset at his coddling. Once Jay was sure you were sufficiently wrapped up, he pulled out his phone and called someone.

You watched him pace, realizing that he was calling in the big guns.

"Nooo," You protested, "Don't call Will."

Jay smirked, "Too late." He immediately relayed the situation to Will, asking what he should do. You sulked on the couch, grumbling about how you weren't sick enough for Will to be involved.

Jay and Will spoke on the phone for a few minutes before Jay hung up and returned to your side.

"Will's going to come over, I have to go back to the district." He looked sorry, you knew he wanted to stay, "After work, I'll pick up some of your favourite noodle soup?"

You smiled, "that sounds good."

Jay nodded, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and told you to take it easy until Will came. He left quietly, letting you curl up on the couch and try sleep. When you were left alone in the silence again, you weren't at all tired. As you were laying, useless, on the couch you realised why you hated being sick so much. Being unable to do anything drove you insane.

You didn't ponder on it long before Will was barging through the door, hollering a greeting.

You groaned, "Speak quieter," you hissed out, covering your face with your duvet to hide from him.

You heard his footsteps getting closer, he peeled back the blanket and smiled softly.

"How you feeling, squirt?"

You let out a dramatic sigh, shaking your head.

Will gave you a pitiful look, and he gestured for you to sit up. You let another big sigh, pretending to be extremely inconvenienced by his order.

"Alright, melodrama, calm down," Will joked, sitting behind you so he could doctor you. As he grabbed his stethoscope from his bag, you couldn't help the big yawn that escaped you. Will chuckled at you as you blinked back the tears your yawn brought up. He pressed his palm to your forehead, tutting about a fever in doctor-y language.

He ordered you to take some deep breaths while he listened to breathing. He apologised about having to press the stethoscope on your back.

"Is cold," You grumbled, unable to avoid the shivers that went up your spine.

"Sorry," Will replied, pulling away and then helping you lie back down. He tucked the duvet back over you like Jay did, taking extra care to press the covers under your chin and smiling at your tired gaze.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, handing over the TV remote so that you could do something while laying uselessly on the couch. He disappeared into the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers and cupboards. He returned to your side with a glass of water and Advil, placing the medication in your hand and hovering until you swallowed them and had a drink of the water.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Will asked, unsure of what else to do.

You nodded, you sat up and pointed at the couch, making Will sit down so you could rest your head on his lap. Will fluffed a pillow so you would be more comfortable.

"You're so warm," You told your brother, unable to hold back the sleepiness that was now clouding over you.

That was how Jay found the two of you when he got home. You passed out asleep, almost completely hidden by the duvet you held onto, Will gently smoothing your hair like your mother did to him when he was young.

Jay left the soup he picked up on the kitchen counter, walking over to the two of you and greeting Will.

"She feeling any better?"

Will smiled, watching you sniffle in your sleep, "No, she probably has a virus. She'll need to rest for a while but she'll feel better by the end of the week."

Jay nodded, "Do we wake her for food or..?"

Will looked down at you sleeping peacefully, "Yeah, she hasn't eaten anything yet."

Jay disappeared back to the kitchen to grab the food and put it in a bowl. Will gently put his hand on your shoulder, trying to wake you up slowly.

You woke with a fright, staring at Will with wide eyes.

"Sorry," Will muttered, he helped you sit up and then fluffed the blanket around your legs. "How are you feeling?"

You stifle a yawn, "Sick."

Jay laughed as he came over with the soup, "Maybe this would help."

You forced a smile, taking the bowl in your hands. Staring at the food, you realized how you weren't even hungry. You took a few spoonfuls to make your brothers feel better and then put the bowl down.

"Can I go to bed now?"

Jay nodded, "Of course, kiddo."

Will took the bowl and put it in the kitchen while Jay carried your duvet back to your room. You stumbled along behind him, yawning and rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. Will came over when he was done in the kitchen, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders to steady you as you walked. When you got to your room, you climbed under the sheets and Jay and Will dramatically billowed the duvet. It made you smile as you remembered all the times they pretended it was the ocean when you were little.

When they were done billowing the blankets they tucked you in and laughed when you smacked their hands away. Will pressed his hand to your forehead, commenting on how you still had a fever.

You yawned again, "Can you two sit?"

Jay dramatically flopped on the bed, pretending he was settling in for a story.

"I'll get you sick, you big sop," you poked Jays cheek.

Jay shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, "Do you remember when I was little after mom died, you would stay with me until I fell asleep."

"And you would snore like dad?" Will answered.

"I did not."

"You did," Jay laughed, "Real bad."

You crossed your arms dramatically, pouting as your brothers laughed at you. They stopped when you started coughing and struggled to stop.

When you did, you took a deep breath and then yawned yet again.

Will smiled as you got more and more tired, "We'll stay until you fall asleep."

You grinned, "Yay," You gently shook your hands like you were cheering.

Will chuckled, he got up to turn off the lights but left your bedside lamp on. He sat back on the bed, making sure the blankets were covering your feet. As you slowly drifted to sleep you realized just how lucky you were to have two big brothers who cared about you and loved you enough to sit with you while you fell asleep.

[friendofgeorgeharrison]

George Harrison Owned, Worn & Signed Pair of Beatle Boots

They were a gift from George to Stray Cats' drummer Slim Jim Phantom in 1985. He was visiting George at his estate Henley-on-Thames. Jim was in town to shoot a British TV special honoring Carl Perkins.

In one boot he wrote: "To Fat Jim from Slim George." He also "signed Ringo's name saying they were all experts in signing each others name & this would make it even more special." The other boot he wrote: "To Slim Jim with love from Fat George XMAS1985." (x)

The girls walked around to look at the kitchen, and George said to me, 'C'mon, I'm going to take you on the silly boot tour.' 

I gave my standard answer to George: 'Erm, okay, cool, yeah, great!'

We went up some stairs to what was like an attic. The room was mostly empty except for some antique carved wooden armoires that lined the walls. I kept thinking this was what Louis XIV's closets must have looked like. George opened the first one and showed me the leather jackets that the Beatles wore in Hamburg. That led into the collarless suits from The Ed Sullivan Show, which led to an array of all the mod colorful 'top gear' from Carnaby Street. He had all four Sgt. Pepper suits and a story with full-on Liverpool accent and impersonation.

'Paul calls me the other day and says, "Where's me Pepper suit? 'ave you got me Pepper suit? I'm doing a video, and I need me suit; I can't find it." I says, "Paul, I've had it for twenty-odd years. A couple of more days won't hurt now, will it?"

This is a private, never-before-heard scene from A Hard Day's Night. All I could think of saying was 'You mean Paul McCartney?' I didn't; I just smiled and nodded, listened. I had my free swing with the Pete Best question. I was honored to be the one that first heard this story.

There were some more closets and crazy clothes. Then we came to a huge pirate's chest on the floor. It was right out of Treasure Island. George got on the floor and opened it. It was filled with shoes. The ski boots from Help! were in there, the fuzzy Tibetan boots from the Let It Be era, everything. He was throwing them over his shoulders; it was raining shoes and boots. From the bottom of the chest, he pulled out an original pair of Beatles boots.  They were battle-tested ones - worn out, worked in, not an extra pair. 

'Here, take these,' he said. 'Erm, okay, yeah, great.' 'Wait. Give 'em back.' I handed them back. George produced a ballpoint pen, scribbled in them, and handed them back.

'Well, read it.' Inside one, he had written, 'To Slim Jim from Fat George,' and then signed his name.

In the other, he had done a perfect forgery of Ringo's signature. He told me they often signed each other's names. One of them would sign four signatures, and then it would be a different one's turn. A picture with all four different people having signed it could be rare. More inside stuff. He also said, 'If you ever need money, sell them! It's just a pair of old boots.' I came home with a pair of silly boots and a few original buttons. What a night!

Slim Jim Phantom on visiting Friar Park in 1985, The Stray Cat Struts: My Life as a Rockabilly Rebel

via harrisonstories