#not just for that i mean it was just a good summer anyway

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin�� me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

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[nob0dyz-fwl]

Coming from a psychological perspective, and from someone who studies psychology, mike and els relationship is WEIRD AS FUCK.. and I don’t think Mlvns understand that.

This little girl, who has no clue who she is what what’s happening most of the time. She was trapped in a lab for about 12 years, Finds this boy in the woods. This boy is kind, courteous and he takes her in.

Mike is the only person she has and can rely on. She really has no other choice but him because she has no idea where else to go. Not even a week later, he kisses her. Even though, she has no idea what that means and what those feelings are.

The only thing she has to process those feelings are shitty, old, outdated romcoms that are not a good representation of what romantic love means and what it actually is. She’s then, technically held captive by this man, who gave away her position and put the boys and her in danger. Now, she has no one else but to rely on but him.

She then leaves said place, because she’s tired of being stuck in one area. She then finds mike at the school with a girl, who is skating around him and asking to join his party. She then trips her in spite and runs off back home. She gets in an argument, runs off again to find her mom, and then finds her sister.

After that, she goes back to save the party from certain death and comes in contact with mike. Mike then takes her to the snow ball, like he said he would and kisses her again. EVEN THO SHE STILL DOESNT KNOW WHAT THIS REALLY MEANS.

Then the bullshit of season 3 happens and that whole this is weird as fuck. Mike makes out with her all summer, ditches his friends makes them feel like shit. Especially his best friend, who lost his childhood due to an Eldridge god. He lies to her, makes her feel like shit. They make up after one day of a Not Apology. He then actually apologizes. She almost dies then leaves Hawkins with her new step brother who is mikes best friend.

In season 4 she lies about being bullied and is trying to be cool and seem like she has everything in order. Mike finds out she’s lying because of his best-friend. He gets mad, mainly at his best-friend because he wasn’t talking to him (rightfully so).

Then the next day he tries to rekindle their relationship, and fails due to his words and her just being tired of him not saying I love you in actions and words. She then disappears with the government to get her powers back she lost. They then reunite and drive to this pizza place. He tells her he loves her, when it doesn’t matter anymore.

She fights said Eldridge god and loses. Which splits Hawkins into fourths. Now, they drive back to Hawkins and she’s not talking to him because she’s grieving and because of that weird ass, shitty love confession.

ANYWAY.. that was a whole thing.

[oldrecrds]

He doesn’t like the cold anymore.

Not after moving to Hawaii, where the sun never fails to warm the air and light up the vast blue skies. Not since traveling all the way to the other side of the world, in places with air so humid it’s heavy and summers that seemed endless.

In his head, the cold feels like shoveling snow with a relative he hasn’t spoken to in years. Like holiday parties with the entirety of his big and chaotic family. Like distant memories he can’t go back to.

In his head, it feels like being someone he hasn’t been in a long time.

So no, he doesn’t like the cold anymore. Especially after the time of his life he’d rather forget. His mind has funny ways of reminding him, though. 

On nights like these, it’s by giving him dreams so vivid he thinks he’s back in that cell in the middle of winter, curling in on himself, hoping for warmth that won’t come. Because in a place like that, there is only frigid cold—the kind that permeates your bones and settles deep. The kind that reaches your soul and takes years to thaw out, if it even does. 

He wakes up shivering, heart pounding and the hair on his arms standing up. His breaths heave, and he wraps his arms around himself out of instinct. In the space between dreams and waking, it’s easy to forget that he’s not in a cold, dark cell anymore.

The sheets rustle, warmth envelops him, and slowly, his senses start to catch up to his surroundings.

The first thing he realizes is that the warmth that surrounds him is you—your arms wrapped tight around him. Next to register is a voice, soft and gentle in his ear.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. ‘M here, you’re safe.”

And he breathes easier, because he believes that voice. That voice is the one that consoles him and teases him and laughs with him. That voice is his anchor and his lighthouse. That’s the voice he’d listen for in the loudest rooms, the one he’d follow the sound of anywhere—yours.

His eyes adjust to the darkness in the room. A sliver of light from a small gap in the curtains paints the room a deep blue—you did say something about a full moon earlier—and from where he’s laying, he can see the outline of the lego set the two of you are working on carefully placed on the table in the corner of the room.

“S’okay, honey. You’re with me…” you keep coaxing, voice still roughened with sleep.

He woke you up, again. It doesn’t happen often anymore, but the guilt is just as sharp every single time, and that’s what fully brings him out of his stupor.

He turns around to face you, and it’s good that he can only see the outline of your body, because it means you can’t see him all that well either. You won’t see the guilt and shame coloring his expression. You won’t feel the need to comfort him when he was the one who woke you up from a peaceful slumber.

He should’ve known you didn’t need to see his face to know what he needs, though, because you pull him close anyway, tucking his head into the crook of your neck where it fits perfectly. Your hand rubs his back up and down, lingering over where you know it hurts sometimes, and no, he’s not in a jail cell. Nor is he sharing a cold, cramped room with a bunch of other men.

“Bad dream?” you ask, though the both of you already know the answer. He feels like he’s talked about everything ad nauseam, but you still listen tirelessly everytime.

He doesn’t feel like dwelling on it anymore. He breathes in your scent and sinks further into you, pressing the cold tip of his nose into the underside of your jaw, earning a sleepy giggle out of you. He smiles against your skin. This is all that matters to him now.

“Luigi?” Concern still laces your voice, attentive and understanding and loving even half asleep, and he thinks he must’ve done something right.

“I’m good, princess. Just a bit cold,” he whispers. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Sorry I fell asleep first.” You raise the blanket over both your shoulders, hugging him tighter to your body. 

And the apology is nonsensical. The reason behind your logic more so. You can’t keep the nightmares away by letting him fall asleep first, but you try anyway, and there’s something about the naivety of that idea—the purity of it—that he’d die to keep.

There are a lot of moments in his life where he's thought, what led me here? But this, he knows, is not something he should question. So for the first time in his life, he’s content with not knowing. Whatever led him to you, it’s worth it.

He must’ve done something right, indeed.

[jsooly]

idk why but i feel like reader was SO happy when tuk was born simply because someone was shorter than her

get my girl on stilts

ur so right anon 🙂‍↕️ this is so silly LMAO wait—

human!reader x sibling!sullys

the seven years before tuk came along, you swore you developed chronic neck pain from looking up at everyone all the time. jake was two inches shy of 9ft, neytiri following close behind, and even lo'ak, the youngest, was comfortably over 7ft.

it got to a point where you just didn't bother to look them in the eye anymore. not when they stood, anyway. sometime along the line, the kids started to crouch when they were around you. it started subtly. bending at the waist to match your eight. and you didn't think anything when they squatted around you—they did that all the time.

it was their rapid growth stage. they shot up from below you to being just over you, and suddenly they were acting as if they were as gigantic as your parents.

it clicked in your brain when you were out and about, taking a stroll through the forest and supervising your troublesome brothers and sister. you paused, propping your foot atop a rock to adjust the wraps around your feet.

they circled around you, bending at the knees in a squat while chatting among themselves. you paused, giving them suspicious looks before you began walking once more.

you stopped near a tree, shielding your eyes from the sun to get a better view of the foliage above. you remembered that you were low on fruits back home and—

you turned when you felt breathing over your shoulder. lo'ak was right behind you, neteyam and kiri just behind. they were low to the ground, a pattern you were just becoming aware of.

"...what are you doing." you said flatly.

"do you need a lift?" lo'ak offered his arms, nodding up to the tree as if it were a perfectly reasonable offer.

you scrunched your face, offense souring your expression like a lemon. "you're kidding me."

"i mean, it's a pretty tall tree." he mumbled, shrugging unconvincingly.

you let out a slow breath, flicking your gaze past him to neteyam and kiri. "and what about you?"

"we're standing here with you?" neteyam answered with a quizzical tone, thinking the answer was obvious.

"you're not standing. you duck down every time i stop walking. this better not be a prank."

"how else will you hear what we say from way up here?" lo'ak retorted, rising to his full height again.

you gave him an incredulous look, taking a pause in the conversation that set off danger bells in your siblings' heads.

"...because you have so much height on me." you said sarcastically.

the intent of your words flew over lo'aks head, missing the sarcasm completely. he smiled proudly, puffing out his chest. "yeah. yeah, i do."

"lo'ak, you're barely a foot taller than i am. i fear you are the last person that should be talking."

his ears shot up at the jab, pointing an accusatory finger in your face. "hey! i grew over the summer—"

"wanna go shoulder to shoulder?" you shot back.

his mouth hung open, his brain processing his response. he pulled back his finger. "no." he said slowly.

"don't stoop anymore," you instructed the obvious to them. when they all squatted around you, they looked like kids cornering a pet. "my ears work just fine." you glared at lo'ak.

"good, cuz that was getting tiring." kiri sighed when she finally pushed herself upright, her legs burning from the unintentional workout. neteyam stood up as well, stretching his arms over his head.

"unbelievable." you grumbled, rolling your eyes as you continued your trek through the forest.

—

all of this to say that you were really happy when tuk was born. she had at least a decade before she surpassed you and you intended to treasure every second of it.

you were more than happy to rub it in the other kids' faces when they suddenly complained that you spent an increasing amount of time with the newest addition to the family.

"it's not gonna last long." lo'ak grumbled beside you. you pushed him away playfully. wait until he finds out about the stilts humans regularly use.

[wintywriter]

Well, I need to add that the showrunners, trying to make the greens look incompetent about their dragons, did show!Rhaenyra a great disservice.

Lemme explain to u. On the one hand, we have the book!universe where:

- Aegon shared an absolutely unique bond with Sunfire which wasn’t a hatchling (!);

- Helaena’s biggest joy was to ride Dreamfire - one of the oldest and largest dragons (Dreamfire literally went insane after Helaena's death);

- Vhagar and Aemond are a pretty badass duo (Vhagar even roars immediately when Aemond loses his fucking eye after…an hour? less?);

- apart from that, Daeron’s Tessaryon also wasn’t a hatchling! He claimed the Blue Queen at a very young age (he was near 6 y.o. if I’m not mistaken), even before he was sent to Oldtown (I mean it’s hard to find a dragon in Oldtown lol).

Basically, all of them were Rhaenyra’s enemies. All of them were competent riders. All of them were the threats. Period.

Rhaenyra needed other dragons because… Her dragons, except Caraxes, weren’t experienced as well as their riders. Rhaenyra didn’t ride her own dragon for a long time (also she suffered because of her terrible miscarriage and probably depression); Meleys, as far as we know, wasn’t in a battle too. Vermax and Moondancer were just sweet summer babies. Finally, after Luke’s and Rhaenys’s deaths her allies had no choice but to try to find other solutions. Jace did that. Addam got Seasmoke (but also, u know, Joffrey wasn’t names as an Corlys’s heir; a suspicious thing in a long-term perspective taking into account how much Addam and Alyn differed from Jace and Joff); Nettles got Sheepstealler but she was never connected much to anyone else but Daemon (a suspicious thing to Mysaria and Rhaenyra, to be honest); Hugh and Ulf, who weren’t the good guys from the very beginning, got Vermithor and Silverwing (again, a suspicious thing). Rhaenyra basically couldn’t trust all of them. At the same time, she couldn’t help but desperately need them. That was one of the reasons where and why her paranoia started increasing, in my opinion.

Anyway. On the other hand, let’s come back to the show. Aegon has no clue about his own dragon and rides him into the battle being drunk; Helaena doesn’t ride her dragon at all (why did she claim Dreamfire at all I mean?); Aemond can’t control Vhagar normally; Daeron has his first ride on Tessaryon during (!) the dance.

At the same time Rhaenyra rides Syrax perfectly even after a horrific miscarriage (she also jumps, runs, flies for ten fucking days without any support, food and water, without being tired or trapped and so on but who cares); Daemon canonically shares a pretty strong bond with Caraxes and that’s ok; Meleys and Rhaenys are experienced in the battle (when? why? how? we could only speculate about Tryarchy) but does absolutely dump decisions during her battle against Aemond (and a bit Aegon lol). Also Moondancer and Vermax have a pretty decent size… However, Rhaenyra by herself decides to get the dragon seeds. Ok, I got you. Rhaenys is dead and Daemon is… Well, he is flirting with Alys. Ok. Maybe you should talk to him immediately…? Like… Well. Ok. Sorry. Coming back to the topic, Addam claims Seasmoke and wants to serve Rhaenyra; Hugh looks like not a bad guy and Ulf is just a common man and not a bad one too. Everyone is loyal to her. No one has extra motives (especially Mysaria).

How could the showrunners make her to FAIL all of that against… Daeron with a pony-dragon and a desperate Aemond 😀 this is absolutely amusing and has no sense. Obviously, also taking into account all the other changes which were done in her favour. I mean it’s not even stupid. It’s ridiculous.

I never read the books, I just know some vague info about it and mostly just watched the show.

Sometimes I wonder how in the seven kingdoms did Rhaenyra manage to do so bad in the war and why did she even bother with the dragon seeds. Like- yeah sure at the end she won cuz it's her children and then descendants on the Iron Throne, but also- how was it such a disastrous conflict?

Team Green has 4 dragons: Tessarion and Sunfyre (relatively young and small dragons), Vaghar which fair enough is a giant battle hardened dragon (but also old and slow) and Dreamfyre who doesn't even ever fight. So technically they only have 3 fighting dragons.

Team black has: Arrax, Moondancer and Vermax, small but still it's 3 dragons that cannot be that younger than Tessarion. I am not counting Joffrey's dragon cuz it's too small so not apt to fight. They also have Syrax, spoiled but still a decently big dragon I would guess probably around or a bit smaller than Sunfyre. And they have both Meleys and Caraxes, both battle hardened very big dragons with experienced riders despite not being as big as Vaghar. That's a total of 6 dragons against 3 of the greens. When Seasmoke, another battle hardened dragon joined their team, what was even the point of looking for other Dragon Seeds?

The greens had only Tessarion and Vaghar while the Blacks still had Vermax, Moondancer, Caraxes, Syrax and Seasmoke.

Taking in other dragon Seeds is such a risky move as their loyalty cannot be assured. I am also not counting Sheepstealer cuz they couldn't have known Rhena would claim it. But like- how can you loose with these odds? I know Rhaenyra didn't want more of his loved ones to die but girl, is literally war, you already have the advantage and you think the best idea is to grab a bunch of random bastards and give them giant dragons and just "hope they stay loyal to you cuz you were oh so nice to them"?

I love that Rhaenyra lost, even though she initially had an absolute advantage - more dragons, more allies. Here we can again speculate about what kind of queen she would be if she couldn't even win the war being in a much better position than her opponent. She lost her allies and dragons because of her stupid and short-sighted decisions, and eventually Aegon (who was literally disabled at the time) defeated her and fed her to Sunfyre. Poetic, if you ask me.

[eggmeralda]

that period of time between south park post covid being announced in 2021 to summer 2022 when everyone got obsessed with truffula flu was moderately heavenly

[mephoj]

late night chat

[waterghostype]

stoking the flames that burn higher and higher, royalty with a crown of fire

[sainz100]

2024 Hungarian GP | x (edited)

[camellcat]

cat!spuffy doodles <3

[total-drama-brainrot]

total drama horror au where after the "contestants" were chosen, chris kidnapped them and dumped them on an island to compete in death games against each other whilst broadcasting it to the masses livestream style. they're forced to comply with their "host" or else their food/living accommodations are stripped away and they're left to fend for themselves in the forest, but participating in the challenges is arguably more dangerous.

each elimination ceremony is taken to it's literal extreme, as the voted out player is just straight up executed on the spot.

the audience think it's some sort of ARG type deal at first, with the campers being actors, but eventually- probably by the first on-screen death- people catch on to it being Very Real.

(chris funds this little 'project' himself mr beast style using his vast amount of tv star wealth, so there's no network/producers that he has to answer to.)

[kirisclangen]

Zelda

She/her, 65 moons, cis molly

[which-qsmp-egg-would]

HEY. YOU.

I AM GRIPPING YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE BY THE SHOULDERS. CRINGE IS DEAD. FANWORKS REIGN SUPREME. I LITERALLY JUST FINISHED ANOTHER DRAWING OF MY EGG OC'S WHILE PROCRASTINATING ON THEIR LORE.

Also don't worry, the summer camp event won't be the only event I do, you can join the playdates at any time (and even initiate your own events! I'll be so excited if you do!!!)

aaaand I also would be so super excited to see your eggsona because I'm always excited to see eggsonas :D That's kind of my thing over here lol.

(I hope you don't mind me calling you out, @raineedayss )

[rickybaby]

with all the recent news surrounding checo's performance clause with rbr, it got me wondering about Daniel's deal with McLaren. Did he also receive a similar contract clause from that team? like Ik that he was dropped without his prior knowledge but was he given options beforehand??

Daniel in fact had no such performance clause in his McLaren contract. He had an option to extend for 2023 that only he could trigger, which meant McLaren couldn't unilaterally decide to not extend him for 2023.

This was why Zak Brown went on his media tour criticising him and playing musical chair with his seat until he signed Piastri behind Daniel's back. They wanted Daniel to trigger that exit clause on his own so they wouldn't have to pay him out. In the end, Daniel left $18mil richer

[cinematicnomad]

i've been doing a deep cleaning of my apt today while watching mad men s4 so this has been a pretty successful day tbh.

[perilegs]

i'm in part charge of recruiting people for my department at work, and for our hiring offer we were about to write "minimum of [x years] of experience required," but i remembered how people with audacity will apply regardless of what it says, but that wording will push away potential employees, especially women, who are considerate and value the time of both others and themselves, and think they can't apply if they have, let's say a few months less experience than what we required, so i asked it to be switched to "around [x years] of experience required." and it's such a small change but it makes a big difference. and man idk what my point is but often it's good when you listen to people and their problems, so you might come up with low/no effort ways of helping even if it's just a little bit, instead of going "well that shouldnt be a problem, you should just act/do/etc. different"