#i just know that like. maybe two people would see it if i posted here ya know

[kaelidascope]

On one hand, I'm relieved to see that it isn't just me suffering in the engagement department whereas I used to get flooded with comments and the like every time I dropped something. It isn't the only reason why I've moved from fanfic work to original work, but it is part of it. The last round of engagement on the latest MM chapter was abysmal, and while I know it's not a reflection of my quality in writing, I kept beating myself up over the possibility that I took too long to update it and people gave up on it/forgot/fell out of love with my work because I as a creator was not performing good enough. It drove me into a bit of a depression for a while.

On the other hand, this is making me rethink my stance on never telling my favorite authors how much they have inspired me to take off with my writing career. This is going to get a little lengthy but I want to talk about it so bear with me here.

Closed circles know how much of an insane, unhinged fan I am of certain writers, yet I have never actually said a word to them. I think I left one comment on maybe two fics that went unanswered (which is fine. They're not active in the fandoms I'm in anymore and I'm just some guy out of probably hundreds all saying the same thing. They're not gonna reply to me) but apart from that, you wouldn't catch me dead actually admitting how much the works mean to me. But why?

I guess I was far too proud and too terrified of being let down if I exposed myself like that. Despite the fact that these authors were literal catalysts for borderline impossible feats I have done within the last year, WELL RECEIVED FEATS at that, I swore I'd never tell anyone how inspiring they were for me. (Unless a casual friendship has been established. I have had the tremendous honor to able to talk to some of my inspirations one on one but under incredibly lucky circumstances)

I had a scenario in my head that these were the cool kids, and if you ever got picked on at all for admiring anything, you know damn well you never tell the cool kids about your admiration. I was afraid that they'd take one look at the work that was inspired by theirs and laugh at it in their enclosed circles. I wasn't going to risk having my confidence crushed and lose the motivation to continue working on my projects by being a fan.

I know not all authors do this. Every time someone comes to me and tells me I've inspired them to be a better writer, I literally frame it in a collection of screenshots I have saved on a hard drive. Every. Single. Time. And I know anyone else would tell me that if the person I admire would actually be cruel enough to mock an up and coming writer, then they're not worth admiring. Which I agree with! But try telling that to sensitive little Kaeli that safeguards their interests with the fiery defensiveness of a feral bear on cocaine.

But then I see posts like this, and I put myself in their shoes. I don't know them. They could be a jackass but they could also be like me - someone who bases a lot of motivation for project completion based off of whether or not people even care to see it completed.

This is all a very long, round about away to say that who cares if the author you build a mini-shrine for in your brain thinks your cringe for liking their work? Odds are they probably need to hear that you liked it so much, it inspired you to do something with that feeling. We all need to hear it. They inspired you and now you're making something that will inspire someone else. To be a creator is to share that passion everywhere you go. There's nothing cringe about it.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Grass

Debut: Super Mario Bros. 2

Hey guys! Did you know that Super Mario Bros. 2 was originally a reskin of a game called Puck-Man, but they changed the name so people wouldn't vandalize the cabinets and make it say Q*bert? Anyway here's Grass

I hope you like Grass. I hope there are some ruminants among our readers who get so hyped upon seeing a depiction of grass. But I don't care about the grass itself. I care about what's underneath... Funny Vegetables! The kind to throw at a Shy Guy or a Tweeter! Let's look at each Vegetable's NES and SNES design, and discuss them!

Turnip is the most iconic of the These Vegetables. Not the most iconic vegetable, but the most iconic Mario Vegetable. It's the main one that gets referenced, reappears as of Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker, and is even part of Peach's Smash moveset! Where they make even more variants that I don't feel like getting into here for the sake of post length. I quite like Turnip's classic brow(s), though they would be removed, along with the mouth, in future iterations. Such is brand identity.

In Minion Quest and Bowser Jr.'s Journey, Shy Guys' main method of attack is throwing turnips! I like that a lot. It references their debut and is just a very whimsical thing!

I would expect to pull up a turnip from the ground, but lookie here! A couple of Fruits. It's unclear if these are pumpkins or bell peppers, and they come in red and green, which are both options for both fruits! Neither of the options, however, grow underground, so maybe they were playing hide-and-seek. It would explain their surprised expressions! They thought that was such a good hiding place, and it was! Also, I am not averse to calling these fruits vegetables. "Vegetable" is just a culinary term, referring to a part of a plant that we eat! Every fruit is a vegetable. Blueberry pie is a Vegetable Dessert. Words are fun!

Beet is the happiest vegetable we've seen so far! But oddly thin. I hope it's not malnourished! If it is, it's still optimistic, and that's commendable. Maybe it's happy because it was voted Most Likely To Be Pickled in the vegetable high school year book! (Cucumber was homeschooled)

Beet was so thin, and now Parsnip is so wide! It feels like their colors should have been swapped, maybe. But a Parsnip Muncher would delight in having so much more to munch here! A parsnip you could eat like an apple! I am not sure what Parsnip is thinking, with its very neutral expression. If I had a nickel for every time I couldn't tell what a parsnip was thinking, I'd be rich!

Tomato is my favorite! It's SO happy! The biggest smile around! So happy to be a tomato! Maybe it's thinking about how everyone loves tomatoes and how versatile they are! Maybe it's happy because THIS fruit is never buried underground- this and the following vegetable only appear from the Dream Machine during the final boss battle against Wart. I guess Wart doesn't like tomatoes. So not everyone does... but phooey to him, because he's a Bad Guy! We goody two shoeses love Tomato!

Finally, last but not least, is a quite interesting vegetable! This one is a bit mysterious, a bit ambiguous. Ambiguous whether it's an onion or a garlic. Ambiguous whether it's wearing thick glasses, or it has wide, pupilless eyes. I'm going to claim this vegetable as non-binary, and also establish "onion/garlic" as a binary. And then all humans will become non-binary...! What I can be sure of is that this allium looks like a nerd. "According to my calculations, my presence serves to enhance the flavor of any culinary delight!" Ok, dork! I love you.

So these have been Vegetables! I hope you liked them! And I also hope you like them in real life, That's Health! This post was funded and approved by the FDA. Can I say that? What are they going to do about it? Sue me? Kill me? Hopefully neither!

[the-underrated-moon]

Woah I knew that there are those who prefer a platonic Jayce and Viktor but I was not expecting the absolute hate the JayVik ship is getting 😅

Honestly I’ve only seen a couple hate posts compared to the thousands of positive ones and hundreds of think pieces on the Mel Jayce Viktor dynamic and who would top who (although this mainly applies to Mel and Jayce because consensus agree that Viktor is always bottom)

But the sheer loathing coming from the hate posts is throwing me off. Especially the one I just read about how the JayVik ship degrades Mel’s character and downgrades or makes her lesser for being a woman.

While I do agree that a conversation can be had about what “happens” to Mel when people ship JayVik, I also think that the convo has to start in an honest place. Mel on her own has always been renowned and powerful, even before the cool powers.

Most people whom I’ve seen that primarily ship JayVik give Mel her respect and acknowledge how Jayce has a type that has nothing to do with gender and more to do with character.

As someone who ships all three of them together , for me the conversation starts at what happens when two pair off and leave the third. If Jayve had chosen to stay behind and be with Mel I would still ask: what about Viktor?

In my previous post I jokingly said that maybe he was using Mel for her money (it was a heavy reach and I tried to clarify the “joke” in the comments but alas you can’t unring a bell, thank you to @belladoes for helping me realize this). I meant to more so gage Mel’s psyche and not vilify Jayce’s intent. To clarify I know Jayce truly cares for Mel, but Mel is a badass why would she not want a guy whose focus is 100% on her and does she somewhat think that the relationship is transactional.

To say that the JayVik ship undermines Mel in any way would be a dishonor to Mel’s intelligence. As far as the gender thing, it’s even more of a reach than my poorly thought out “joke”. Seeing as how never once has gender been called into question when preferences have been made known. In fact the show goes out of its way to subvert preconceived expectations. (My one example is Ambessa right now cause god does that woman occupy my every thought but she seems to only like men/twinks)

I’ll end this here because thought’s vacated only Ambessa. but yeah the only valid criticisms of the JayVik ship are ones NOT routed in homophobia and treat Mel like she’s a competent adult.

[dnickels]

I don't think Gibson gets enough credit for how skillfully he extricated himself from the sodomy allegations. Long post to follow ->

The evangelical mindset is "we are constantly under siege from both invisible powers and our fellow man (and even one's own thoughts), every waking moment is nonstop spiritual battle" so Gibson framing himself as too weak to refuse advances (without spiritual backing, naturally) is a brilliant play for Irving's own anxieties while also putting him in the position to be the shepherd rescuing one of his flock. A direct appeal to the Victorian bourgeois savior narrative, expertly played. He's given Irving a script so familiar and one he's so eager to act out he doesn't for a second question its veracity.

And now we depart to the realm of pure speculation (oh boy my favorite) but I always wonder what exactly Gibson told him, and how much it actually corresponds to what we hear Irving scold Hickey for. I wonder if something got lost in translation (Irving heard what he wanted to hear which is not quite the same as what's actually being said). I think Gibson is perfectly capable of shopping Hickey to save his own skin no question, but that scenario doesn't quite jive with how surprised/concerned he is that Hickey and Irving apparently had a chat about the situation. Surely Gibson didn't think he could say "I was coerced" without some kind of follow-up? It could be a feint, he's just acting to try and keep Hickey from holding a grudge (I think Gibson knows with brutal clarity that you do not want to be on Hickey's shitlist) but his reaction reads to me like he's seeing his fib start to spiral out of control. Of course, one of the grand themes in Terror is people not being as smart as they think they are (or, more charitably, that even well-conceived plans often shipwreck on the shoals of human unpredictability) so it could just be an example of a reasonable plan blowing up on contact with an unreasonable person, as individuals are a universe unto themselves and truly unknowable to each other. Or maybe he really didn't think Irving would do anything, because he asked him to keep it quiet? Maybe that's how it usually goes, everyone agrees to keep it quiet-- sobering thought.

Still, it intrigues me to think about Irving as the wildcard in Gibson's plan, not Hickey-- bringing baggage to it that Gibson didn't include in his calculations. I wonder if Gibson heard the lecture, how many of his own words would he recognize? I can see the shape of a communications breakdown, where a tactful "the temptation was overwhelming, I couldn't resist him" becomes "he used overpowering force" or "I didn't come forward because I was afraid" becomes "he threatened me into silence". Not unreasonable assumptions for Irving to make, honestly, I just think its interesting to play with the idea that they are assumptions and not part of Gibson's ass-saving explanation. Just no accounting for what happens in the pressure-cooker of the evangelical brain!

Obviously the darker read here is that Irving can't understand a messy gay situationship despite spending years at sea is because he is homophobic (while desperately refusing/denying/fighting his own desires) or was himself party to coercion, either towards himself or someone else.

I just think its interesting to think of how it might have played out if Gibson and Hickey been surprised by say, Hodgson instead-- who might have given them a stern "I don't want to catch you two not at work again" but otherwise let the matter slide, or Little, who I can see loading them down with donkeywork but refraining from escalating because doing so means talking to Crozier and Oh God, Please No.

I keep coming back to the question of whether or not Gibson was ready/intending to burn Hickey as badly as his lie makes it seem. While I think he's perfectly capable of it, but it seems like such a risky move when his confession (owning what Irving has no real proof of, I'm more familiar with the early 19th century legal situation on land but the standard of proof for sodomy specifically was actually pretty high) could just as easily backfire on him rather than exonerating them both. We only have Gibson's word that he acted for their mutual benefit, and even if he's telling the truth it seems like stepping on a landmine: no one seems to think Hickey would hang on his accusation, so he's going to still be around after a potential flogging and presumably pissed off. Obviously its a bad situation all around but I am so curious about his own risk/reward accounting. For me, I really enjoy imaging him trying to play master manipulator to Jirv who is absolutley not a player and mostly lets Jesus call the shots. Very funny to me to be so ambitious and skillful and willing to play the Great Game but it all comes to nothing due to human folly. Thesis moment.

[unsentimentaltranslator]

When someone has 100kg of weight crushing them and you remove 10kg of it, it’s natural for their response to be “that’s a start, now about the other 90kg.” That’s not mean; that’s basic self worth.

When we successfully defeated Donald Trump, there was lukewarm relief, a reminder that you were only allowed one or maybe two days to celebrate and then it was back to work.

The United States doesn’t have public healthcare, university tuition is extortionate, and the federal minimum wage is $7.25 unless you’re a server in which case it’s $2 and let’s hope all your customers are generous enough to toss you a percentage of their bill. Of course Americans wanted better.

The only post I saw about Juneteenth was reminding us that there were enslaved people who were killed instead of freed and therefore celebrating the end of chattel slavery was wrong, and besides, we have prison labor so nothing really changed or got better and there’s nothing to celebrate anyway.

I don’t know if you’re black, but as a white person I don’t expect black people to just be grateful that they’re not plantation slaves anymore.

So of course when we have a major setback, we fall apart and have to start frantic damage control.

People are falling apart because their situations were already precarious and now it’s about to get worse.

Frantic discourse ensues over how much people are allowed to unplug before it becomes bad and selfish. Yes, maybe you can have this one day off Mr. Cratchit but you better be here and miserable early the next morning.

As someone who has dealt with charities a lot, charities and activists come on strong because they need all the help they can get. You have to be able to be confident in your “sorry, I can’t, but I wish you the best” without getting validation from them, because they have bigger priorities.

Like abusive bosses always insisting you squeeze out more, more, more, and any achievement is just proof you were lazy the other times and impetus for more work.

It might feel the same, but this really isn’t an OK comparison to make. Bosses are doing it from a place of power and with the purpose of leeching more from you to give themselves more privilege. Oppressed people are doing it from a place of desperation, and that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to let yourself drown, but you have to get your validation about it from someone other than them. Redirect your anger to the people in our respective countries who voted us into these situations and just took for granted that people like you and me would step up and give more help to the people who are getting fucked over through these people’s selfishness.

The harsh truth about activism is that the people you’re doing it for are in shitty situations, which means you’re going to see a lot of anger about those shitty situations and a lot of pressure to do more. You have to get confident about your own boundaries and recognise who is really causing the stress you’re under.

I’m sorry but if there is one thing the Tumblr left needs crucially, it’s the ability to celebrate.

I remember when marriage equality was called and there were waves of rainbows and love wins posts. When we successfully defeated Donald Trump, there was lukewarm relief, a reminder that you were only allowed one or maybe two days to celebrate and then it was back to work. That is if you were even a good person for voting Biden. We never did settle if he was better than Trump. (We did.). We didn’t celebrate student loan debt relief or any of the accomplishments of the Biden administration, or any of the times Trump was blocked, or other countries succeeding in keeping fascists out of office. Who cares if we had successes? It’s not good enough. Back to work!

And this anti-celebratory attitude stretches back to the past. On the 100th anniversary of female suffrage in America, we were reminded that not all women had the vote and so we weren’t allowed to celebrate. The only post I saw about Juneteenth was reminding us that there were enslaved people who were killed instead of freed and therefore celebrating the end of chattel slavery was wrong, and besides, we have prison labor so nothing really changed or got better and there’s nothing to celebrate anyway. Trans Day of Visibility comes with Trans Day of Remembrance so that people don’t fill the tags with hate crimes and death. So on and so forth. Nothing gets better. Nothing changes. Back to work!

So of course when we have a major setback, we fall apart and have to start frantic damage control. Frantic discourse ensues over how much people are allowed to unplug before it becomes bad and selfish. Yes, maybe you can have this one day off Mr. Cratchit but you better be here and miserable early the next morning. Like abusive bosses always insisting you squeeze out more, more, more, and any achievement is just proof you were lazy the other times and impetus for more work.

If we are never allowed to acknowledge any of our victories, how are we supposed to survive our defeats?

[buddiebeginz]

Bummy stans truly believe that their ship that has maybe an hour of screen time collectively between 2 seasons has the bigger fandom. Yet if you go on tiktok Buddie edits are getting 20k+ likes. (You can see a post I made about that here. Where a bunch of Buddie TT's made right after 808 were up to 10/20k in a day.)

Journalists are also always eager to talk to Ryan, Oliver, and Tim about Buddie. They ask about it in basically every single interview now. B/T never got that kind of attention ever.

Bummys continue to play the victims making it seem like they've been the ones repeatedly attacked by us. Yet I've been around the 911 fandom for years and never seen the kind of toxicity, harassment, and drama that I have this year. If Buddie fans were always the problem this would be something well known in 911 fandom and likely in fandom spaces in general but it's not. It would also make sense that the show would want to distance themselves from our fandom if all we did was cause issues like harass the show and the actors (like Bummy's allege) but they don't. Most people involved with 911 have shown support for Buddie and us especially in the past two seasons when it's clear they've been working towards Buddie canon happening with ABC.

I'm not saying Buddie fans are totally innocent and never caused any issues because I know some have. But pretty much since 704 aired we've been having to deal with Bummy stans telling us that we were homophobic for not liking their ship. We've watched as the 911 News account was harassed and journalists were threatened with doxxing just for posting positive Buddie content. During Pride month there was repeated harassment towards Buddie fans for wanting to celebrate Eddie for being gay/demi. And lately Bummy's have been hurling a lot of hate towards Oliver because they blame him for their ship ending.

Bummy's talk all this trash about our ship and our fandom but the fact is they wish they had what we have. They wish Oliver talked about their ship like he does Buddie. They wish he posted pics of Lou constantly like he does Ryan. They wish b/t had the amount of screentime Buddie have had. They wish that b/t had the kind of scenes together that Buddie get to have. Almost all of Buck's most meaningful moments in s7 happened with Eddie not Tommy.

They also wish Tommy was Eddie in that they wish he looked like Lou but acted like Eddie. Look at some of the posts they make or their fics, where they talk about how much Tommy gets Buck or is there for him that was never how it was in canon. But you know who is there for Buck and who gets him better than anyone? Eddie.

Bummy's also talk about how important and beloved their ship is but it's not and never will be. Both Oliver and Tim have tried to make it as clear as possible in their interviews that b/t was supposed to be a stepping stone relationship for Buck. Tommy was never ever intended to be Buck's endgame love. That is Eddie. Buddie is the ground breaking ship and it will be something everyone will be talking about when it goes canon. People are literally starting to watch 911 for the first time during the hiatus now that they know Buddie canon is coming.

There is a part of me that feels the tiniest bit of empathy for these people because I know what it feels to lose a character and ship you love. But at the same time it's also hard to feel bad for a fandom that has been repeatedly abusive and continues to be and continues to insist Tommy is coming back even though every single thing is screaming how much that's not happening.

I just really hope that in these few months of break from the show we all have that they'll gain some perspective or at the least go follow Lou in some other project. It's been genuinely exhausting having to deal with this for over half a year now and I miss when we could just enjoy shipping Buddie in peace.

[tevantarlos]

Feel free to ignore but I just have to get this out. I know this sounds mean but I´m happy that

a) Tim and Oliver lurk in fandom like no other and are seeing what people say about them and

b) Oliver had months of reprieve from the deranged people that make his following because they were turning all their guns on Lou. In fact he gained popularity because they convinced themselves (with his help, I add) that he is their champion and actually wants Buddie to happen. What does he think will happen now, when in a couple of weeks Buddie still has not happend? There is no Tommy standing in the way anymore and we will go right back to accusations of baiting and of people calling him fat and bald and almost too ugly for Eddie (yes, that happend). And when this happens and he has another whiny outburst on SM I will laugh until I fall over.

They droped the ball with every other LI before because they were to chicken shit to even try putting a stop to the endless harrassment. I think Megan West was the most egregious example of just leaving someone hanging and even encouraging the shit that went on online. They had a chance here, for the first time, to try to get out of this toxic Buddie brew they are in. If nothing else the way the relationship with Tommy was received, the way it garnered press by outlets other than glorified fan blogs like "Fangirlish" and gained them a new audience and the move to ABC all presented an opportunity to combat the toxicity by simply taking the fandom monopoly away from the crazies. But they just did not have the balls and now look at their pathetic attempts to make Brad happen on their IG. Engagement is low and what it there is the usual idiots screaming for Buddie and nothing else.

I hope it was worth it. I don´t see the show getting a 10th season, maybe not even a 9th. The spin off will be cheaper to produce, Peter talked about quitting before and the ratings trend downwards since S6. Not to mention the writing is absolute shit since Tim is back.

Maybe Oliver hopes that Callum Blue is the kind of guy that can get him a job after 911 gets canceled and is worth sucking up to. Last time I checked he couldn´t even get cast on a Hallmark movie so why not try, right? Buddie fans will not follow him either way, I hope he knows that.

Hey, hon. Thanks for the ask. Sorry I haven't posted this or replied before now. I haven't logged into my computer in a few days, have just been doing everything on my phone, and I didn't want to try to reply to this on my phone, that would takes ages.

I've been in the 911 fandom since two months after the last episode of season 1 aired. Oliver and 911 shot themselves in the foot by not shooting this Bvddie bullshit down from the very beginning. They've spent years leading Bvddie fans on, purposely having scenes with Buck and Eddie that cause the lunatics to see things that aren't there, because it gives the show more engagement.

Oliver and 911 know that Bvddie fans will never stop watching the show because they're so sure that at some point, 911 and Oliver will give in and make Bvddie canon because 'it's what they deserve'. At least, that's the bullshit I've read a lot of on Twitter and other places. What Bvddie fans don't understand, is they aren't owed shit.

I learned this the hard way when I was in the 100 fandom. I, and many other Bellarke fans thought that since we were loyal fans of the show, we'd be rewarded by getting Bellarke eventually. But just like Bvddie is never going to happen, Bellarke never happened. The writers and show runners had no interest in going there. They just liked to bait fans. Just like 911 does, with Buck and Eddie.

I personally feel like Oliver was relieved that all the hate was getting thrown at Lou and not himself, and he got a break from those assholes for a few months. But now that Lou and Tommy are gone, they're just going to go back to harassing him because Bvddie isn't canon and never will be, and those dumbasses can't cope.

Oliver knows that if he ever truly tells the Bvddie fans that it's never going to happen, he'll lose a large majority of his fan base. So, he just doesn't say anything. He encourages their twisted thinking and doesn't put them in their place when they're being assholes. Neither does Tim, so it's a monster of their own making. (The Bvddie fandom)

I can't speak on anything to do with the actresses of the other LI's. For many years since I started watching the show, I didn't interact with other fans much. The only time I did, was when I wrote fanfiction when I was a Bvddie shipper for 2 years, but after I found out what a bunch of toxic assholes they were, I ditched that fandom and am so glad I did.

Yeah, I check out the 911 IG page every few days because that's all I can stand. I can't look at it daily. All the Bvddie bullshit on every post claiming 'Bvddie canon, season 8!' It makes me roll my eyes so hard it hurts. Also, the way those idiots talk, like Buck and Tommy weren't in a relationship, like Buck is Eddie's one true love, and the other father of Chris.. God, I can't help but tell them how stupid they are for believing that. Especially since Ryan said in an interview that Chis has only one dad, and Buck sure as fuck ain't it.

The show will be lucky if it gets a season 9. This season is just not good, and I mean that honestly. Putting aside the BuckTommy of it all, it's crap. They focused too much on that Brad character which was a fucking waste of screen time. They traumatized Henren and their kids, had a plot that ended like within 5 minutes with Ortiz, had a decent start for Gerrard being a bad guy and dropped him for BRAD! Who the fuck cares about fucking Brad? No one.

When it comes to the IG posts, the first few days and maybe weeks after the BT breakup, both fans and GA made their feelings about the out of the blue breakup known, but after fighting the stupid Bvddie fans in the comments for a few days, most people backed off. I've gotten messages from people on IG who are BT and GA fans, who said that just like a lot of my comments on the IG page, their comments were removed for supporting BT, and for dishing out some of the bs that the Bvddie's have been doing for years.

Which once again shows that the people who man the 911 IG page, are catering to the most toxic assholes in the fandom. Every fucking post on the 911 IG has bullshit about Bvddie going canon, but people who talk about BT, or who even dare to criticize, in a nice way even, who criticize the plots being cut off, making no sense, the characters doing things that are out of character, they get deleted. But yet the lunatic's comments remain on the posts.

IF the show gets renewed for season 9, I'm betting it will be the last. This season so far has just been a shitshow. In terms of the writing for the show, and in terms of the Bvddie fans taking being complete assholes, to the highest degree imaginable.

I don't give a shit about Brad the character or his actor. I hate the character, he fucking annoys me. I didn't find any of this plot funny, just irritating and I want him gone. The mains were pushed to the background this season for Brad, some dumbass that's not some great character, but some idiot.

Also, Oliver is like a child. He only cares about praise and ass kissers. He says what will cause him to look good. I remember there was one time a few years ago, where he had some contact with a Bvddie fan and when the fan said that he was a dick for leading people on about Bvddie if it's not going to happen, he snapped back and said that he was just an actor doing this job and to stop being so mean to him.

In my opinion, he's a fucking moron who did it to himself. Him and Tim. As I said above, they could've gotten the assholes under control or even gotten rid of them from the start by being honest and just saying their stupid Bvddie is never going to happen. But no, they're too worried about ratings dropping, so they throw in Bvddie scenes every now and then to keep baiting those fans and they eat it all up.

Every time Buck and Eddie share a scene, those idiot's are all, "It's happening! Bvddie canon, y'all!" And then nothing ever happens, and those assholes get mad at being baited once again. It's been 7 1/2 seasons. If Bvddie were ever going to go canon, it would've happened by now.

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

mouthwashing responsibility au rambles below cut 🫡

(spoiler warning for the actual game obviously)

- even though jimmy got deservedly knocked out by anya and thrown into the cryopod early on, the crash still does happen. it's a freak accident this time, like maybe a piece of space debris just happened to hurtle right into them without time to dodge. it's like the tulpar is destined to crash. but this time it's a story about a group of people finding hope and strength in each other and finding what they themselves can be capable of in a time of crisis. btw i just mean curly, anya, swansea, and daisuke. i am NOT repenting jimmy. he ain't "fixing" shit.

- i'm sorry for frying curly again even though this is supposed to be an au with a happier ending 😭 the way his loss of autonomy reflects anya's own loss of it, making him feel firsthand the suffering she went through in a way, felt too important to just remove. curly's injuries aren't as terrible as in the original timeline since swansea rescued him earlier. and by "not as terrible" i mean he only loses a leg and not all of his limbs. he will get some function in his hands eventually and anya teaches him sign language to help him communicate (she teaches the others too).

- speaking of anya, she really shows her stuff as a nurse (even in the original timeline she does, managing to keep curly alive like that). she treats curly and swansea and is much more of a pillar of strength for the crew than she herself realizes. pre-crash and post-jimmy-getting-fired, she was able to relax and open up more with everyone, building a stronger bond. when the crash happens, anya is of course terrified and hella stressed, but now she knows she has people who have her back, and it helps. she can be more confident in herself without a certain someone being there to belittle and hurt her. this time when she has to deal with something difficult, something traumatizing, she has people to support her. in this au, she is not pregnant because if she was, i don't see how keeping the baby would be a good thing for her. and i don't want her to have to deal with that situation without the proper medical supplies on top of everything else. she's been through enough.

- btw there is no shipping in this au. i personally really don't see how it could happen between anyone on the crew. if there was some sort of spark between anya and curly, it's definitely gone now and won't happen again. the most they'll be are friends (although the friendship/trust will have to be built from the ground up again after everything that's happened with jimmy). the only ship here is the tulpar.

- i know daisuke is seen as a "dumb kid" but i really don't think that's the case. we are seeing him thru jimmy's perspective mostly after all and jimmy is the definition of an unreliable narrator. i headcanon daisuke as having adhd like me who tends to lose focus on tasks easily because your brain is just going 102929 miles a minute and wandering to all sorts of places like me. he feels like someone who doesn't exactly know where they want to go in life like me. also he's definitely a hawaii kid born and raised and talks pidgin sometimes like me except i lost the pidgin :(. i'm totally not projecting my asian ass on the asian boy or anything. BUT ANYWAY i wanted to give daisuke more stuff to do and a chance to prove to himself that he can do these things, he can step up. so that's partially why i made swansea burn his hands rescuing curly. daisuke can now be filled with Determination and be swansea's hands in repairing things as he heals. it's going to be hard and it's going to be frustrating for both parties and sometimes they'll get upset at each other. but it will inevitably be a great bonding experience for the two. i cannot resist the call for more father-son moments.

- swansea my beloved. i am so sorry for burning your beautiful hands please forgive 😔🙏 i have to make my faves suffer a little. swansea's hands will heal up eventually and he'll be able to use them again, but there will be scars. i think him having to guide daisuke with doing repairs n stuff on the ship as his hands recover gives him a mission. something to distract him from completely falling into despair and alcoholism. that man is hanging on by a thread but by god he's going to help get these kids through this. they've all grown closer since jimmy was sacked and swansea feels a sort of responsibility towards protecting anya, daisuke and curly as the oldest one there. it's the dad instincts y'know? on the real hard days, sometimes swansea thinks about cracking open a bottle of mouthwash, but he holds back because he feels he needs to stay strong for the crew. however he does have to learn that he can't shoulder everything and that he can rely on others. him having no choice but to have daisuke take over his tasks is a good way for him to learn that, i think. swansea is definitely a pillar of strength in this and the rest of the crew have a lot of affection for him (and vice versa even if swansea won't admit it). can you tell i really like swansea. he is such a foil to jimmy—a guy who has fucked up a lot in his life but actually acknowledges his mistakes and is trying his hardest to be a better person. aghh swansea i love you 💛💛

- after the crash happens, the cryopod room becomes inaccessible, so nobody is able to check on the state of jimmy in there. so they don't see that the crypod he's in eventually fails from damage and he escapes. this happens a couple weeks into the crash. jimmy is still pissed about everything and still can't see how he's done anything wrong (this is because he is a delusional asshole). in fact, he feels like he's the one who's been wronged and betrayed by everyone on the crew and he wants revenge. there will be a final confrontation between jimmy and the crew. spoilers: jimmy loses. i'm just undecided on who finishes it. it would be fitting if anya shot him, but i'm not sure that's something she'd necessarily want to do. she chose to be in the medical field after all. don't get me wrong, i think she would pull the trigger if it meant protecting the others. but i'd hate to have her kill, because even if jimmy deserves it, anya is a healer and would still probably feel guilty about it. i don't want to put even more shit on her plate. so i think swansea is the one to put jimmy down in the end. with the axe of course. i think he'd feel less guilty about doing it because it's something he's wanted to do since anya first told him about jimmy. oooh what if jimmy gets his hands on the gun, but daisuke tackles him, making him drop it, and anya gets it and shoots jimmy in the shoulder or leg or something to get him off of daisuke, and then swansea comes in with the axe to finish him off. that could be fun. that way anya won't have to actually kill but she'll still get to shoot jimmy. bless.

- the crew gets rescued eventually, but it's going to be a few months because pony express is a nightmare company. i'm honestly still not sure if pony express is even the one who will rescue them or even bother to look. i'm tempted to just have another ship happen across them by some miracle and help. real tempted to make that ship The Unreliable and turn this into a Mouthwashing x The Outer Worlds crossover quite honestly since both settings share similarities (megacorporations, cryosleep, etc). but idk. it's not like i can just write a fanfic or anything since writing is harder for me and who knows how long it will be before i even draw the idea. it's just yet another self-indulgent daydream for now.

[glitchy-npc]

59 pretty please? ^^

[Post Re-gene and villain reveal. 778 words]

Ortega fidgets with the small, gold ring in his ear, rubbing the smooth metal between his finger and thumb and it warms quickly under his touch. It's become an increasingly common habit lately, a self-soothing gesture, it helps him think. He only wishes he could focus on what he really needed to get done instead of drifting towards memories of the man who gave him the earring in the first place. 

But his brain never did care about what he wanted and the memories come back anyway.

He remembers sitting in his kitchen and the familiar burn of tequila, a little liquid courage, while watching Tegan set a small box down on the table. 

“Last chance to back out, old man.” Tegan’s lopsided smile was a challenge. Why was that the detail Ortega noticed rather than whether those smiles ever reached his eyes or not?

“Do you really think I would?” He leaned back in his chair, the camouflage of cocky confidence as easy to put on as a pair of well worn shoes. 

“No.” Tegan snorted. “But you could have gone to a professional, they probably would have done it for free, for celebrity bragging rights.” 

“Hey, I’m not being a cheapskate here, besides…” His voice softened when he reached out to grab Tegan’s hand, giving it a quick kiss before the other man could protest. “I want you to do it, I trust you.” Only in hindsight could he see Tegan’s imperceptible wince.

“Fine, just don’t complain if you don’t like it and end up with a scar.” Did he really never used to notice Tegan’s eyes darting to the scar on his lip so often? His parting gift from Retribution. It’s still hard to comprehend they are one and the same. 

Ortega remembers Tegan opening the box and pulling on a pair of black nitrile gloves, the way his hands flexed until they sat just right and how meticulous he was about sanitizing the gloves and needle, along with the sharp smell of disinfectant. He had been that way in the old days too, whenever he had patched him up after a fight, methodical and clean, he thought he had just been overcautious.

But now he knows why. 

Could never risk an infection or a trip to the hospital, not with the tattoos being as good as a death sentence. If only he had known. If only he had been trusted to know.

He remembers Tegan gently pushing his hair behind his ear and repressing a shiver as he applied antiseptic to where the needle would go. How he stood, straddling one of his thighs to be close enough. So close. He wanted to place his hands on his hips, to slide his hands up under Tegan’s shirt and pull him closer. Into a kiss, into the countless fantasies he’d had of them making love in his kitchen. Maybe it was silly but that's what fantasies are. And what they are likely to remain. 

“Ok, keep still.” Tegan commanded, needle poised against his ear. “On the count of three. One…two…” 

He remembers the sharp sting as the needle pierced through his flesh. 

“¡Carajo! You didn’t even get to three.” It took all his willpower not to touch the instrument in his ear. An intrusion. One he wanted.

“You might have flinched otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t have!” The embarrassed surprise stung worse than the needle in truth.

“Don’t be a baby. You still want the gold hoop?” At least that was better than calling him old. 

“Yep, gold’s a classic.” Easy to throw the confidence back up while Tegan disinfected the jewelry. He was proud he didn’t wince as he threaded it through the new opening. Another scar.

“Not worried what other people will think it might mean?” Even prouder he didn’t wince at that. Did that really used to scare him that badly? That other people might suspect he wasn’t straight? 

“Not at all.” He can tell himself now it wasn’t a lie. “Besides, if anyone makes a big deal of it, I can say my boyfriend did it for me. Watch them say something then.” 

“Idiot.” Tegan rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be pulled into the kiss all the same. Something warm and wanted that didn’t chase away the pain but added to it in a way that made everything feel more. 

More present. More real.

Ortega shakes his head. Stops tugging at the earring and rubs his eyes. Tired. No light shines through the blinds, working late again, the dimly lit office a pale comparison to the bright warmth of the kitchen in his memories. 

But that's just how everything feels lately.

[twstfanblog]

*~Thanks Give Me~* Pt 2

A/N: Second part ready and served! The third part will be posted tomorrow, so look forward to those vignettes XD Word Count: 5.1K Pairings: Barely seen Ruggie/Leona Warnings: Swearing

Prev/Next

The two weeks leading up to the dinner were surprisingly peaceful. Everyone took their tasks seriously, even Leona came to Ramshackle to offer more monetary support a day after the meeting.

(“Just use my card to buy food for the dinner. Seven knows that Ruggie can eat…”

“Oh don't worry, he already gave me your bank info.”

“...”)

It was endlessly entertaining to watch both Sebek and Silver struggle to not spill the beans to an excited Lilia. The retired general hadn't figured anything out as far as they could tell, but he could see their friend group were all prepping for something. It was also hilarious watching Malleus launch his godfather into the stratosphere whenever Sebek nearly told the smaller third-year about the dinner.

Rook had disappeared for nearly a week, only returning with a massive freezer chest and a profound sense of pride a few days before the dinner. Inside said chest was a plucked turkey the size of a small velociraptor. The junior was all too pleased to recount the method of how he got the bird. His eldest sister, Reine, had been eager to let him hunt down a very aggressive tom on her wildlife preserve.

Yuu was just lucky Rook had provided the magically chilled chest and that their oven knew when best to defy the laws of physics.

Cater had been texting them almost nonstop, trying to clear up what his job task of ‘gay cousin’ was even supposed to mean. Yuu would simply respond with winking emojis, much to his displeasure.

Kalim had contacted them the night after the housewarden meeting, sounding pitiful as he promised he was able to complete his task. He simply had no idea what China was. Though he wanted to do a crystal set, it would take time to get so many plates, glasses, and platters all custom carved. Not to mention the short notice.

(“Oh that's right, China isn't a place here…um…It's porcelain dishes…Chang’an?”

“Ooooooooh. Yeah I can get us a really nice Chang’an set! With lots of designs and pretty red flowers! Red is a color I can use right? Or maybe traditional blue? I wonder if I can get a full gold set-”)

Jamil had dropped off the set a few days later, stacks upon stacks of gold-rimmed dishes with center designs of a painted red flower in bloom and deeper red swirls along the edges. Just as they had requested, there were plenty of matching serving platters and pots of varying sizes. The vice warden also asked for Yuu to find something for him to do. While he wasn't tasked with a job, he felt uncomfortable coming to dinner offering nothing.

Yuu told him if he had to do something, he was welcome to help them clean and sort the metric ton of silverware they still needed to look through for the party. A long afternoon task that ended with Jamil lovingly stating she was complete shit at polishing silverware.

More people were invited, both intentionally and surprisingly. Yuu had approached Crewel, Trein, and Sam privately to ask if they'd like to attend the dinner. They of course had their tasks as everyone else did. Trein was pleasantly amused to know his simple task was ‘Grandpa’ and that Lucius was also invited. Crewel didn't respond but he also didn't throw the invite back in Yuu's face hearing his job was ‘Wine Aunt’. Sam could barely hold in his laughter at his assigned task of ‘Cool Weed-smoking Cousin’.

Jack had called them, asking if his younger siblings could attend the dinner. He had contacted his mother to send her recipe for poached pears, leading her to trap him in an hour-long story that ended on her saying the twins' babysitter had canceled at the last minute. After learning the day in question was the same as the dinner, Jack had offered to bring his younger siblings to NRC for the day if allowed.

Yuu quickly agreed, already reworking the dining room to make room for a kid's table. Along with sending a message to Falena about the dinner and how Cheka would be welcome to come. (Leona texting them only a few minutes later with a variety of foul language).

Before they knew it, the day had arrived. Sebek spent the entire day beforehand and slept over, helping in prep and making the long list of foods that Yuu knew to be holiday staples. Waking up at 6am the day of, they both walked back into the kitchen to continue cooking and verbally clawing at each other until others started to arrive.

The Heartslabyul crew all stood on the Ramshackle front porch, dressed in button-downs and a variety of semi-formal wear. Ace messed with his bow tie, raising an eyebrow while Riddle politely knocked on the Ramshackle front door, “So…why are we here dressed up and with two pies?”

Trey spoke, holding his glass container up, “This is banana pudding, not a pie.”

Deuce frowned, glaring at Ace while he lifted his own container in his hands, “And my eggs!”

“I don't even want to know why you have deviled eggs, Juice. What are we doing here?” Huffing, he raised an eyebrow at Cater primping his own semi-formal clothing, “I hate to ask it, but shouldn’t we be in class?”

“For the dinner. Just try to be on decent behavior.” Riddle looked through the side window of the door, concerned at hearing Yuu and Sebek screaming at each other as he knocked again.

“D-Dinner? What dinner? It's 10am!?”

Trey opened the door after no one answered, keeping a firm grip on his container of pudding, “Yuu? Sebek? We're here.”

The clattering and yelling stopped for a moment, the Heartlabyul crew looking confused at the uncharacteristically closed doors of the kitchen. Yuu opened the double doors, a splattered apron over their pajamas, greeting them with a big smile, “Hey guys! Thanks for coming by so early. Trey, Riddle, you guys can put your stuff in the dining room, I’ll be messing with it to make it all pretty later on.”

Deuce spoke up, holding his container up proudly, “I made deviled eggs!”

Yuu laughed, taking the Tupperware from their friend, “Thank you, Deuce. I’ll make sure to put them in a nice dish. Me and Sebek are still cooking everything else so could you guys make sure Grim hasn’t ripped apart the lounge in protest of being told to wait?”

“Of course. I know my task is to call everyone to the meal, but is there a certain time we join to eat?” Riddle questioned, handing his pie to Trey.

“Hmm. My family normally ate around two or three. But if me and Sebek keep up our pace we should be done by noon or one.”

Ace spoke up, looking around in pure bewilderment, “Tasks? You have guys had tasks?”

Yuu hummed, looking Ace up and down in barely concealed annoyance, “Ace, happy to see you’re on task.”

“I had a task!?”

Sebek’s voice called out from the kitchen, anger clear in his tone, “Stop fraternizing and continue with your own task!”

“Sebek, shut the fuck up and focus on the damn potatoes! And I swear to GOD, if you’re not using the goddamn ricer.” Yuu had started to walk back into the kitchen, brushing off Ace’s confused sputtering as she slammed the kitchen doors behind her.

“I don’t need to use the ricer!”

“You don’t need oxygen!”

Ace turned to Cater, raising an eyebrow, “What was my task!? Be confused!?”

Cater was tapping at his phone, texting Idia to remind him he had promised him he would come to the dinner, “Actually, it was you ‘weren’t invited and came anyway’.”

“...What?”

“Be happy, mine was ‘Gay Cousin’...”

“What?”

More knocks come from the front door, Riddle running over to open it. He smiled, “Oh, you made it-”

“Move, Riddle.” Ruggie shouldered his way past the housewarden, already speed-walking into the dining room.

“...” Riddle turned to the other two Savanaclaw members still on the porch, “As I was saying, welcome. The meal isn't ready yet, so we're gathering in the lounge.”

Leona sighed, eyes almost glazing over, “Of course, we gotta wait more…”

Riddle folded his arms, tilting his head, “Isn’t your job to be a couch potato?”

Leona pointed to his front, “I gotta get this thing entertained and fed…” 

Gripping onto Leona’s two braids like they were handlebars was Cheka in more formal wear than Riddle had ever seen him. The five-year-old swinging lightly but greeted him in joy, “Hi Mr. Riddle!”

“Hello, Cheka.” Riddle looked to Jack, raising an eyebrow seeing no one else with him, “Jack, were your siblings not coming?”

At that moment Riddle finally took notice of two pairs of tiny hands gripping onto each of Jack’s shoulders. Almost in sync, two coal-colored heads peek from under their brother’s hair, big amber eyes blinking at him. From what he could see, they had the same spikey hair pattern as their brother. Both with wolf ears still slightly too big for their heads, one of them having ear tips that matched with Jack’s grey hair.

Jack held up a glass container, “I brought the dessert Yuu asked for. Is there a place she wants me to put it?”

“Hmm…She said to place our dishes in the dining room, but she also wanted to place Deuce’s deviled eggs in a separate dish.”

Leona finally grabbed Cheka, silently demanding the child let go of his braids to hold him properly, “Where is Feral anyway? Aren’t they supposed to be hosting this dinner?”

Riddle looked to the closed kitchen doors, expression vaguely concerned, “Well-”

“Sebek, you better be basting that turkey the same way Silver basts your face! If that turkey is dry, I will marry your mom!”

…

One of Jack’s siblings pulls themselves up higher on his shoulder, gently tugging on Jack’s ear to whisper to him loudly, “What’s basting?”

Jack shoved the container into Riddle’s hands, speed walking down the hall and away from the kitchen of profanity, “Hey, Yuu has a TV. You guys wanna watch Lara the Explora?” Sighing in relief as the six-year-old twins cheer at the idea of watching their favorite cartoon.

Cheka looked at Leona, opening his mouth to also ask, only to have Leona quickly cut him off as he walked deeper into the house.

“Don't even ask me.”

Trey had luckily been in the dining room and dragged Ruggie out before he could touch a single one of the serving dishes. Each platter remained with their tops on and magically locked to keep warm until opened again. The second-year almost scandalized hearing he needed to wait until everything was done. Dejectedly, after a weirdly intense stare from Trey, Ruggie backed down and joined the others in the lounge. Managing to wedge himself between one of Leona’s knees and the armrest of a three-person. He really took his task of ‘Spreading it’ seriously.

Sam had arrived, passing out little candies to Grim and the children as a way to tie over their appetites. He had only popped in the kitchen for twenty seconds, delivering a block of cheese Yuu had ordered that finally came in, only to rush out like his life depended on it. His only explanation being the kitchen was filled with malicious intent…

The Octavinelle trio had arrived while Sam and Cater were discussing their semi-shared task of ‘Cousin’ and all it entailed. Floyd holding a container close to his chest and keeping a vicious glare leveled at his twin, Jade pouting and glaring right back as he made small lunges. The two feuding eels leaving Azul to bring a chilled chest of drinks up the stairs himself.

Riddle stopped Floyd from entering when he opened the door, pointedly staring at the container in his arms, “What is that? You weren't tasked to bring anything.”

Floyd's scowl turned to Riddle, stepping away from the smaller sophomore and clutching the container even closer to his chest, “Shrimpy had no right saying I can't be trusted. So I made fried chicken.”

“And Jade…?”

Scoffing, Jade walked into the house, casting one last glare over his shoulder before cracking open one of the double doors to the kitchen to peek in.

Snickering, Floyd handed his container over to Riddle to finally help Azul with the container of drinks, “I locked him out of the lounge kitchen this morning. He didn't get to even try anything since I messed all his stupid boxes up last night too.”

“You nearly destroyed my Lulu Lazerus mushroom…If I hadn't managed to get it settled in a new terrarium I would be an only child right now…”

Floyd's only response was to make a face, groaning mockingly while he rolled his eyes and let his tongue hang out.

Jade had just started to ponder the idea of ripping Floyd's tongue out of his mouth when the kitchen doors opened fully. Luckily, Yuu and Sebek weren't yelling anymore but instead speaking to each other in intense tones.

“Suck it the fuck up, Sebek. I'm fucking tired and hungry too. Stop eating all the pineapple slices, those are for the fucking ham!” Yuu smiled at Jade, pointing behind them, “Come on, you can make the mushroom gravy since I suck at cooking them.”

That single prompt had flipped Jade's mood completely. The eel now smiling and already rushing past Yuu and into the kitchen. Their smile turned to Floyd and Azul, raising an eyebrow.

“What you make, Floyd?”

“Fried chicken...” Floyd frowns, putting together just what had happened, “Hey, wait a minute-”

“Yeah, I played you both. Go hang out in the lounge, there are small children in there.”

“Oh? Cool, I love playing with guppies!”

Riddle quickly followed after Floyd rounding back to place the container in Yuu’s hands, already scolding the laughing eel as they made their way to the lounge, “Please don't throw any of the children.”

Azul tapped Yuu on the shoulder, making sure to not get any food on his pressed dress shirt, “There are…children here?”

“Is that a hint of fear I hear, Azul?”

The housewarden sputtered, waving his date-mate's teasing expression away, “I'm not afraid of children. I just didn't bring more child-friendly beverages…”

Yuu opened the chilled chest, frowning as they took stock of the various bottles Azul had brought, “Zulie, I said booze and non-booze…”

“And I have! Must I remind you that the dietary expectations for children here are different from your world?”

They were in all fairness. Most commercial food wasn't as processed as what Yuu was used to. Even the most ‘unhealthy’ junk food was still leagues better than what Yuu would find back in their old world. Food geared toward children had even stricter social guidelines; juices were expected to be whole fruit juice and even blended with vegetables to ensure a well-rounded diet.

Sighing, Yuu tapped their chin, “Yeah…I can fix this. Let me help you get these all set up in the dining room. I gotta call Kalim and hope he and Jamil aren't on their way yet.”

Azul raised an eyebrow, following after Yuu, “I assume we're putting them on a table or people would pour their own drinks?”

“Don't worry, I'll show you where to put everything.”

Azul was surprised to see the chandelier of the dining room was also a drinks dispenser. The bulbs were completely hollow even though they shined with light. He watched from the side as Yuu stood on the table and filled each glass bulb with the multiple drinks Azul had brought. He asked what they had requested from Kalim, seeing how his task was simply making sure they had a dining set.

Yuu remarked they were going to make a punch for the children since everyone would be concerned about the content of the nonalcoholic drinks for the kids.

“It probably won’t taste the same, but It was really good whenever my auntie felt like making it for family get-togethers. I think the kids will like it.”

Luckily, Kalim and Jamil hadn't left Scarabia when Yuu called. Kalim was all too eager to bring more items at Yuu's request; multiple whole fruit juices and a large bottle of lemon-lime soda water made with his unique magic. The Scarabia duo had even brought other gifts as they arrived at the dorm.

Yuu opened the door, smiling as Kalim held up his armful of bottles, “You're a lifesaver, Kalim.”

“It's no problem! I'm glad I could bring something other than just plates. Plus, we ran into Idia and Ortho!” Kalim turns, smiling at the small group still walking up the steps behind him.

Jamil was bringing up the rear, arms folded over his chest as he gave a glare to the back of Idia’s head. The flame-haired third-year shuffling along as he walked up the stairs as slow as he could. Ortho was floating beside him, eyes creased in his joy as he gently tugged on his brother's oversized sweater. Against his will, Idia made it up the steps and stood nearly curled in on himself. 

Yuu cooed, reaching over and pinching Idia’s cheek hard, ignoring the flash of red his hair gave, “Look at you! All dressed up like you're fit for the public!”

“And you aren't for some reason. Aren't you hosting?” Jamil raised an eyebrow, looking over his datemate's messy appearance. He grimaces, reaching out to tug at the edge of their apron, “Is this part of it?”

“Well, me and Sebek are gonna get dressed up once the food is all ready. We just gotta put some finishing touches on a few more dishes then wait for everyone else to show up.”

Ortho tilts his head, “Would you like us to take over? You and Sebek should go get dressed so we can all eat as soon as everyone arrives.”

Idia mumbled under his breath, trying to shimmy his way a bit further from the door, “I'd…really rather not be in a hot kitchen…”

Sighing, Yuu stepped to the side to let the group enter the house, “I don’t want you guys to have to take over cooking for us. You’re all dressed so nice, I’d feel bad if you got messy…”

Jamil rolled his eyes, quick hands already untying Yuu’s apron and putting it over his blazer, “I think we can manage. You and Sebek go get washed up. I'm sure you’d love to actually host instead of looking as disheveled as you are and answering the door.”

“...Fine…” Yuu called into the kitchen, telling Sebek they were released from cooking and to go shower. They were barely able to move out of the way as Sebek zoomed out of the kitchen and disappeared up the stairs, his apron only just hitting the counter as his door slammed upstairs.

“...” Yuu turned to Kalim, Jamil and Ortho already in the kitchen, “Can you mix the punch up for me? You’re gonna use all the juice and the soda water for it. Put some sliced oranges in it, it’s for the kiddies.”

Kalim nodded, bumping the kitchen door open with his hip, “Got it!”

“And don’t think I forgot about you tall, dank, and heinous.” Yuu folded their arms, glaring at the back of Idia.

Idia had been inching closer to the front door, hoping he could slip out before being noticed and run back to his room. He groaned, scowling over his shoulder at Yuu, “I’m not even hungry…”

“You’re never hungry. Just sit at the table and hold Cater’s hand or whatever the fuck you do to maintain emotional stability.”

“So long as I can have my tablet at the table…” He rubs his forearm, looking to the ground, “Did you dress Grim up?”

“Yes. He has a new bowtie that he hates so he’s all pouty and grumpy.”

“Aw…cute.”

Cater poked his head out of the lounge hearing Idia’s voice, phone poised in hand before he let out a sigh of relief seeing his boyfriend actually showed up, “OMS, Idia! You look so good, babes. Thank you for showing like you promised~.”

Idia finally let a smile crack, tugging on his collar as the tips of his hair eased into pink, “I mean…you did help me pick out what to wear-MHP!”

The other third-year had sped walked over to his boyfriend, throwing his arms around Idia’s neck before pulling him in to make out with him. The redhead moaned loudly and running his hands through nearly neon-pink flames while pressing their bodies together.

“Cater! For the love of the Design!” Yuu slapped him repeatedly on the shoulder until he finally detached from a dazed Idia, “What the fuck dude!? Don't dry hump your boyfriend in my entryway!?”

“What am I supposed to do as ‘Gay Cousin’!? My boyfriend is here, so I get to be gay and kiss him!”

Rolling her eyes, Yuu groaned and walked up the stairs to finally clean up. Leaving a stunned Idia and an angry Cater, the redhead holding his hands up as to question the higher powers.

“What do I DO!?”

Yuu and Sebek cleaned up well, Sebek feeling much better freshly showered and in the button-up he had spent an hour last night ironing. Yuu kept simple, the new designer jeans Crewel had flung at her after seeing her trying to sew in another patch on the thigh of her old jeans. A sweater Yuu had stolen from Vil’s closet, the third-year feeling something was missing from his wardrobe, but unable to figure out what was gone. 

So she could feel nothing but smug when she opened the door, smiling at the well-dressed group of the Pomfiore trio on their porch, “Eyebrows.”

Vil raised a single perfectly sculpted eyebrow, already connecting the dots on where his missing top had gone. He tapped a perfectly manicured nail against the lid of his container, “Onion.”

“I see, you not only managed to get Epel de-mudded but you finished your salad on time.”

With a smile that seemed almost mocking, Vil opened his container to show the multicolored pasta inside, “I made a pasta salad.”

Yuu looked at the dish, her smile almost frozen on her face before she took in a deep breath through her nose. She reaches out, nails raking down the sides of the ceramic bowl as they slowly pull it out of  Vil’s hands, “I should…beat you to death for your audacity. But this honestly, looks delightful and I think you actually seasoned it.”

Epel spoke up from beside Vil, giving his housewarden a judgemental look, “He had me season it.”

“Hush, Epel.”

Rook tilted his head, smiling brightly, “I hope we are not too fashionably late. It’d do no good for us to miss such festivities with our dear classmates.”

Yuu ushered them in, “Not too late. Most everyone is here, but you also aren’t the last to arrive.”

Vil smiled as he triple-checked his makeup and outfit in the gold mirror on the wall, “Perfect.”

Epel perked up, holding out his own dish, “Oh, yeah. Here’s the tenderloin you wanted me to make. I never thought pork and apples would work together. How’d you know?”

Yuu partly wanted to point out to Epel that he was potentially blessed. Any food he made with apples was almost otherworldly good, a trait they learned Epel shared with his grandma, “Something from my world. Come on, we’ll get your dishes settled on the table.”

Rook closed the door behind their group, eyes glancing over to the kitchen doors, “May, I see the efforts of my hunt? I wish to see the golden beauty that was once my quarry.”

“I don’t care if you’re hungry, no one eats yet.”

After sending the Pomfiore trio to the lounge, they almost slipped back into the kitchen to touch base with Ortho and Jamil, only to hear the door being flung open to slam against the wall. Turning around they smiled seeing the familiar black and white fur coat. Crewel was already walking through the entryway, designer shades taking over half his face with a large gold-foiled wine bottle gripped in one hand.

“Papa dog! Thank you for coming, you didn't need to bring us more wine-”

Crewel didn't stop walking, managing to brush past Yuu completely with a pat to their head, “No, this is for me, puppy. No touchy.”

“Yep, that tracks…” Yuu had nearly closed the door only to see Trein coming up the stairs too, Lucius tucked securely in his arms, “Grandpa! You made it!”

They hug briefly, Trein sighing and allowing Lucius to jump from his arms to trot into the house. He was in a different robe, vaguely familiar to his normal attire but clearly of higher quality and with a more elaborate brooch, “It feels odd to cancel classes for a ‘dinner’. And on a Thursday at that…”

“Hm…yeah. We technically have a Thanksgiving break in my world. It’s basically just an extended weekend though.”

“That makes sense. While your studies are important, maybe this little break will do you children some good. Here’s hoping that Crewel doesn’t use this as an excuse to overdrink again.”

“Oh, he came in with a bottle of wine.”

“Of course he did…”

Yuu was ready to text Lilia just to ask if he and his boys were on their way, secret be damned. Though a part of her realized she should of expected them to be the latest party of everyone. Malleus was so timeblind that he was potentially going to miss the heat death of the universe then pout about it. Silver can’t always fight against his compulsion to sleep and Lilia isn’t supposed to fucking know about the dinner anyway.

So when Yuu heard the door knocking with a refined yet urgent feeling, she flung Cheka out of her lap (Directly into Leona’s stomach) and raced toward the front door.

Swinging it open, she smiled at the nicely dressed trio before her, “There’s my bread delivery!”

Silver smiled, holding up the large wicker basket full to the brim with artisan bread rolls, “They should still be warm, but a bit longer in the oven shouldn’t burn them.”

Lilia looked between them all, taking note of Yuu’s semi-fancy attire before gasping. He pouted, glaring at each of his sons “Is this a dinner party!? I knew you boys were hiding something from me, but for it to be a meal among friends? I could have made something!”

Yuu watched as Silver and Malleus both gave an identical shudder at the same time.

Malleus places a hand on Lilia’s shoulder, letting the older fae jerk himself away, “You weren’t tasked with cooking. But, if you wish to have been involved, you were.”

Silver perks up, handing the bread to Yuu and finally stepping into the house as a group, “That’s right, father. You helped make the bread. I can’t shape dough nearly as well as you can. You helped greatly.”

“Surely the meal will be elevated from your lavish buns.”

Lilia pouted, arms now crossed. He wasn’t dull, he knew his children were simply trying to pacify his soured mood. It didn’t help they had kept such a secret from him. Then again…

Chuckling, Lilia places his hands on his hips as he let go of his annoyance, “Well, I have to admit, I am looking forward to the meal. Is it just us or will others be joining?”

Yuu smiled, sharing a kiss with Malleus, the horned fae already beaming at himself for completing his task. Looking to Lilia, Yuu nodded her head to the lounge down the hall, “You guys are actually the last group. Go wait in the lounge for a bit, me and Jamil will get the last touches of dinner done.”

While Malleus wasn’t too keen to leave, he allowed Lilia to tug him down the hall and into the lounge. The sound of Sebek shouting in joy at finally seeing his dorm family again, already talking their ears off on how much he had done to help insure the success of the meal.

Yuu leaned their head into the lounge, locking eyes with Riddle and nodding. The housewarden perked up, standing from his seat and bringing his fingers to his lips to let out a piercing whistle.

Once he had everyone’s attention, he nodded and made motions to leave the room, “It’s time for the meal. Let’s all make our way to the dining room.”

The Ramshackle dining room was possibly the most elegant room of the house, which wasn’t hard, but it counted. The dark wood-paneled walls were lit softly by the warm lights of the chandelier. The long table was decorated by deep red placemats, crystal glasses, stark white plates, and matching serving platters filled to the brim with food. Tucked to the far wall, resting under a large landscape painting, was a much smaller table with five placemats.

Yuu smiled, gesturing to the small table, “Niblings, that’s your table. Everyone else, I actually have nametags so you guys are assigned seats.” Their smile quickly fell, reaching out and gripping Ruggie by the back of his suspenders and yanked him back from the table, “Not yet.”

Ruggie groaned loudly, glaring at Yuu, “What now!? This is my dinner isn’t it!?”

“No, you wanted a Thanksgiving dinner. So we’re doing a Thanksgiving dinner, all the annoying shit involved. Now, we’re going to stand around the table, hold hands, and say a prayer.”

Ace raised an eyebrow, “What, like a cult?”

Crewel pulled a face, begrudgingly holding onto Trein’s hand, “Why are we praying?”

 Yuu grips Deuce’s hand, pointing a finger at everyone, “Don’t question me, this is just how my family always did it. Ruggie, you wanted this, you do it.”

“I-Do what?”

“The prayer, Ruggie. Say a few words about what you’re thankful for or like…praise god or whatever. Now everyone, hold each other’s hands and bow your heads until the prayer is done.”

“Ok, so this is cult behavior-”

“Bow your heads!”

Everyone bowed their heads, a few shooting Ruggie questioning glances before looking back to the floor or closing their eyes.

Ruggie stood in silence for a few seconds. Looking around the room before taking a breath and bowing his head as well, “Um…Hi? This is weird and I really don’t want to do this is public. But…Thank you…for the meals I’ve had, the meal I’m having, and the meals I’ll have…” He smiles softly, the grip he had on Leona’s hand tightening only a touch, “And for the people I share them with. Bless.”

Yuu holds their head up, staring at Ruggie in surprise, “Ruggie, holy shit, that was actually lovely.”

“Can we eat now?”

“Oh my God-Yeah.”

Everyone took a seat, Yuu further explained that whoever had a child sitting at the kids' table was allowed to make their and the child’s plate first. Ruggie being the only one who didn’t fit into that group who was allowed to pile his plate as much as he wanted before everyone else.

Prev/Next

[steddieasitgoes]

you can call me boyfriend for the weekend

I posted this earlier as a link to ao3 but I know some people like to read things straight on tumblr so this is for you people lol As noted, this was supposed to be a short little ficlet inspired by unfortunate "Black Out Wednesday"/hook up with someone in your hometown pre-Thanksgiving ritual and then Steve got a backstory and Eddie wanted a POV and it spiraled out of control like most of my work lol Also I wrote this all in twelve hours and it's not beta read at all lol but enjoy! And please ignore the wonky timeline. It's canon-divergent/no Upside Down. But basically in my head, all the normal things that happened to Steve/Eddie still happened in this universe and they got close during the Autumn months of 1986. I think that's all you need to know! wc: 8.8k | rated: M Read on ao3

The Hideout is unusually packed.

In hindsight, Steve should have figured as much. It’s not like he’s the only former resident in town who needs a shot or two (okay, maybe three, but who’s really counting other than the barkeep logging everyone’s tabs) of liquid courage before heading home to spend a few days with family. The overflowing parking lot and illegally double and triple-parked cars on the street are still a sight to see when he steps out of the Yellow Taxi.

Maybe he should have taken the cute stewardess up on the alcohol offer on the plane. Would have saved him a couple of bucks that’s for damn sure. Still, every time he was about to, Robin’s nagging voice would pop into his head, spewing one of her nonsense rambles about the importance of being fully coherent on an airplane, lest they have to land the plane as if he’d have the skills to land a plane in the first place. And yet, he remained stone-cold sober on the couple-hour flight into Indianapolis from Boston just in case.

Sure, there’s liquor at his parent's house — at least, he hopes they haven’t packed up the dry bar if they did, he’s really fucked this weekend — but he needs something now to keep the anxiety bubbling in his chest at bay. And last time he checked The Hideout is the only place within a twenty-mile radius that can serve up a quick, cheap drink. Plus, there’s the fact that the Yellow Taxi he took here from the airport has already disappeared into the night, and he’s not about to go inside to call another cab without buying something; that would be rude.

In yet another surprising twist, that shouldn’t be surprising given the parking situation; there’s a small line of people waiting to get in. In the nineteen and a half years he spent in Hawkins, Steve’s never seen a line in front of The Hideaway. He knows for a fact that the place never had a bouncer, much less one who meticulously cards everyone who walks in.

Well, everyone but him it seems.

Steve doesn’t even get his wallet open, much less out of his pocket, before the man is wrapping a bright orange ’21 and over’ wristband on his wrist. Which, like, ouch. He knows he just got off a flight after working a half-day shift at the stupid office, but he can’t look that much like an adult. Can he?

Thankfully, there’s no time to dwell on his fleeting youth as he’s pushed into the crowded bar with the rest of the customers who patiently waited their turn in the frigid Indiana November evening.

The familiar scent hits him the second he’s more than three steps through the opened doors — stale beer, nicotine, the undeniable musk bodies emit when they’re dancing and, well, horny. But there’s also something new going on, too. Crisp leather, a piney scene that can only be associated with floor cleaner, and something minty, peppermint, he thinks, maybe for the upcoming holidays. Gone is the stench of piss that no amount of power washing the concrete floors could ever scrub up. Steve notices the concrete floor is gone, too, apparently, as his shoes squeak against the shiny black laminate.

There are a few new booths from the looks of things, and the stage has gotten a major upgrade since the last time he was here to see… He shakes the thought from his head and keeps walking until he finds an open spot in the corner of the bar.

A bartender materializes the second his ass makes contact with the new vinyl seat. She looks vaguely familiar, too young to be in his class, but maybe someone from Henderson’s year. He figures he’ll be downing glasses of expensive wine when he finally musters up the courage to go home, so he orders a shot of tequila and a rum and coke in the meantime. She pours the shot right there, excusing herself to grab the rum bottle from one of the other bartenders working tonight.

He grimaces as he shoots it back, tequila burning his throat as it goes down before he sucks the sliver of lime between his lips. It’s impossible for the effects to kick in this fast, but he already feels the tension easing from his shoulders. He uses the reprieve from his anxiety to really take everything in. The Hideout may have gotten some major upgrades, but he can’t say the same about its patrons.

It’s a real who’s who of Hawkins High has-beens. Andy and a couple of younger guys he remembers playing ball with his junior year of high school, all wearing their Greek letter crewnecks, downing beers and slapping each other on the back. Jason’s in the center with his arm around a stereotypical-looking blonde who is clearly not from around here. Heather Holloway is unmistakable, pressed into a booth arguing with some guy Steve thinks was on their swim team while their three kids jump around unchecked. And is that Chrissy Cunningham with… Gareth? That nerd from Dustin’s D&D group? Steve makes a mental note to bring it up with Dustin when the little shit calls him next because holy shit.

It takes him a minute to spot Tommy and Carol, but once he does, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see them sooner. They’re pressed up against each other, practically dry-humping in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Tommy’s got his tongue shoved down Carol’s throat, and her hand is fisted into his buttoned shirt that’s definitely a size too small. 

Somethings never change, he thinks, rolling his eyes as the pair stumble their way towards the bathrooms at the opposite end of the bar.

Steve’s about to turn back around and disappear into the shadowy corner he’s found himself in when the static feedback of the seemingly brand-new speakers goes off, sending every patron in the bar covering their ears.

“Sorry! Sorry!” A man calls from the makeshift sound booth a few yards away from Steve. “Give it another go for me?”

“Check one, check one, two. Sounds great, Frank. We’re all set up here if you are,” a woman says from the stage. Steve figures she gets a non-verbal cue from Dave because then she’s talking again, her voice bright and way louder than it needs to be. The giggle that comes next is even worse. “Hi everyone! Lots of familiar faces in the crowd tonight.”

It takes his eyes a minute to adjust to the bright spotlight illuminating the stage, but when it does, he nearly falls out of his seat. Is that?

“Anyways, I’m Tammy, and these are the Townies, and we’re Tammy and the Townies!”

Holy shit! It’s Tammy Thompson. The Tammy Thompson. Robin is going to be so pissed when he calls and tells her about this tomorrow morning. She’ll probably say that he was just seeing things, blame it on the single shot of tequila he’s had since he’s still waiting for his drink, but he knows the truth. Especially when Tammy launches into the opening lines of “Santa Baby,” trying her best to be sultry but still sounding like a rejected Muppet.

Someone chuckles behind Steve, before an all too familiar voice says, “I haven’t heard that one before.”

His first thought is: Shit, did he say that out loud?

And then comes something even worse: Wait, I know that voice.

All the anxiety the shot of tequila chased off comes surging back to Steve, swirling in his gut, threatening to creep up his throat and out his mouth. No. He’s not going to throw up in The Hideout after one shot, not with the entirety of his high school class in attendance. And definitely not in front of Eddie Munson.

There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that it's anyone but Eddie Munson standing behind him and the bar. He would know that voice and chuckle anywhere, could pick it out in a line-up if he had to after the fall of 1985 when they— nope, not going there.

The way he sees it, he has two options. One, get the hell out of here without turning around. It’s dark in the corner, so there’s a chance Eddie hasn’t realized who he’s talking to yet; in fact, Steve’s pretty sure if Eddie knew who he just spoke to, he never would have opened his mouth to begin with. So, yeah, he could get the hell out of here, maybe leave a couple of bucks at the opposite end of the bar on the way out so he’s not drinking and ditching, and then hail a cab and head to his childhood house.

Or, he could woman the fuck up, as Robin would say, turn around and meet the gaze of a man he hasn’t seen since he was nineteen, confused and desperate to make something out of himself.

He weighs the cons: spend a few extra hours with his parents or face Eddie Munson, the only person other than Robin to ever see him. The real him.

The answer is easy.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, sizing Steve up with those big doe eyes of his the second Steve turns in his chair. “If it isn’t Steve Harrington in the flesh. What the hell are you doing around these parts? Thought you left to go make daddy dearest proud?”

Ouch.

Steve should have expected Eddie not to mince words, even if he is a paying customer and all. He doesn’t allow himself to get a good look at Eddie, meeting him with his own mean-spirited retort instead.

“Guess I should have known you’d still be around, Munson,” Steve snarks. Eddie wants to play? Steve’ll gladly participate. “Still flunking out of high school?”

“Now that one I have heard before.”

Eddie doesn’t stick around for a response. He slams Steve’s rum and coke on the bar counter and gives it a rough shove. The glass slides across the sleek countertop before crashing into Steve’s awaiting hand. The drink sloshes in the cup, a few droplets spilling out, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to wave Eddie down and demand a replacement, so he shuts up and brings the now half-empty glass to his lips. He takes a much-needed gulp and then another, alcohol going down better than the shot from earlier, dulling the regret from his mean-spirited retort with it. He sulks for a moment before letting his eyes drift behind the bar. Searching.

If The Hideout is crowded, the bar is just as congested. At least four bartenders shimmy around each other. Hands reaching for various bottles, glasses clinking as ice falls in. It’s the most people Steve’s ever seen behind the small bar top, and he’s willing to bet it’s more than they’re legally allowed.

Fire code and all that.

Not that he knows much about that.

Not yet, at least.

He will once he starts his Fire Academy classes in the new year.

That is, assuming his dad doesn’t kill him the minute he finds out about his career change.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, Steve thinks, shaking the thought away and chasing it further by draining the rest of his drink.

“Can I getcha’ another round?” The young bartender asks, reappearing like a damn bar fairy.

Steve’s not sure he’s fully thought his order out, too preoccupied stealing glances at Eddie, but his lips start moving anyway, words escaping before he has a chance to stop them, “Actually, can I get a Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice instead of pineapple.”

“Pickle juice? Are you sure?”

Shit.

No.

Yes.

Steve quietly contemplates changing his unusual order, tilting his empty rum and coke glass to his lips, desperate for another teaspoon of liquid courage. He’s met with the cool sensation of ice hitting his teeth instead. Another not-so-subtle sneak at Eddie, and Steve doubles down. “Yeah. Eddie should know how to make it.”

“Oh, uh, ” the bartender says, nervously glancing to her right.

Steve follows her line of vision, giving himself permission to do more than glance this time, and finds Eddie on the opposite end tossing around bottles and the shaker like he’s fucking Tom Cruise in Cocktails and not a super-senior who half the town was convinced was a Satanist.

“Let me see what I can do for you.”

Steve gives her his best customer service smile and a quick nod before watching her shuffle through the other bartenders on her quest to get to Eddie.

He lets his eyes linger as Eddie finally doles out the drink he’s been working on. Five years and some change has been good on him. His hair is still as unruly as ever, twisted back in a low bun at the base of his neck. Tending to the bar has clearly served his arms well judging by the tone biceps peaking out from under his black shirt. It’s done wonders for his entire body, if Steve’s honest, sizing up the way he finally fills out his jeans.

Eddie turns just so, new piercings catching in the reflection of the spotlight from the stage. Steve catalogs them, a few new ones to his ears, a hoop in his left nostril. There’s new ink, too, decorating his strong forearms and peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

Steve’s attraction to Eddie isn’t a surprise, especially after the Fall of ‘86. But it’s like a match has just ignited a new flame in the depths of his body. He looks good, is all. Really, really good.

Steve’s pulled from his not-so-subtle ogling when the young bartender finally gets Eddie’s attention. He can’t hear the conversation, but he spent enough time around Eddie to know what the man is saying without even looking at his lips. Her back is to him, but Steve knows the minute he brings up the drink because Eddie’s body goes stiff, his head jolting toward Steve, eyes growing wide as he glares at him from the opposite end of the bar.

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s truly fucked up. Well, more than he did five and a half years ago when he let his dad convince him to set him up with a job in Boston that forced him to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, least of all Eddie. But then he sees the moment Eddie’s stubbornness sets in, clouding his eyes and forcing his chunky boots to stomp through the hoard of sweaty bartenders.

“Did you come all the way home to fuck with me?” Eddie barks, still a foot and a half away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, Harrington,” Eddie snaps, hands smacking onto the countertop.

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie rages on. If it wasn’t for Tammy Thompson’s wailing in the background, Steve’s pretty sure they’d have everyone’s attention right now. Thank God for Tammy Thompson.

“Seriously? Pickle juice!”

Steve’s hit with the familiar woodsy, nicotine smell he spent months chasing around town as Eddie drops to his elbows, leaning in closer to Steve. For a second, he thinks Eddie is going to deck him, at the very least fist his hand into his shirt and yank him forward, but he doesn’t.

“I know damn well you’re not ordering Vodka Party Punch with fucking pickle juice at the fancy bars wherever you ended up. What makes you think you can order one here now?”

“You’re right, I don’t order them in Boston,” Steve says, answering the question Eddie really didn’t ask. “But I’m ordering it now because you’re the creator of the drink, and I know you’ll make it taste right.”

Steve watches Eddie’s jaw drop. The bar is dimly lit but it doesn’t take florescent lights to catch the red tinting the tips of Eddie’s ears, fully exposed with his hair pulled back in a bun. It’s been a minute since Steve attempted this game with anyone, but Eddie’s always been a fun participant — especially when he’s pretending he doesn’t like it.

“I’m charging you double,” Eddie concedes, twirling the giant skull ring still perched on his finger.

“Better make it worth my dime, Munson.”

“You know I always do, Harrington,” Eddie taunts, clearly finding his footing in this flirtatious sparing match they’ve started. 

* * *

By the time Eddie returns with his drink, Tammy and the Townsies have wrapped up their set for the night — thank god — and The Hideout slowly starts to empty out. With a few less bodies occupying the actual bar, Eddie has no problem sticking around, tossing his dish rag over his shoulder as he slides the Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice over to Steve, much gentler this time.

The drink smells exactly like he remembers, but the presentation has improved since their days of mixing them in the Munson’s crowded kitchen. A mini pickle is skewered through a toothpick as garnish, and the glass is tall and clean, a rarity in the mug-infested kitchen of that autumn.

Steve makes a show of his first sip, slowly raising the glass to his mouth without breaking eye contact with Eddie as he licks his lips in anticipation. Eddie’s eyes dilate the second Steve’s tongue makes an appearance, and it takes everything in Steve not to jump across the bar and shove it down Eddie’s throat a la Carol and Tommy style. He knows the Eddie from five autumns ago wouldn’t mind, but this Eddie might.

He does the next best thing instead, taking a slow sip of the drink, exaggerating when he swallows before punctuating the first taste with a low moan of approval. Judging by the smattering of pink moving to Eddie’s cheeks, it works.

“Delicious, just like I remembered.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it the minute the words leave his lips, and the flush on Eddie’s cheeks drains to a ghostly white , eyes turning to fire.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that,” Eddie scoffs, snapping his dish towel off his shoulder to wipe the counter.

“I just, I—“ Steve groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. Leave it to him to be back in Hawkins for less than three hours and already fuck things up. “Thank you,” he finally says, eyes trained on his drink. “You didn’t have to make it, and you did, so thanks.”

“Whatever customers want, they get here at The Hideout.”

Steve can’t help but snort, “S’that a new motto?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

When Steve glances up, Eddie’s smiling at him. Not his toothy grin Steve loved to coax out of him, but his lips are definitely quirked into a grin which he’ll take as a win. Small victories and all that.

“That what they pay you the big bucks for? Slinging drinks like Tom Cruise and coming up with new slogans?”

“Something like that.” Eddie finishes wiping down the counter in front of Steve and moves half a step to his right, working on the next area that’s vacated.

Steve thinks that’s it. The beginning and end of their civil conversation, but then Eddie looks across the bar, no doubt taking in the empty state of things, before turning back to look at Steve. Really, look at him.

If it weren’t for the liquor coursing through Steve’s veins, he doesn’t think he’d be able to sit there under Eddie’s gaze. But he does have alcohol on his side, so he stays glued to his seat, his own cheeks heating up as Eddie’s brown eyes roam over his body, taking him in the same way he did with Eddie a while ago.

When he’s done, Eddie cocks his head to the side and tuts. “You’ve seen better days, Harrington. I think your eye bags have eye bags.”“Corporate life’ll do that to you,” Steve grumbles, taking another sour sip from his drink. When Eddie doesn’t throw a dig he knows is on the tip of his tongue, Steve breaks the silence. “You look good behind a bar.” Jesus, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. “I mean, uh, how long have you been working here.”

Eddie snorts, coming back over until he’s right in front of Steve. He drops to his elbows again, pillowing his chin in his hands as he makes direct eye contact. “About five-ish years ago. Right after I graduated.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I, uh, thought the plan was to get the hell out of here?”

Eddie hums. “It was. Took the job to save money so I could do just that.”

“And you ended up loving it?”

“Hated it at first, actually, but you know we’re not all lucky enough to be able to get the hell out of Hawkins just because people tell us we should,” Eddie says, eyes boring judgment into Steve’s own. “Figured if I have to stick around I might as well try and make it better for those of us still here.”

“That’s what you’re doing, then?” Steve asks, generally curious. He always knew Eddie had a savior complex, saw it firsthand when Dustin and the rest of the kids started high school, and immediately got swept up in Eddie’s inner circle of outcasts. “Making Hawkins better?”

“Trying to,” Eddie says, and Steve can feel the walls around him shrinking, only for them to harden in an instant. “Turns out it’s a lot easier when the assholes flee.”

Steve winces and downs the rest of his drink. When it’s drained, he sets it down and fumbles through his pockets for his wallet. He gets no more than three measly bucks out before Eddie is shooing him away.

“It’s on the house tonight.”

Steve shakes his head, digging back into his wallet “Don’t think your boss’ll be happy about that.

“Good thing m’the boss then.”

Steve gawks. He’s pretty sure his jaw is fully open, but it's worth it to see the pleased look on Eddie’s face. “Shit, seriously?”

“What, you think old Dave was the one to plan the renovation of this place? That cheapskate was slinging water tinted brown with food coloring to the regulars once they got drunk enough not to tell.”

Steve laughs, but doesn’t get distracted with the anecdote like he knows Eddie hopes he will. Eddie Munson might have his heart in his sleep, but if there’s one thing Steve knows about him, it’s that he hates being emotionally vulnerable. Steve can’t say he blames him, but still, he presses on.

“Eddie Munson, CEO of the Hideout. Who would have thought?”

“I don’t know about CEO,” Eddie says, fingers struggling with the elastic holding his hair back. It takes a second for him to get the strands untangled, and when it does, his hair cascades over his shoulder in those same unruly curls Steve tried to tame once or twice. Eddie’s hand immediately finds a strand, twirling it around his fingers and pulling it towards his lips. “Owner as of the first of the year, though.”

“Eds, that’s really fucking cool. Holy shit! Congrats! I feel like we should toast or something.”

If Eddie catches the nickname slip up, he doesn’t mention it. Maybe Robin’s patenting ramble so they can’t comprehend every embarrassing thing you’ve said method actually works.

Instead, he waves him off. “Sounds to me like you’re just trying to get another round of free liquor in you before heading home to the parents.”

“Damn,” Steve says, happy to play along. “Am I that obvious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes but ducks behind the counter for a moment, popping back up with two clean cups. He blindly reaches for a top-shelf whiskey and pours just a bit too much to be considered a shot, but not a full serving either. They clink the glasses together in a silent toast before throwing back the over-poured shot like they’re nineteen and twenty again.

“You know,” Eddie says, closing the distance between them as he leans against the countertop again. “We’re looking for some silent investor, partner types to help out with financing. If you, uh, know anyone who might be interested.”

“Oh,” Steve says, liquor making his brain slower than usual.

Eddie pushes off the bar, shaking his head. “Don’t look too excited, Steve. I was just joking.”

“No, shit, I mean, yeah, I would invest. Love to even,” Steve rambles, desperate to keep Eddie from joining the rest of the bartenders in tallying up their tips. “It’s just, uh, I’m actually getting out of the investment world.”

“You don’t have to lie, Harrington. A simple no will do.”

“I’m serious. Today was actually my last day. I’m enrolled in the Fire Academy come January.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, that toothy grin finally making an appearance. “Way to bury the lede, Stevie! We should be toasting to you! Finally getting out from under your dad’s thumb!”

Unlike Eddie, the nickname isn’t lost on Steve, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Not if he wants to keep Eddie smiling, and dammit he does. It’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I mean, I still have to break the news to my dad. But yeah, assuming he doesn’t kill me, it’s happening.”

“Hey, Munson,” a bartender he realizes is Jeff calls from the opposite end of the bar. “Get your ass over here and close out so we can go home. Some of us actually want to see our families.”

Eddie flips Jeff off but doesn’t budge from his spot in front of Steve.

“I should probably head out, too,” Steve says, slowly rising from the stool. His legs are full of pins and needles, asleep from sitting so long, but he manages to stay upright.

“Wait,” Eddie says, shouting even though all Steve’s done is duck behind the counter to grab his duffle from the floor. “Did you drive here?”

Steve shakes his head. “Took a cab from the airport, gonna use the payphone out back to call another.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says in a rush. “I mean, I can’t let you waste your money on a cab when you’re unemployed now.”

“I’m not unemployed, I’m going to—“

“Fire school, yeah, yeah, I got that,” Eddie says, waving him off. “Just give me two minutes, and I’ll drive you home, okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Steve makes a show of sounding inconvenienced, which earns a dramatic eye roll from Eddie and a victory for himself. His streak of pretending not to care actually working lives on another day.

* * *

Seven minutes later, thanks to a mathematical error and a hushed conversation between Jeff and Eddie, Steve finds himself in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.”

“How is it any different from you still driving the Beamer?”

“How do you know I still drive the Beamer?”

“Please, the only thing you love more than that car is Buckley. Speaking of, where is your platonic other half?”

“Still in Boston. She got asked to write an article for her grad department’s journal.”

“Ah, so she sent you to the lion’s den all on your own,” Eddie teases, slowing to a stop despite the light still being yellow.

“Figured this was one Harrington vs Harrington battle she didn’t need to bear witness to.”

Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart. “My, my, it seems like us lowly mortals are in the presence of the Great Sir Stevebert tonight.”

Steve can’t help but snort. He’s missed this. The easy teasing, the openness. Eddie and his silly voices and even sillier words. He can’t believe he’s gone almost six years without him.

“So,” Eddie says, drawing out the vowel. “Isn’t Dick going to be extra pissed off that you’re showing up on his doorstep at three in the morning?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably.”

“What time were they expecting you?”

“When are they ever really expecting me?” Steve laughs dryly. “I didn’t really give them a set date. Figured if I told my dad I was flying out today, he’d figure out the whole work thing so I told them I’d try to catch a late flight after I finished for the day and be there by Thanksgiving dinner at the latest.”

“So they don’t know you’re in town.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not unless someone at the unofficial Hawkins High reunion tonight ratted me out.”

“Jesus H. Christ you caught that too?” Eddie shouts, smacking his left hand against the dashboard. “I’ve worked plenty of Wednesdays before Thanksgiving, but none of them have pulled that many of our former classmates out. I don’t know why everyone is back in town this year.”

“Back in town or never left?”

“Hey,” Eddie scolds. “Watch it. Your life is in the hands of a Hawkins townie right now.”

Steve holds his hands up in surrender and is glad to see Eddie grinning at him when he musters the courage to steal a glance. He wishes he could offer a careless smile back, but the closer they get to Loch Nora, the more he feels the anxiety creeping in again. Eddie must sense it, too, because he slows to well below the speed limit.

“I wouldn’t mind having a roommate for the night,” he says nonchalantly. Like Eddie’s talking about the weather and not offering to spend the night in Steve’s presence. Steve, the guy who disappeared on him one day after months of fucking around — literally and figuratively. The same Steve who hasn’t been back to Hawkins because he’s been avoiding this exact situation like the chickenshit he is.

“Wayne probably will, though,” Steve says, trying his best to turn Eddie down without actually turning him down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend the night with him. Hell, he’d sell his left arm for the chance. The problem is it’ll just be one night, and Steve doesn’t think he has that in him. Not when he wants all the nights.

“Good thing he’s not home.”

“Wait,” Steve says, turning in the passenger seat to look at Eddie. “He left you on Thanksgiving? Isn’t that against your Munson Family Code or whatever?”

Eddie snorts, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t believe he remembered that’ under his breath. “I told him it was okay. He’s up in Chicago spending the holiday with Scott Clarke’s family.”

“Scott Clarke? The middle school science teacher?”

Eddie nods.

“I didn’t know they were friends.”

Eddie breaks in the middle of the street, leveling Steve with a look he finds himself receiving from Robin all the time. She says people like them are supposed to know when other people are like them, but so far, Steve has yet to inherit that superpower.

“Oh, shit,” he says, finally. “I didn’t know your uncle was into guys.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie laughs. “It was a real memorable day in the Munson’s house when I found out.”

A comfortable silence falls between them as Eddie eases the van back on the rode. They stay like that for a light or two before Eddie rolls to a stop at a familiar intersection.

“Great Sir Stevebert,” he says, switching into his deep, DM voice. “It seems you have a choice to make. Shall you continue on your travels, taking the golden brick road to the lone castle on the hill, or shall you take the road less traveled and embark on the twisting journey to the Moors?”

Once again, the decision is easy.

“If you really don’t mind,” Steve says instead of a definitive answer.

Eddie whoops and makes the sharp right turn that’ll take them to Forest Hills. “Onward, Sir Stevebert, to the Moors, we go!”

_ _ _

Eddie has no idea what he’s doing. One minute he’s fighting with himself, desperate to keep his attention on the out-of-town in-laws of some Hawkins High alumni in need of a blissful night out before the family shit starts and not on the sulking figure of Steve fucking Harrington on the opposite end of the bar. And the next second, he’s ushering that same Steve up the steps of the Munson trailer like he did so many times before.

Jesus H. Christ.

He should have listened to Jeff. He should have called Steve a cab and paid for it himself if it made him sleep better at night. Hell, he should have kicked Steve out the second he mouthed off to him. But he didn’t. And he couldn’t.

Despite all the bullshit, Steve put him through, despite five whole fucking years without so much as a call, Eddie still has a soft spot for the goddamn fallen King. Time heals many things, but the love he has for Steve isn’t one of them.

Love?

No. Strike that from the record.

Infatuation.

A crush, maybe.

Not love.

Not anymore.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, shaking the thought from his entire body, and moves to unlock the door. He gestures for Steve to enter, and Eddie trails behind, bending down at the entrance to untie his work boots and free his sore feet. He wasn’t lying when he told Steve this is the busiest pre-Thanksgiving shift he’s ever worked. He’s pretty sure his blisters have blisters at this point.

His knees ache at the position, so he lets himself fall back, ass on the worn welcome mat as he finishes the task at hand. It feels nice to get off his feet, and he lets himself linger there for a moment. A hand massaging the ache from the arch of his foot while his eyes drift up, watching Steve asses the trailer much like he did the very first time he found himself in the humble abode.

As nice as it is to get off his feet, the last thing Eddie needs is for Steve to turn around and catch him staring at him from a spot on the floor. With a quiet groan, he hoists himself back into a standing position and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

“Wayne getting rid of his mug collection?” Steve asks, breaking the silence. Eddie follows his pointed finger to the top, empty rack shelf the patterned couch.

“No, just relocated ‘m. He spends most nights at Scott’s house now. I basically own the place. Wayne refuses to let me pay the full rent, though, since it’s his name on the lease.”

Steve lets out a low whistle that doesn’t do anything, Eddie, nothing at all, and turns to face him with a look of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Now, who’s the one with a silver spoon.”

He can’t help but laugh at how absurd that sounds. As if inheriting the trailer is some kind of privilege, but in some ways it is, right?

“It’s no rent-free apartment in a big city, but it’ll do,” he says, trying his best to throw a dig back at Steve, but it doesn’t sting the way he wants it to. If anything, it makes Steve’s lips dip into a frown instead of stroking that familiar petty flame he knows stays lit in his gut.

“Come on,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “You think Dick Harrington pays for my place in Boston? The asshole got me a shit job and told me to figure the rest out. I was lucky Robin was already there when I showed up. Her RA wasn’t too pleased, but we made it work that first year.”

Great, now he’s the asshole.

It’s such a different picture than the one he’s spent the last five years painting in his head. That good ol’ Dick Harrington shipped his only son off, far enough away that the town freak couldn’t continue sinking his teeth (and dick) into him without him knowing about it. Set him up with a good job and a nice place to sleep at night that left Steve no choice but to stay even though he knew that’s not what Steve wanted. Never was.

But that’s not the story, is it?

The real story is that Dick Harrington is an even bigger prick than he thought, and Steve is a coward. Eddie can understand Steve staying away if his dad made his new life nice for him and kept him comfortable and just shy of miserable, but he didn’t. And yet, Steve stayed in a job he hated, in a dorm he had no business crashing in because Daddy Dearest told him to do it.

A part of Eddie wants to ask why. Wants to dig his grimy finger into the still-fresh wound in Steve’s chest, judging by the grimace on his face, and get to the bottom of what the hell his dad has over him to keep in line. But what good would it do, really?

Eddie opts for a different strategy instead.

“Why now?”

Steve cocks his head, brows knitting together in that cute confused face Eddie used to love coaxing out of him with a single nerdy phrase back in the day. “Why now what?”

Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He could change the subject, shrug off his question, and steer the conversation into calmer waters to get them through the night. But that wouldn’t be fair to him or Steve. Not in the long run.

“It’s been five years since you’ve been in town, Steve,” Eddie says blankly. “Why now?”

“My parents are selling the place,” he answers, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Said they wanted one last family Thanksgiving in the place before it’s not ours anymore. It’s bullshit if you ask me. I can’t remember the last time we spent the holiday together, even when I lived here, but here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve groans, collapsing on the couch behind him. “I don’t know what it is about my parents that has me running to them every time they ask, even though they don’t give a damn about me 99% of the time.”

Eddie follows Steve's lead, settling on the couch but leaving the middle cushion open. An unofficial barrier between them. “I’m no psychologist, but it sounds like textbook daddy issues to me.”

Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move, too stunned by the sudden contact to do anything else. Steve’s hand leaves his shoulder as fast as it finds it, but the effects are already in motion. Eddie’s entire body vibrates under the ghost of Steve’s touch, skin alive and hot in a way it hasn’t been in years.

Eddie turns, expecting to find Steve staring off in the distance, but instead, he’s staring at him with those open, honest hazel eyes. All it takes is one look, one single slip of his eyes to Steve’s lip and back again, and Steve’s surging forward, closing the distance between them.

Steve tastes like cheap liquor and pickle juice, and all it takes is one swipe of Steve’s tongue, and Eddie’s transported back to the Fall of 1986. Of experimenting with whatever ingredients they had on hand in the kitchen and throwing back drinks to nurse their respective education wounds — Eddie not graduating again, Steve failing to get into college. Memories of playful shoves turning into wrestling matches turning hot and heavy until lips met lips and skin, so much skin.

Five years may have passed, but it feels like no time at all as Eddie sinks further into Steve’s embrace, fingers tangling in the wisps of hair on Steve’s neck, and Steve’s own hands find themselves tangled in his curls.

It’s only when Steve moves to straddle Eddie’s hip that the reality of the situation hits him. Eddie jolts away; hands braced on Steve’s shoulders to keep a respectable amount of distance between them. He hates himself the moment he looks into Steve’s cloudy hazel eyes, but he’d hate himself more if he let this continue without checking in.

With Steve an arm's length away, Eddie studies him. Squinting as he stares into Steve’s eyes, checking for glassy, unfocused eyes, excessive sweating, and flushed face — all of which Steve has, but maybe not for the reasons Eddie is checking for.

“You’re drunk,” Eddie says plainly.

Steve shakes his head, words, not even the least bit slurred when he says, “No. Maybe a little buzzed, but that’s it. I promise.”

Something snaps inside of Eddie at those two words, releasing the anger his horniess has been holding at bay. In an instant, he feels the rage boiling inside of him, and he shoves at Steve hard enough to send him back to his end of the couch.

“With much offense, Steve,” Eddie says, venom dripping from his lips as he spits out Steve’s name. “Promises don’t mean shit coming from you.”

And just like that, they’re back where they started the evening off. Opposite sides of each other, scowling and hurt in their own ways.

Steve sighs and shifts on the couch, not-so-subtly adjusting himself in his pants. “Eds,” he whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up, okay. I know I did, but what was I supposed to? My dad was threatening you just as much as he was threatening me, and it was just easier to leave.”

“Easier for you, maybe.”

“I—“

“What are we doing here, Steve?” Eddie asks, cutting off whatever lame excuse is coming next.

“I thought I was trying to apologize but clearly I was wrong.”

Eddie can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes him. “So you apologize, and then what? We fuck, you get one last blowjob by the former freak of Hawkins, and then poof, you’re gone again?” Eddie rises from the couch in an instant, sock-covered feet pacing the length of the living room. He steals one glance down at Steve and shakes his head. “I should have listened to Jeff. Should have listened to everyone and stayed the fuck away. This is nothing but a pre-holiday fuck, and I’m so fucking stupid for falling for it.”

“No!” Steve shouts, standing up now too. “I’m not, I mean, I didn’t even know you’d be at the Hideout. I just stopped there because I couldn’t stomach the thought of showing up to my parents' place sober.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” Eddie snaps. “Tell me this: if I wasn’t at the bar tonight, would you have come to find me?”

Steve says silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t even know you were still in Hawkins until tonight!”

“Bullshit! I know for a fact Henderson has mentioned seeing me when he comes back for the holidays. Just stop lying!”

“You want me to stop lying?” Steve shouts, stalking over to where Eddie’s stopped pacing. He boxes him in against the new bookshelf he installed in the corner where Wayne’s roll-away mattress used to sit. With his shoes still on, Steve’s got half an inch on Eddie and it’s daunting staring up into those eyes when Steve’s jaw is set in a hardline. “I fucking love you, okay? I have for years! And yeah, I was a fucking coward for leaving, and I could have, should have called in the years since, but I was scared, okay? I was scared you figured out that I’m not worth it and found someone better, just almost everyone else in my stupid fucking life and—“

It’s Eddie’s lips that crash into Steve’s this time. The words die on Steve’s lip, and for a maddening moment, Eddie wonders if he’s broken him beyond repair. That maybe he sould have left him keep spiraling and hit rock button, but then Steve kisses him back and it’s perfect. Well, as close to perfect as they can get considering they’re both angry and exhausted and Jesus h. Christ when did Steve learn to do that with his tongue? It’s headier than the kiss on the couch, leagues better than their awkward teenage makeouts from that autumn. They’ve both grown up, practiced, and found what works, and god damn, does it work.

When they pull apart this time, it's only to catch their breaths before diving back in. Eddie gets his hands on Steve’s shirt, rucking it up and over his head in a tangle of limbs, his own shirt isn’t too far behind, flying through the air with reckless abandon. Steve’s lips find his throat and Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to scream or sink into him further so he does a mix of both, a wanton moan falling from his lips as he pulls Steve closer by his hips and ruts against him.

They’re really moving now, stumbling down the familiar hallway until they’re crashing into Eddie’s unmade bed. Eddie hovers over Steve, admiring his flushed torso and blissed-out face for all of two seconds before Steve pulls him close, whispering want you and need you, and who is Eddie to deny Steve anything, much less mutual pleasure?

They fumble with each other’s jeans, hands shoving and hips lifting and twisting until there’s nothing between them but the thick, musty air. Eddie’s hands trail up and down Steve’s body, his lips and teeth following leaving marks on his favorite moles. He licks a stripe from the dip of his waist to his belly button and back down, and Steve keens under him.

“Please,” Steve whines. “Stop teasing.”

“It’s call foreplay, sweetheart,” Eddie chirps, but ultimately gives in, taking all of Steve in his mouth in one go.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve swears, fisting a hand into the sheets.

Eddie pulls away, eyes wide and full of mischief. “First you say no teasing, then you get mad when I take you? What do you want from me, Stevie?” He cups Steve’s ball, rolling them with enough pleasure to coax another moan from Steve’s lips.

“Just play nice, Eds.”

Eddie hums, then dives back in, slower this time but still just as desperate. He’s missed this almost as much as he’s missed Steve in general. Maybe even more, if he’s honest. There are a lot of dicks in the sea, but none as beautiful and responsive as Steve’s.

Eddie laughs at the cheesy thought, and the vibrations do something to Steve to elicit the most beautiful sound Eddie’s ever heard. He almost laughs again just to hear it again, but before he has a chance, Steve’s shoving him off and flipping them over.

“Wh— what’s going on?”

“M’too close, and I don’t want cum without tasting you first.”

Despite his protests, Steve dives straight in with no preamble and Eddie feels the familiar coil of pressure building in an instant. He’s not going to last, not if Steve keeps doing that with his tongue and Jesus h. Christ he’s never going to live it down if he cums two seconds into getting Steve’s lips on him.

He tries to think of anything else. The disgusting bathrooms at the Hideout he’s going to have to clean tomorrow and the grocery list on the fridge he has to brave the last-minute holiday shoppers for, but nothing seems to work.

Eddie squirms, tries his best to get away from Steve but Steve hand settles on his hips, holding him to the mattress as he continues to move up and down. Eddie sees the stars building in his eyes without even closing his eyes and his hand moves on its own volution, finding Steve’s leaking cock and wrapping his hand around it.

If he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast, so is Steve.

He matches his strokes with Steve’s and they both fill the room with their moans and cries until finally they collapse on each other. Eddie’s hand and chest are sticky with Steve’s cum, and his own is spilling out Steve’s lips, but he doesn’t care. He pulls Steve closer, capturing his lips in a searing, sweaty kiss.

* * * 

Another round and an hour-long make-out session later, they finally get up to clean themselves up. Eddie leaves Steve in his room and disappears into the bathroom. One look at His debauched self in the mirror and Eddie can’t help the smile that breaks out. If someone had told him this was how he’d be spending the early hours of his first Thanksgiving without Wayne, he would have laughed in their face.

When he returns to the room a few minutes later, Steve’s back on the bed, the thin sheet doing little to cover his lower half while his torso lays on full display, light by the warm light seeping through the cracks of Eddie’s blinds as the sun rises outside.

“Hi,” Eddie whispers, suddenly shy as he slips back into bed.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, shuffling across the bed and making himself comfortable on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around Steve’s bare middle before bending the other behind his own head. He looks down at Steve, slowly drinking in the look of peace on his face and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he starves off sleep they’re both desperate for.

“How long are you in town for?” Eddie asks and mentally curses himself. Fucking Munson, just enjoy the moment!

Steve shifts, chin digging into Eddie’s solar plexus as his sleepy eyes find Eddie’s. “The weekend, at least. Maybe a few extra days.”

“Yeah?”

“I could be persuaded,” he says, reaching up to wrap a lock Eddie’s hair around his finger. “I mean, I am unemployed until January, as you so kindly pointed out.”

A part of Eddie wants to laugh, maybe even apologize for the uninspired jab from hours ago, but there’s something more important he has to do. Even if it kills him. He tries to keep his smile intact when he opens his mouth next, whispering the words as close to Steve’s ear as he can so he can’t deny hearing them.

“I’m not asking you to stay. You have to make that choice on your own, Steve. Start living your life for you.”

Steve’s smile falters, lips twitching, threatening to turn into a pout, but they don’t. Instead, he nods, and Eddie feels the weight of his confession and the fear-strikes anticipation of Steve’s reaction evaporate from his own body.

Steve nods, turning to press a chaste kiss to the same demon that’s been etched there since before Steve became his all those years ago. “I know.”

Eddie hums noncommittally and drags his fingers through Steve’s damp hair, nails lightly stretching at his scalp in the way he knows Steve loves. “So then, what do you want?”

There’s a moment of silence and Eddie watches the seven stages of grief wash over Steve’s face before he opens his mouth again. “I can promise you the weekend to start.”

It’s not the answer Eddie wanted, but it’s the one he was bracing for. He knows better than to expect Steve to make a life-changing decision in their post-coital haze. Wouldn’t want him to even if he gave him the answer he wanted. All he really needs is the truth.

“Boyfriends for the weekend?” Eddie says. The word feels foreign on his tongue and yet just right. “Does that mean I get a front-row seat to watch you ruin your dad’s life when you tell him about the fire academy?”

Steve snorts, hot air tickling Eddie’s love-bite-ridden neck. “I mean, if you want. Might make things worse, though.”

Eddie hums in agreement. The last thing he wants is to make Steve’s day even harder than it’s going to be, no matter how much he’d love to get some face-to-face time with good ol’ Dick Harrington.

“How about this,” Eddie says, turning so they’re nose to nose in bed now. “I’ll be your getaway driver. Drive you over, and when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be waiting around the bend like old times sake. And then…” He trails off, nose bumping against Steve as he peppers his freckled face with kisses and nips. “I’ll bring you back here and we can make good use of this whole boyfriends for the weekend thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, breathy and more of a sigh than anything else but the sentiment is there. “That sounds perfect.”

Eddie hums and pulls Steve’s lips between his in a long, lingering kiss before separating. “The only condition is I get to be the one who leaves this time when you have to come back.”

“Not forever, though, right?”

“Well, that’s up to you, babe.”

Steve nods, swooping in to give Eddie his own version of a passionate kiss. “Okay, but then we’re even.”

“Yeah, we’ll be even.”

Eddie watches the smile slowly spread across Steve’s face before he hides in the crook of his neck. Eddie presses his own grin into the mop of sweaty hair on Steve’s head as they lay there, completely intertwined from their head to their toes.

“Boyfriends for the weekend,” Steve mumbles through a yawn before finally letting his eyes flutter shut.

“And then for life,” Eddie whispers, lips pressing into Steve’s forehead before his own eyes give in to the exhaustion coursing through his body.

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[buttercup-barf]

Under the cut are mostly self-insert doodles of decreasing quality. Again, not much directly tied to Team Fortress 2. Might as well toss these out while I have no access to my puter. Much yapping under the cut and in the tags incoming.

Another self-insert, this time less of a "here's me as a tenth class" and more of a "here's my game experiences translated into the class I would take the place of". The Cleaner. Although I guess they could still be wearing either suit. It doesn't matter that much.

That one Convict's Case taunt with Backup would be extremely funny, because the man would be on the verge of a breakdown (he does not want to go to jail so bad you have no idea). The second image- I owe no explanation. You know what I am. You see the pattern with my favourites.

The duality of the man. Resting face versus "just heard you express interest in religion/Russian folklore" face. He's not that hard to make friends with, when you pull him away from all the explosions.

Some doodles of trying to figure his face out. Unfortunately, the more I stare at him, the more I worry that he looks like A Certain Guy With The Last Name "Kazarin", and the fear of never being original in my life caught up to me.

Don't look at me, don't perceive me, I refuse to explain any of my actions to you.

[jensonsbuttons]

there's a choose violence ask game going around. should i make one for f1

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Just had the idea of doing a Roxy askblog that's based on it being a secret blog she's not allowed to have and every so often if someone asks her something she just says stuff like "To the Fazspy reading this, I'm not the real Roxy." to try and throw the staff off her trail lmao

Will probably never make a blog like that, but it could be kinda funny. Maybe I bring the idea of an 'ask Roxy anything' game back where I draw the answers for it instead so it's not a whole ass blog dedicated to Roxy being a sneaky lil shit on the internet

[mementoasts]

mods are asleep, time to post my almost decent attempt at drawing the vague image of elias tma that exists in my head