#s4 garage doors

[hitlikehammers]

POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1928 house is known as the Doll's House. The Swiss Chalet style home was designed by William Van Egmond as a wedding present for his daughter, and became a designated heritage property in 1983. Located in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada, it has 2bds, 1ba, $299,900.

It is soooo cute! You enter and there is a large closet to the right.

The owners have painted it pure white, which masks the architectural features, but you can paint them contrasting colors to match your decor. Look at how interesting the fireplace is- I don't know if it was ever real- there's a wire in the wall, probably for electric logs.

The wood around the interesting triangular window is obliterated by the white paint.

Details of the fireplace.

I wonder what the original color of the wood was. Forget about staining it, now that the paint is on.

Look at that- a little built-in bench. Do you think that the details would look better in pastel or a dark brown or black? There's an old phone on the wall, so the bench was for sitting and talking on the phone.

Isn't the little dining area cute? Two built-in cabinets.

The kitchen is directly off the dining room, and look at the vintage door chimes.

In the vintage kitchen they painted the frame around the fridge black. I don't think I like black. Notice the small triangular window.

There's a little cupboard in the corner and maybe even a place for a small bistro table or island on wheels.

Oh, look at that, I didn't realize that the closet door is glass.

What a large primary bedroom. Very nice. More beautiful features.

Cute vintage bath. The tub looks original. Why do they like that weird beige-y color?

Little pedestal sink with an original medicine cabinet over it.

The 2nd bedroom has a surprisingly big closet.

Look at the skinny window on the stairs.

There's a closet and some shelving down in the basement.

Wow, look at the antique washing machine. It has a wringer. There's a nice workbench along the wall, too.

Outside, there's a cute fence and gate, plus a side door and the garage.

Nice evergreen tree in the yard.

Cute yard with another nice tree. 3,876 sq ft lot.

Gate for the 2 car garage. What happened to the road? Are they paving it, b/c they took away the driveway apron.

So adorable.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2812-McCallum-Ave-Regina-SK-S4S-0P9/352227873_zpid/

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl-- Part 2

A Homelander x F! Reader fanfic

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this and hope the lenght is enough of an apology, yeah this is gonna be liek 4 parts i got too engrossed btw. hope yall like it here's the previous chapter:

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

word count: 3.4K

Part 2– Calf

As he’d mentioned before the house was an escape proof cage– every window had its hinges super glued or welded shut, glass panels thick enough to prevent shattering but thin enough to allow sound in. That night as he’d left you for the first time you kept your composure, perturbed more by the earlier events that nothing had time to sink in, you venture across the 3 bedroom home, each room old taken straight out from a vintage furniture catalog, the master bedroom smelled just like your grandmother’s, the bathroom walls covered in tacky pink tiles that you told yourself will never get used to.

By the time you explored the whole building you understood the following: The size felt deceiving, without a way to see the outside this building could’ve been 35 floors high and you wouldn’t know, the east-wing of the building at the opposite direction where you’d emerged was cut off from you by a thick metal door, an eye-scan request made its unpickable lock, looking at how it cut on the hardwood floors you’d guess this is where in the kitchen and perhaps the garage and entry hall could be found, this overall felt like an architectural nightmare, the only other oddity of this was the piles and piles of bottled water– Vought branded water… you much rather drink Dasani than this crap… It was by far the worst one in the supermarket.

There were indeed no phones or even ethernet ports on the wall, the TV was bolted in its place and so was the VHS player (and all the furniture too), there were at least 350 titles on the walls (something you bothered to count on day 5), an extremely old vinyl player your only other company... whoever had supposedly lived here was a big fan of Cab Calloway, ABBA and Bruce Springsteen, here you and Bruce could become intimate friends it seems after all you had all his vinyls, alongside an expansive jazz assortment, nothing in this selection went past 1989.

You also learned a very useful fact on day 3 you stared at one of the 18 cameras that you’d found.

“I really want some Mcnuggets! Like just a 12-pack and a large Sprite! Maybe an Oreo Mcflurry too!” You yelled into the camera waving your arms as if the circular lense would reply somehow.

Barely few minutes later the air was filled with the roaring sounds of a bike burning tires seemed the forbidden end faced some road which made you giddy, about 50 minutes later a small door at the door itself opened smoothly where the first strange hand you’ve seen in the last 3 days popped-out leaving a bag with a familiar logo… it wasn’t maccas tho, it was Vought-a-burger which was okay but that wasn’t the point, you picked your meal and your oversize ice-cream and drink and begun connecting lines– Your prison was in Pennsylvania, based on the area code on the phone number on that old pizza box, located close enough from both a pizza chain and on a 15 to 20 minutes drive from a Vought-a-Burger, the library held no maps for you to try to find your location but give or take about an hour or two by foot from any civilization… Yet as you drank the mostly melted caramel churro sundae you smiled thinking of how to steal a bike.

That Night you picked two tapes from the wall not caring one bit about what you were going to see, you stared at the camera.

“Hey can one of you check like an underrated 80s movie list from IMDb ‘cuz I seen a few of these already… at least bring me something new!” 

As always no response was ever given, you dragged your feet towards that ornate bedroom of yours, pink walls, flowery quits, a matching chaise lounge, a hardwood coffee table bolted to the ground and your private TV and VHS player, it took you an hour to remember how to use these thing that second day here. You put on a movie, curling in your bed in the dark, smelling the sweet flowery smell of fabric softener, this didn’t smell like home, pillows too soft, mattress too soft everything here was made to bring you comfort but it was making you feel like a squatter.

The cold light of the screen enveloped every surface and you slowly faded away as ‘Lady in White’ began to wrap up, eyes glued to the screen so firmly you screamed when the faint red light peeked from the corner, clutching the quilt across your body as the red faded away and all you saw was a vaguely illuminated shape.

Blurry colors with no clean shapes, standing facelessly enough blue to let you see it was humanoid, Homelander creeped closer, his body blocking the light and like a shadow he devours everything, he turned around to pause the player, draping his gloves on the dumb box as he turned around once more, your heart caught in your throat, each breath quick and sharp as he took another step closer, hushing softly and he’s there swallowing you whole he kneeled into the bed the mattress squeaked and chimed sinking under his weight pulling you in, only the faint outline of gold eagles and soft blonde locks told you with absolute certainty that he was here… that 3 days ago you indeed met The Homelander, far from the pretty blue-eyed hunk from the movies more ghoul.

You swallowed as his head rested on the pillow next to your hips, his nose burying in the cushioned pillowcase.

“I was busy with work” He mumbles softly, staring at you with the same playfulness of a guilty pet owner who’d ran out of their cat's churu treats– "I promise to visit, I got you something… left it downstairs for you.” 

He stared at your white knuckled hands and without uttering a word you understood his demands, fingers moved by psychic force alone, you welcomed him into your lap as you came undone, burying your digits into his hair, soft like cotton, so smooth you dreamt of cat’s bellies as you scratched him, he took the remote from under you lifting you with so much ease your brain struggled to compute it at first, the movie played and all he wanted was petting.

“Security told me you’ve been good… nothing crazy… am glad, "he said with a tired tone.

“What good would that do me…?” You replied with your eyes focused on the screen.

If you wanted to survive I had to get on his good side, no? you though

“I like it when you people understand your place” He chuckles softly.

‘You people’? You could easily discern the meaning behind his words by tone alone, your finger stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring up immediately.

“I think this would be more productive if you told me exactly what’s going on… I won’t try to run or scream… am just confused and scared…” you spoke bluntly as his gaze met yours in the dark.

“This is my private speakeasy and you’re the bartender… tap too… is hard being on top… and I want some relief… and a sanctum–

“To express your socially unacceptable inclinations/interests? Fair enough I can imagine the press would eat you alive if they found out you liked breastmilk.”

“You’re cute and smart too.” He pushed himself into your stomach, your body sinking to the shape he wanted, holding you tight– I’ll be a good owner and let you asks me absolutely anything you want”

“Why me?”

“Dunno.” His lips tightened into a flat line– the doctors picked you, I asked for a good provider… but all the women downstairs and you did have one thing in common” He sounded awkward as he spoke listening to your increasing heartbeat– you kept producing… I asked to have easy access to my treat but somebody downstairs came out with all of this” his hand lazily gestures around– bit extra I know.”

How simple, he didn’t even care about this to begin with, glaring at him gave you no answers or comfort.

“My family…?”

“They think you killed yourself, I've been told… your ex-hubby been on twitter acting holier than the virgin mary, absolutely devastated for likes” You bit your lips, face scrunching up ready to shout and cry– everybody suspects he murdered you even the cops”

“I'm going to kill him!!” Your tears flowed regardless – god fucking dammit!”

Your whole body rejected the news, twisting your stomach and filling you with needles

“How would you do it?”

“Bash his head in with a hammer…?? I don’t know but fuck him! I wasted 5 years of my life with that bastard!” You cried.

Homelander buried his face into your stomach, hiding the smile on his face. as you cursed outloud for a little bit, he paid no attention to your words.

“Sorry…” You cleaned your tears trying to stop this embarrassing display, the mere thought of him acting like he cared made you sick when he wouldn’t even come to his own son’s funeral– are you gonna hurt me?” you cleaned your nose against the pillow.

He moved so quickly before you knew it he’s face to face and even in this dark room only lit by rolling credits he appeared serene as a painting… It makes your blood run cold.

“Why would I hurt my comforter?”

That night he only slept for a couple hours, never moving from your stomach, holding you regardless, he snored softly, mumbling half-spoken words, lips twitching and brows furrowing, you petted him gently watching his hardened frown melt.

Some days he’d come once, others he’d come five times and then there were the days were you didn’t see him at all, leaving you awkwardly aware about how odd these exchanges felt… for it never felt truly sexual, your fears of molestation and ‘real’ assault dissuaded as you accepted that all this man was doing was come here to whine and bitch about work and suck on your titty– like right now, Homelander has been shouting, talkign so much shit about his coworkers you started to wonder if it was made up for nobody could certainly be that allegedly incompetent, about how stressful it was to do 20 plus media interviews all day, about hoq\w his latest film “Justice Serve” was a fucking nightmare already despite being only half-way thru pre-production.

“Do you even know what it's like to deal with idiots who think they’re better than you because they have an award!?” He put your nipple back in his mouth with a frown– who does Villeneuve think he is” He mumbled into your skin.

Yet he didn’t only bring petty grievances and thirsty lips– he showered you with gifts, perfumes you couldn’t pronounce filled with soft fragrances: sweet but not sugary, warm tones without too much spice. Brought you beauty products to pamper you… to watch you play with from the many cameras in the house, and dressed you like a doll in clothes you honestly wouldn't have bought in the first place, too flowery and tradwifey.

You did so with a fake smile, you’d be pretty for him if you must, keep your tongue in-check and swallow the ever increasing knot in your throat for he at least wasn’t loud towards you, he didn’t yell, he didn’t make scenes… you were just living like his newest pet.

His miniature cow standing in the living room instead of the evergreen pastures outside, VHS tapes and steel food trays made your fence.

You keep busy cleaning this house making stories of who had lived there, Bruce the only one who spoke to you.

Analysing the house inch by inch, there had to have been a spot they’ve missed you kept thinking, you figured that somehow they monitored your sleep cycle, only entering to remove dirty clothes and trash in the death of night, they knew if you were obviously awake, on day 14 you stayed up till around 5 am and not a peep was heard accross the house but as you woke past noon all your trash had been cleaned up, on day 16 you stayed awake all day felt sick passed out and same thing, you would find a way out, you would force them to take you out, all the furniture was glued in its post but if you had to cause a fire you fucking would… as you stared at your clean bedsheets you figure you could force them to come in and drag you outside but as you postulated the possibility of a faux-suicide attempt Homelander’s face flashed accross closed eyes– dare dissapointing him and lose all the goodwill you’d been building, trust, even presents more extravagant than anything your ex ever did.

Had he not kidnapped you, hold you against your will in an underground bunker, used you as a milk fountain and terrified the fuck out of you with his invisible steps in the middle of the night you would had found him charming… endearing even… at least he was still handsome… frightening but handsome.

Day 18-19-20 were the worse so far, days went by and your isolation only grew he had not come by, your meals delivered so quietly you missed them and found them cold, birds either too loud or gone but Homelander never came, every hour the anxiety only grew as you found your throat aching to speak with somebody other than a non-present 80s musician.

You made a stack of the movies you’ve seen yelling to the camera demanding more to watch, abandoning the cause to focus on the obscene collection of Danielle Steel books in the library… at least 30 books, at least it was a distraction as you woke up for the third day in a row without hearing from Homelander. 

You talked to yourself, prettier views didn’t make up for human interaction, you had isolated yourselves before… you didn’t eat, shower, answer calls, simply left yourself to rot in your bed, sinking deeper and deeper into your mattress, the calm heartbeat of the machine keeping you alive until the phone battery died, now here you were curling in the couch feeling that endless void inside you screaming back at you, nothing to distract you from it any longer.

How ironic that those days locked in the basement had been the firsts since the funeral that you’d hadn’t thought about it.

Now every sleep came with dreams of distant cries, empty halls that cooed back, and a sense of urgency as time slipped from underneath you, nothing here smelled like him, yet in your sleep you held your pillow as you once held him, swearing it smelled like him, in the silence the singing birds sound like babies, but there’s nothing but creaking floorboards, old pipes and foreign ghosts in this place.

In this endless silence your mind told you this was limbo, jazz solos disguised the pandemonium of a silent afterlife, but as your heart anguished once again you buried yourself in paltry distractions, reading out loud as to keep your vocal chords warm and delude yourself that there was some company in here, mostly to hide the nonexistent crying.

It took you by surprise when half way thru ‘The Ghost’ you heard the buzzing of the steel door, your ears perked up stretching your neck before falling into the floor, shaky knees picked you up once more with a brave kick, quick steeping into the living room– Homelander stood staring at the messy pile talking to the camera to have this sorted and for the first time since you’d been here you sawn another human, who answered his call almost immediately, a man in kevlar rushed in his gun bouncing on his back alongside a young man dragging an ikea bag.

“Homelander!” Your voice was hoarse but he still turned to smile at you.

“We got you some new movies Ms. L/N” The young man spoke dropping the bag with a heavy thud.

“Watch it!” Homelander growled and you saw a slight stain dribble down his pants– just go wait in the library kitten while these ones sort this out for you.” 

Your feet moved anyways, too excited by the presence of new faces, had he not cleared his throat you would’ve said anything just to make sure this wasn’t a dream, you looked away and that big steel door was wide open, an armed guard by the exit tho… it was an office, painted white with cool fluorescent lights. 

Run, the voices scream.

Run.

For fucks sake run!!\

but...

You stay still.

It’s a test. Run and die, run and he’d snap your spine in thirds before you understand what happened your brain would be separated from your cranium no doubt, you swallow and take a step back, slow heavy agonizing steps lead you to the library.

Homelander’s gaze softens as he watches you sit by the unlit fireplace, he follows you soon after leaving the staff to work behind, you lift your head with a stiff neck, your tongue swollen inside your mouth, he smiles gently dropping to your level, carrying a small box.

The pretty bow doesn’t catch your attention in the least.

Not that dashing smile and ever so blue eyes either.

He tickles your nose without touching.

Chamomile and oat, a pale scent, subtle and clean…

As he scoot closer to you urging you to take the meaningless box held by nude hands, he pets your chin, leaving you to catch nutty tones… his hands smell of almond oil and cream.

He’s talking as he guides your hand into opening the present but you aren’t hearing a single word spoken… all you care about is his aroma…it invides you carving an aching hollow chest, making you dizzy and the world is squeezing your whole body with a thousands of pounds of violent force but you’re still held in one piece, wrapping your neck with the necklace he’d got you, touching every exposed inch leaving traces of sweet almond on you, resting his chin on your stiff shoulder so close whispering sweet nothings to you… hair smells so creamy… milky coconut, it makes you ill– You could name every brand he wore if asked.

“You like it?” He asks into your neck.

‘Like’ what? You guessed he meant the necklace.

“Where have you been?” You asked, wanting to think of anything but that bitter scent.

He pushes you down into the carpet, your hair drapes everywhere so he moves it to give himself no chance to pull it, you can’t even argue but your surprise and discomfort still paints your face, before you can say anything he drops his head on your stomach, nuzzling your dress and pulling your hand towards his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it” his muffle words sound angry, he whined into your stomach a quiet order demanding affection.

Obeying orders before he could whined even more for now you wanted silence again.

Staying like this for as long as he needed, leaving you to speculate what brought him such distress that caused him to abandon you as a result, a part of you stared in awe as you realized you how long this man could stay still without making a sound for.

How long did you lay there in a shared repose that your eyes shut? you wondered as the orange glow of afternoon sun warmed your cheeks, his hand cleaned a falling tear off your face as you woke up with a headache.

“Had a nightmare?”

Your hand unconsciously pulled him close to you, burying his face under your chin he’d awkwardly smiled as he adjusted to your demands, talking to you but it was white noise, your kept him still bridging an arm across his neck locking him in position, your other hand buried in blond, closing your eyes as you got high on shampoo.

In your mind much like your dream you hold him so close, he was plump and giddy, his hair more than a thin tuff, you laughed with him, as you dried his back, you swore to never love the scent of coconut, you held back your pain as you held him with all your might.

“I don’t want to talk about it…”

[clericsandpaladins]

The Stranger Things twitter account has encouraged us two years in a row to rewatch s1, and specifically s1 episode 1 this year. So, that being said, can we talk about how strange Will's abduction into the Upside Down is in s1? Like, I personally fully believe he was taken by the Demogorgon because the shadowy figure matches up with how we see it throughout the show and we hear plenty of noises to indicate this along with the flickering lights. That being said, I think there was more at play here. First off, the lock on the door unlocks by itself, which is reminiscent of El's powers. The Demogorgon is shown repeatedly to have to break down barriers with force, as are the Demodogs and Demobats. At no other point during the series do we see a monster from the Upside Down unlock a door like this save for Vecna, but he is also like El so we aren't counting him. That is, unless Vecna did have an influence now that we know he was pulling the strings from the start. And secondly, we see the light flicker two times before Will is abducted. First at Mike's house in his garage, after Will leaves funnily enough, and then when he's bike riding home his bike light flickers. This is normal for when the Demogorgon is present. However, when Will is abducted the light does not flicker, it brightens and then dims when Will disappears. The only time we see this happening is when someone who is decidedly not an Upside Down monster is interacting with the lights. We see it with Will, we see it with Joyce and Hopper, we see it in s4 with Eddie, Robin, Steve, and Nancy, and, surprise surprise, we see it with Vecna. To further prove that this is strange, when Barb is abducted, the lights flicker and even turn off, showing the inconsistency between both abductions. We know that, for whatever reason, Will has a connection to Vecna and the Upside Down. His True Sight for one but also the fact that he can sense Vecna and feel/know his thoughts. We find out in s4 that not only is the Upside Down stuck on the day of November 6th, 1983, the day Will went missing, but also that the Mind Flayer was controlled by Vecna. So, this begs the question of why Will? If Vecna is controlling the Mind Flayer, then he specifically targeted Will in s2, but why? What was so important about Will? Why does it seem like Vecna had an influence in his abduction? I am sure the answer lies in the strangeness of Will's Upside Down experience, especially since we know we are getting a Castle Byers flashback, but what is it? So many questions that I do not have the answers to.

[callhermyname]

you're not going | e.m. x reader - prologue

summary: you and Eddie meet for the first time (a few weeks before the start of s1);

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: MDNI!! mostly fluff, just a tiny bit of angst, reader is Dustin's cousin, mentions of absent father, postpartum depression, parents death, self-esteem issues, bullying (let me know if I missed anything).

a/n: HEY so this is my first fic ever so even if it's absolute garbage pls be nice to me😭 also sorry for any grammar mistakes english is not my first language. this is supposed to be the start of a s4 rewrite series, so if you want more please like this post, reblog and let me know what you think. hope u enjoy it!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You've been living at aunt Claudia's since you were 14. After your mom died, you had nowhere else to go — you can't even remember the last time your dad was in the picture, so when your aunt took you in, you kinda felt thankful that you got to start over, have a fresh start in another town, away from your old life (that you hated). You were still grieving, but aunt Claudia was always very sweet and caring, and soon after you moved in you started to see Dustin as the little brother you never had. It felt a little weird at first — even though your mother did her best, she never really liked the situation you were both in. She never planned to have kids, at least not before graduating from college, especially if it meant being a single mom at such a young age, so you couldn't really blame her for drowning in postpartum depression after you were born until she passed away. So, when her older sister took you in, you didn't expect for her to be so different from your mom, so caring, so gentle, so loving, such a good mom for Dustin and now to you too. 

When you first got to Hawkins, you didn't really have any friends besides your 11 year old cousin. One of his friends had a sister about your age — Mike's sister, Nancy — but, although she was always nice to you, you never really quite hit it off. She was sweet, but you didn't have a lot in common and her friends could be really mean. Will's brother, Jonathan, was always very shy and quiet, never really made conversation and you were definitely not the kind of person to force social interaction with someone that obviously didn't care for it, so you just kept it to yourself for most of the first year you spent at Hawkins.

A couple of weeks before Will went missing, Nancy was picking Mike up at your place and invited you to a party at her boyfriend's house. Your aunt overheard the conversation and was very excited to see you were making friends, so you decided to go just so she wouldn't worry about you being an absolute loser. You were always quite self-conscious of your appearance so it took some time to pick out an outfit, but you finally settled for something comfy and not that flashy, but flattering: your best Queen shirt under your favorite jeans overalls and a flannel and your only pair of shoes — basic black chuck taylors.

It was late October and the air was chilly, wind blowing through your hair and cutting your face like tiny little blades as you rode your bike to Steve Harrington's house, hoping to god Nancy was already there so you wouldn't be alone and awkward. You could already hear the music from two blocks away, and when you got to the front door, Nancy was waiting for you with her friend Barb. You knew Barb from school, you took English together, but didn't really talk about anything not school related, but she seemed nice. 

"You made it! I was already getting worried you wouldn't show up" Nancy greeted you. "You know Barb, right?"

"Yeah, hey Barb" you agreed and Barb nodded. "Sorry it took me so long to get here, my bike has seen better days…"

"It's fine, don't worry. Let's get in, I'll show you around. You can leave your bike at the back of the garage, outside of the backyard fence."

You left your bike where Nancy told you to and followed her into the house as she showed you where the bathroom was, stumbling over people coming in and out of the house, up and down the stairs. The house was so crowded, it felt like people were coming out of the walls. When she led you to the back of the house, she sat down by the pool and introduced you to her boyfriend and his friends, who were around the pool. 

From the start, you felt out of place. Steve and his friends didn't know you, but you already knew them. It was ridiculous to you how those people had made fun of you more than once at school but did not remember your face when Nancy introduced you as her friend. Maybe because you weren't wearing your big squared glasses, or because you tried something different with your hair? It didn't really matter anyways. At least they were not making fun of you. Poor Barb wasn't so lucky — they gave her a really hard time, and Nancy was just completely powerless over the situation, too afraid to say anything to try and defend her friend. After an hour, Barb got fed up and left, leaving you alone with Nancy and those assholes who were absolutely wasted and wouldn't shut up about playing spin the bottle or truth or dare.

"Come on, what are you, twelve?" Steve protested, "We're not kids man, that's just boring."

"You're absolutely right Harrington. But, we could spice it up, ya know?" Tommy offered, trying to convince Steve to play the game "For every truth or dare you refuse to tell or do, you have to take a shot of tequila. What do you say, Harrington? Wanna get absolutely wasted?"

Next thing you know, you were excusing yourself to go to the bathroom while at least 10 people were gathering around forming a circle on the floor of Steve's backyard. You didn't really need to use the bathroom, you just needed to cool off a little before getting hammered — you were NOT about to tell any truths or do any dares around these people you barely knew. Before you could go back outside, you got yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. As you threw away the red plastic cup, now empty, you heard a conversation through the kitchen window that headed to the backyard.

"So, can we start the game already?"

"Wait, where's Wheeler's  friend?"

"Barb left like, half an hour ago, Carol" you heard Nancy reply.

"No, not the chubby one, the other one, the weird one with the ugly hair."

"I think she needed to use the bathroom…?"

"Oh my god do you think she's like, brushing her teeth or something? Thinking someone's gonna want to kiss her?" Carol laughed.

"We better not wait for her then, I do NOT want to spin the bottle and end up having to kiss that weird ass bitch!" Tommy said, getting a good laugh out of everyone.

Your eyes teared up as you backed away from the window, thinking about what to do. You thought you could just sneak out and go home, cry yourself to sleep, but then you remembered you had left your bike chained up by the backyard fence. There was no way you could get your bike without anyone noticing you sneaking out. Fuck, you knew you should've stayed home reading something or watching TV.

Since you couldn't go home without your bike, you decided to wait until everyone was back inside. It couldn't take that long, you thought, it was freezing out there. But you couldn't stay inside either. Not by yourself. So, you walked over to the front door and opened it, feeling the cold air hit your cheeks. You walked out of the house and into the woods beside the house, where you could still see the backyard, but would be out of sight, a little further from the backyard fence and hidden in the dark shadow of the trees that surrounded the Harrington's property. Once you were settled, seated on the ground, you bursted into tears. Hot, salty tears running through your face as you sobbed, hating everything about yourself, hating the fact that, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't escape the fact that you were always different. Not in an obvious way — you didn't have that much of a fashion sense that was bold enough to earn dirty looks from old ladies —, but sometimes you felt like you didn't feel things the same way other people did. You felt fragile, small, vulnerable, like you were exposed all the time. It made you feel like shit.

You were so quiet, you couldn't help but to jump out when you heard footsteps behind you and then something snapping, like someone had stepped on a branch or something. You turned around wide eyed, heart pounding, just to see a silhouette standing behind you, holding a little metal lunchbox. It was a boy, shaggy curly hair down to right below his earlobes, Iron Maiden shirt, leather jacket and denim vest, dark loose jeans and heavy black boots.

"Dude, what the fuck" you panted, trying to not look as spooked and jumpy as you were "where did you came from?"

"Shit, sorry" he said, trying to hold back his laughter "didn't mean to scare ya, normally i don't run by anyone when i take this shortcut, though it has been a while since i actually used this shortcut — see, i usually drive mostly everywhere, but i ran out of gas money for the month and i thought 'hey, i could actually use a little walk through the woods to cool my head off a little' so i just decided to- whoa, wait, are you crying? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to scare you like that!" he stopped his rambling when he noticed you were drying your tears with the sleeve of your jacket.

"No, it's not- really, i'm fine" you panicked, noticing he seemed a little hurt by your reaction "i was already crying before you- sorry, it wasn't you, i'm fine don't worry"

He walked over to you and sat down beside you, a concerned look on his face.

"I don't wanna be nosy or anything, I know you don't really know me" he started, you now realizing you did recognise him from school, how could you not? He's always drawing attention to himself "but you can talk to me if you want. I'm guessing you were at Harrington's party? Everyone down there sitting at that circle in the backyard is kinda known for being a pain in the ass"

"What gave it away?" you brushed off your tears, slightly smiling at his comment "Just didn't wanna play truth or dare with… you know, those guys. But it seems they were glad I didn't join them, so they wouldn't have to kiss me if someone decided to play spin the bottle" 

"Wait, what?" he seemed surprised "They told you that?"

"Not exactly" you explained "I was at the kitchen and overheard someone saying that outside, so i bailed"

"What are you still doing here then?- Oh, I'm Eddie, by the way." he introduced himself, shaking your hand as you introduced yourself.

You explained the whole situation to him and he offered to keep you company until you could get your bike back and go home. After an hour of nonsense conversation filled with Eddie's dramatic sense of humor, you actually got to know each other a little bit. He told you about his band and how he really liked Lord of the Rings and fantasy RPG.

"I'm not really a huge fan of fantasy books" you shared, causing him to gasp, as he was offended by your comment.

"How dare you? Are you not a huge fan of happiness too? Or maybe you hate puppies and ice cream?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "How can you not like the only way to escape this boring non-fictional world we are FORCED to live in?"

"Hey, don't get me wrong, I do like fiction. Just not... fantasy fiction."

"So what do you like then?"

"I really enjoy science fiction."

"What, like androids and shit?"

"No, not that kind of science fiction. I mean science fiction like... Clockwork Orange, or Flowers for Algernon."

"Oh so you're a nerd too!" he teased "I was almost buying all that 'not a nerd' act, but you're into Kubrick? That's so nerdy!"

"You do know Stanley Kubrick didn't write the book right?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

Once he started to talk about music, he just couldn't stop talking for a second. He told you about his band, and you felt as if he was the first person to ever understand your passion for music. After another 30 minutes or so of energetic conversation about how much you both liked 70s rock, he ended up telling you he only attended this kind of party to sell some weed and make a quick buck.

"Don't get me wrong, i fucking hate these people" he explained himself "but they ARE in fact my biggest costumers. Guess daddy's money might not be enough for them to feel loved, but it does buy whatever else they need to feel better about themselves. So, they always make sure I'm 'invited' to every party they want me to bring my little lunchbox to."

"Yeah, that makes sense i guess" you agreed, turning your head over to the backyard, people already heading inside due to the cold. You felt your heart sink, even though all you've been wanting was to take your bike and leave. You were actually really enjoying getting to talk to Eddie.

"Well, i guess this is it" he said, noticing as you watched everyone getting into the house "now you can go home and not listen to me and my rambling about whatever it is i was talking about. Hell, even i can't remember what the hell i was talking about most of the time" he laughed. 

"To be honest, it wasn't that bad" you laughed back "it was definitely better than spin the bottle!"

He chuckled, helping you get up and unchain your bike from the fence, giving you a dorky smile as you hopped up on your bike. 

"Well, I better get back to work huh? Got a lot of customers waiting on me" he gestured to the house as you secured your helmet under your chin.

"Yeah, I better get back home too. My aunt refuses to go to sleep until i get home safe, don't wanna keep her waiting"

"So, I guess I'll see you at school, huh?" he shifted at his feet and kicked the ground, stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his vest.

"Yeah, if there's any seats left for another nerd at your table for lunch" you chuckled awkwardly, looking at your feet.

"For a pretty one like you? Always."

You exchanged an awkward look and smiled at each other again, and with that you followed your way back home, feeling hopeful about how the next few weeks would play out. You thought you had finally found someone you could trust and spend time with, someone who got you — a friend.

For the next week or so, you and Eddie hung out a lot. Finally, you had someone you could call a friend, and things seemed to be going not so bad for the first time in months. He would always save you a seat at the table at lunch and walk you to your classes, he would even give you a ride every once in a while, when his van was not running out of gas. It was something you could get used to — at least until a couple of weeks later, when you, Nancy, Jonathan and Steve ended up trauma bonding over setting a demogorgon on fire. After that, your life had (literally) turned upside down and you didn't hang out with Eddie that much anymore. As the years went by, you would hang out more with Steve and Robin once Nancy and Jonathan started dating. You would still talk to Eddie though, just... not like you talked to your other friends. They were the only ones who actually understood what you were going through, and — even though you missed his company — it would be selfish to tell Eddie everything and drag him into that nightmare. Until of course, the nightmare caught up to him.

[danasevans]

📚📚📚 (that’s right, three rounds s’il vous plait ;)

haha thank you for the triple ask! I'll give you the other two in separate posts. this is sort of a prequel to a s4 canon divergence fic I'm working on, and... I did not intend for it to get this long 😅 (this is for the pinterest ask game 👀)

PUT ME BACK TOGETHER AGAIN

Succession s4 canon divergence ~ kenrava ~ 1,213 words ~ rated M

He calls her once, twice, three times, after the funeral. Way after the funeral. It's late, so late that she could be asleep, could be legitimately missing his calls, but he doubts she would answer if she was awake.

And maybe this isn't the most logical next step, after that polite but implicit denial, but earlier that day he'd threatened to lay down in front of her car so he's not feeling fucking logical on the day of his dad's funeral and Roman is AWOL and Shiv is-- fucking pregnant? Maybe staying with Tom? Not a shoulder to lean on, at any rate, so Kendall dodges business partners and politicians and everyone else who wants to probe him about the GoJo deal or tell him how deeply fucking sorry they are and finally collapses into the backseat of his car.

He checks his watch.

Half past two in the morning.

He calls his driver anyway, Fikret is used to keeping up with his weirdass schedule, and asks him to take him upstate. In the time it takes him to arrive, he double checks with the security team he still has following Rava and the kids. Which, okay, he can see how that maybe could've been a little intimidating. But it tells him to head up the coast to Connecticut, and he feels a painful weight in his chest when he gives Fikret the address to the beach house he and Rava had picked out together sometime between their engagement and honeymoon. He really... he can't remember the last time he was there.

The drive takes less than two hours, and when Kendall looks at his watch and sees that it reads 4:30, he winces a little. Rava probably won't be thrilled that he's waking her up at this hour.

He has Fikret pull into the garage, because the code is the date they got engaged and it's the same for really every password they'd both needed to know. Never their wedding anniversary, interestingly enough. Rava had said, way back when, that that was too easy to find and guess. But it feels a little metaphorical now.

Kendall is leaning against the hood of the car, frowning at the door leading into the house and wondering if he can open the deadbolt with his mind, when it opens on its own. He only wonders if he's suddenly become a Jedi for about half a second before Rava appears, wearing an old R.E.M concert tee with just her underwear, her go-to pajamas for as long as he'd known her.

"Ken!?" Her voice is hoarse with sleep and he's making damn sure that his eyes are glued to hers and she runs a hand through her bedhead as she descends the stairs, stopping a good six feet away from him. "Why the fuck are you here?"

He swallows hard, unable to think of an all-encompassing answer. "...to apologize," he offers quietly. "I... Rav, I've been saying some fucked-up shit. And I don't know-- I barely know what's going on in my head half the time, let alone coming out my mouth. But I don't want to lose you."

She raises both eyebrows, hands on her hips. "It's a little late for that."

"No, I mean..." he really doesn't need a reminder that he's divorced. He's well aware of that on any given day. "What I was saying about making a play for custody. That-- that was stupid. You're a good mother, Rava, way fucking better than I am as a dad. I just needed to say that. I need you to know that I'm sorry, and that I-- I love you." He winces at the surprise and wariness that flash over her face. "In a-- you know. Divorced co-parents kind of way." He stares at her, swallowing hard, trying not to blink. He's never gotten over her, ever, doesn't she fucking know that?

"Even though I'm hysterical?" She smiles, a little viciously, and he can tell the more she wakes up the angrier he's getting, but he takes a step forward anyway, trying to get invited in instead of kicked out.

"I didn't want you to be freaking out," he tries. "I-- I wanted the kids at their grandfather's funeral, but in hindsight, I understand why you didn't, and it was probably good that they weren't there. You were right."

She lifts her chin, regarding him icily. "About...?"

Kendall bites back a huff. "I don't know, fucking-- everything? You were right that I needed to clean up my act for the kids and you were right that I didn't have the willpower to do it and you were right that one time you yelled at me that my dad didn't love me enough to fulfill any of his promises, because he didn't and now my whole life is a gaping hole and I'm fighting the Swedes for my birthright, and you were right to resist me trying to be for the kids what he was for me because he was a good business leader and a fucking shitty dad, but I was a shitty dad anyway, you were right about that too, and you were right when you said that if I drove you away I would regret it eventually." He nods jerkily. "I do. I do regret it. You're my fuckin' lighthouse, Rava. You always have been. I think I need you now worse than I ever have before."

She folds her arms over her chest. "That's too fucking bad."

He winces. "Yeah. I deserve that."

The silence stretches out before them, and everything feels fragile and breakable, and he tries to reach out without actually reaching for her, like that will lessen the sting of rejection. "Rava. What can I do to make it up to you?"

She sighs slowly. "Drive back to New York?"

He swallows hard. "Look, say the word and I will, but I really think we should talk."

"That's the problem, Kendall," Rava says through gritted teeth, stepping closer to him. "I don't-- I am sick and tired of listening to you talk. You're all bark and no bite, and you change your mind with the weather. I stopped believing most of what comes out of your mouth a year ago."

He reaches out, since she's getting closer, gently resting his hand on her arm. He doesn't want her to think he's trying to restrain her. "Then I could... crash in the guest room? Spend time with the kids tomorrow? Give you space, but still try to fix what I've fucked up this week?"

Rava closes her eyes, leans into him. "I-- I don't know, Kendall."

Gently, carefully, he reaches out to cup her cheek, his fingers brushing through her hair. "Please," he whispers. "Let me try."

She looks up at him. "Sophie's going to be worse than I am."

"I'm prepared for that," he murmurs. "What do you need, right now? While the kids are asleep?"

She steps back from him, looks him up and down. He thinks he recognizes the look in her eye, but surely--

And then Rava is kissing him, her hands around his neck, her body warm against his. She's shaking. Or he is.

Kendall closes his eyes and kisses her back.

[chirpsythismorning]

What do you think about Byler's first kiss being like kiss #1 or #3 from this Eyewitness video? https://youtu.be/twVy0GJQnXo

#1 ! It already fits their dynamic a little too on the nose, and at this exact point in Stranger Things as well. Like the whole you're amazing line reminds me of the painting scene. Also the blocking feels very much like the cabin scene at the end of s4. They could very swiftly put Will and Mike in a situation just like this one. sooner than later, with Mike making the first move and Will being confused about it, not even making the move to meet him halfway at first. Though, I don't see it going much further than that bc tbh I actually picture this more eloquently as an almost kiss?

Whereas #3 is giving more so second kiss? Like after a stressful confrontation or something? We know this literal scene from Eyewitness, with them in the garage in front of the car, could very well have been used as inspiration for the s3 byler rain fight, so that could fit the idea of them kissing after their highly anticipated potential 3rd fight in s5?

I do think their first kiss is something that we've all assumed has to happen at the very, very end of the season. However, I've come to realize that's sort of a cliche? Not saying they can't kiss at that point (again) or that they can't find some way to stretch it out at all, but I do think waiting until that very last moment at the end for their first kiss would be a little too expected.

Like for example, I could see a first kiss actually being an almost kiss? Similar to #1, but with them getting interrupted or something of that nature. It's interesting that in s4 Mike made a point to close the door behind him when entering Will's room, and we saw how the rest of s4 went with them being focused on very intimately, both alone and with other people, often interrupted. And so I think it's likely Mike is going to either make a real effort to be alone with Will or they're going to be in a situation where it wasn't their choice (ie. all the byler alone together in UD foreshadowing).

But, let's just say in early s5, it gets to a point where Mike is just really really needing a moment alone with Will, bc they haven't been able to actually talk about things properly. And there's this building up of tension between them, where Mike is starting to think Will returns his feelings, and it leads to this moment somehow, but someone knocks on the door and Mike's just like JESUS!!!!!

Them building it up in a unique way, where they're maybe almost kissing once or twice. And then it happens!?!? And then they're all in danger again so the stakes are high and so maybe they're having doubts again, that the other doesn't feel the same? And THEN they fight and things get emotional and real and then they kiss for a second time. It would feel like 2 first kisses essentially.

The reason I think this would really work, is because on Will's end especially (and in some homophobic viewers' minds), Will's going to be telling himself that he's the one that is wrong and if Mike has feelings for him, it's bc he doesn't actually have feelings for him, he's just been corrupted by Will or something. Like I think he would probably notice Mike's nerves in the moments after they kissed, as Mike being uncomfortable/having doubts, and that would cause Will to distance himself and then Mike would do the same as a result of having those same doubts too, as a result of them both misunderstanding each others fear for rejection.

And THEN, after Mike finally confronts Will, his first time being the one who is fighting for their relationship with Will sort of giving up atp (for good reason) we get second kiss, directly following their final boss fight (Reminder: Will successfully packed a blue shirt in his backpack that he brought with to Hawkins...).

I just think that could allow the second kiss to be more tender and give a lot of appreciation and layers to those past fights, now knowing that this is kind of what they've both wanted for a long time? And I think that #3 kiss is what makes it fit perfectly, as it would terrifyingly tie back to the s3 rain fight it inspired

And when it comes to the like official first kiss, I do think it could be them both feeling it in the moment and both clearly being into it, but bc of the high stakes scenarios surrounding them, you just know they would be hit with some crazy ass shit right after and have to deal with that, which would lead to the confusion between them despite them both clearly feeling the same.

This is not me saying this will 100% happen, obviously. This is an ask and I'm just giving detailed answers! Also just in case something along these lines does happen, I want to have it written down somewhere!

I do think them going with like an almost kiss approach followed by a heated first kiss and then a slow second kiss, and then a third endgame kiss would be cool. They wouldn't even need to kiss in the epilogue for me atp.

And that's how I can appease both the action packed byler first kiss truthers and the soft quiet/intimate byler first kiss truthers...

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Common Blue Mud Dauber Wasp - Chalybion californicum

Returning from the long weekend cottage trip in Caledon, I'm so excited to share all the new insects I photographed there! There'll be quite a few to explore over the next few weeks, but before that, a prelude featuring an insect on hunt while we were loading the car. I've also added a few pictures from the beginnings of my insect photography hobby to show the insect in a more neutral position. As mentioned in earlier posts, solitary Digger Wasps make ground burrows or nests (this specie builds cells into a nest out of mud) and place their eggs inside. The eggs await a provision of food which the mother Wasp tirelessly hunts for; when the former hatch, they will have enough solid food to last them through to pupation. The Blue Mud Dauber's prey items of choice are spiders: any kind as long as they can be captured. While a video would've been better in hindsight to show how she hunts, they pictures before you here showcase the stinging and seizing inflicted by a mother Wasp. When we all first noticed her, he was flying around the garage door but not in an erratic fashion.

She was flying around systemically, combing as much air space as she could along the border of the garage door (occasionally landing) until reaching the top where she found cobwebs. I was grateful as while flying and landing these Wasps are very skittish making photography difficult, but little did I know what was really going on. After navigating her way closer to the web, she used her legs and head to twang and create movement in web, drawing the attention of a spider that crawled out from a dense web ball. The trap was set! In about 3 seconds, the spider rushed to investigate the "prey" entangled in the web and at the last second, the Wasp launched herself and enveloped the spider with her legs. By grappling the spider, the Mud Dauber can orient herself to navigate her paralyzing sting into the spider and then restrain it for easier transportation. This, along with the advantage of flight allows Wasps to effectively hunt and capture spiders, but they shouldn't get too arrogant as the winner is always the one who gets the last bite. This time, mama Wasp won. After the spider stopped struggling, the Dauber dropped from the threads and flew off, carrying her prize with her back to her muddy nest.

Pictures of the hunt were taken on June 30, 2023 with a Google Pixel 4. Supplementary pictures were taken on June 27 and September 11, 2018 with a Samsung Galaxy S4.

[ricciardonorrisleclercgasly]

Risky Business || Sebastian Vettel

Who gave him the right to look this good?

Not my gif.

Requested: @babywolff

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Warnings : unprotected sex, oral sex female receiving, kind of Dom! Seb

Here is my Masterlist

Prompts Used:

S4 - "We're in public" "I know"

S15 - "I love the way you look with my cock inside you"

Ever since Sebastian had signed his first F1 contract you had been by his side, and ever since one month later you had been in his bed. Sebastian was charming and enticing and it hadn't taken long for him to lure you into his trap and you were happy to stay there. You and Seb were never official, you never made it exclusive, but you were always there for each other. You were there for his very first F1 debut, his first pole position, his first win, his first championship title and, with Seb tearing through the track, no doubt his second. Sebastian always said you were his good luck charm.

This weekend was like every other, you stood in the pitlane waiting to get the perfect photographs as the cars came flying past. The crew was getting ready for Sebastian pitstop and the tensions were high, you stood poised and ready to capture the perfect shot as his car came screeching to a holt. Sebastian broke his focus, just for a minute, blowing a kiss in your direction as you snapped the photo just in time, blushing hard at the unexpected affection he had shown, before he flew out of the pitlane once again.

Unsurprisingly Sebastian drove a perfect race, finishing way ahead of the rest of the pack. "It's all thanks to you liebling" he winked as he headed off to the post race interviews.

Later that evening you remained glued to your laptop at the back of the garage, editing content from the weekends race in a desperate attempt to get it finished before flying to the next race tomorrow. Your eyes stung from the light of the screen and your back ached from being hunched over your computer.

"Working late?" You heard Sebastian voice echo through the garage. You turned around to see him leaning against the garage wall. You nodded your head, "I'm surprised you're not out celebrating" you said turning back to your computer. "Celebrating without you is just not the same" you could feel Sebastians presence closer to you now, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. "Come celebrate with me" he mumbled as his hands caressed your waist. You breathed in sharply as his touch took you by surprise. "I need to work" you mumbled as Sebastian nuzzled his face into your neck.

"Please" he whispered, pressing kisses against your skin. Goosebumps covered your skin as your breathing got shallower.

You could never resist Sebastian. Spinning around on your stool to face him, you kissed him gently. Sebastian pushed your thighs apart with his knees and and wrapped your legs around his waist, picking you up effortlessly. "Sebastian" you mumbled in half hearted objection.

"Shush" he said pressing his lips against yours.

Your lips moulded together perfectly as you allowed him explore your mouth with his tongue. A moan escaped your lips, the sound snapping you back to reality.

"Seb We're in public" you remarked as your eyes caught sight of people still walking around the paddock.

"I know" he sighed grabbing hold of your hand and pulling you through the garage. He hurried you both inside his drivers room, locking the door behind him, "better?" He said pulling you in close and kissing you passionately, you just nodded in response running your hands through his tousled blond hair.

The two of you stumbled through the room until you collapsed on top of each other on the sofa. Your lips presses against Sebastians neck as you fumbled with the fastening on his belt. "Fuck" you mumbled under your breath as you failed to undo the buckle. "Somes getting needy" he chuckled undoing the belt and discarding his trousers quickly to one side. You could see the outline of his cock straining against his boxer shorts. He collapsed back down on the sofa pulling you down with him, his lips kissing and pinching at your skin as loud moans escaped your mouth. Sebastian pushed you down onto the seat, climbing on top of you and wiggling your jeans off your body. He ran his thumb over your already swollen clit, torturesly slow. Your breathing became heavy as he slid your panties to one side, pushing two long boney fingers into your dripping pussy. He started to work them, pumping them inside you as you twitched around him. "Now listen to me carefully Liebling" he said sternly, keeping his rhythm perfectly. "I don't want you to cum until I tell you too. Understood?"

You nodded your head vigorously, unable to speak. Sebastian slid down off the couch, pushing your thighs apart and pressing his tongue roughly against your pooling wetness. You gasped as his fingers and tongue worked in harmony, bring you pleasure with every move. You could feel the knot in your stomach curling and tightening and Sebastian brought you closer and closer to your high, you legs started to shake around him, "not until I say so" he reminded you as he lifted his head to take a breath before burying his face in your pussy once more. You tried to hold back as much as you could but you could feel it coming and there was nothing you could do to stop it, "Seb... I cant... I'm going to cum" you squealed under his touch as your orgasm washed over you. Sebastian lapped up all your wetness as you trembled beneath him. "I see someone can't listen to instructions" he sighed as he rose above you.

"I'm sorry" you mumbled, still trying to catch you breath, "I couldn't help myself"

"That's okay. But you know what happens when you dont listen" he said slipping his cock out his boxers, the tip glistening with precum, he lined up the head with your entrance before slamming into you hard. "You know what happens, dont you?" He said pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in with force. Your eyes watered as your stretched around his size, you nodded your head.

Just then you heard a knock at the door. "Sebastian?" You heard the voice of his cheif engineer call through the door. You and Seb had always tried to hide your arrangement as best you could from the rest of the team and this was about to ruin all that. Sebastian covered your mouth tightly with his hand, muffling any sound coming out, as he continued to fuck you hard. "Please don't come in, I've got a awful migrane and im just trying to sleep it off" Seb called back through the door.

"Okay if you insist, I'll see you in the garage tomorrow then"

You breathed a sigh of relief as you heard the footsteps disappear down the hallway.

Sebastian turned his full attention back to you and began thrusting into you with a strong and steady rhythm. His thumb coming to meet your clit as you moaned out his name repeatedly. "I love the way you look with my cock inside you" he moaned as his eyes scanned over your body. His rhythm was causing your body to build tension all over again and he could see this all over your face. "Whenever you're ready I want you to cum for me love" he said speeding up his pace. With those words you went tumbling over the edge, tightening around his cock, Sebastian thrust a few more hard lengths into you before finishing inside you. After catching his breath his jumped up and fetched a cloth to clean you up with, "I really must get back to work" you sighed starting to stand up and get dressed.

"Please," Seb said catching your arm, "just stay with me tonight"

[hitlikehammers]

forgive me if I jump✨

steddie post-s4 established relationship ♥️

~ for @pearynice 💕🎂

He shoots up at the sound of the flatline; the screaming follows him as he wakes. By the time Steve’s hand shoots out to the other side of the bed, his pulse is already in his throat—it doesn’t get any calmer for finding it empty, sheets cold under his clammy palm but at the same time: it doesn’t get any worse. ~~~ OR: nightmares. trauma. fear. and LOVE being bigger than all of it. 💕♥️💕

🎶 title and concept inspired by this context-less post from Noah Kahan

(which ultimately became this, for reference, which is not so much aligned in terms of inspiration 🫠)

He shoots up at the sound of the flatline; the screaming follows him as he wakes.

By the time Steve’s hand shoots out to the other side of the bed, his pulse is already in his throat—it doesn’t get any calmer for finding it empty, sheets cold under his clammy palm but at the same time: it doesn’t get any worse.

Because it’s gotten less common with time. But to call it uncommon would be wishful thinking. Dishonest.

And there are so many things Steve’s learned in this relationship—not least how nothing that came before it could ever compare, really; or maybe couldn’t really have been called a relationship at all, more than varyingly convenient ways not to be alone—but one of those many things Steve’s learned?

Honesty.

Just…painful, terrifying, vulnerable fucking truthful, ripped out from the center of his fucking chest honesty. Nothing less. And sure, it’s usually messy.

But every single time, it’s more than worth it.

So: finding the other side of the bed empty and cold isn’t as routine anymore, which is progress. But it isn’t unheard of.

So Steve doesn’t wait for his pulse to settle before he swings himself out of bed to go find the warmth that’s missing at his side.

He hangs onto the railing on his way down the stairs, still shaking off the daze of the particular horror that’d visited his dream tonight, and uses the dig of his nails around the grip to coax himself to waking, to shaking the stupor off a little quicker; to focusing on the mission he needs to complete for the sake of his own heart in more ways than one: to find his boyfriend, the better, far-more-precious half of every part of him, and try to fix what he can of what drove Eddie from their bed, and comfort what can’t be fixed straight-out.

But in the same turn: Steve needs to find his boyfriend so that his own heart can stall how it’s trying to tear out of his skin for the way it’s still slamming against his ribs, through his veins. Steve needs to find him, and soak in every form of proof that he’s there, he’s safe, he’s breathing, he’s not dea—

Yeah. Steve needs to find his boyfriend.

And whether or not said boyfriend has escaped to his now-typical refuge: Steve’ll be better served to meet him wherever he is, the more awake that he is when he gets there.

He stuffs bare feet into the first shoes he finds—they don’t fit quite right, meaning they’re Eddie’s, but they’re close enough. They’ll do.

He grabs his keys from the table, plus his jacket because it’s the middle of the fucking night—doesn’t even have to consciously check in the dark to know Eddie’s is next to his own, because of course Eddie didn’t get his fucking coat, so he grabs that too and takes the garage-side door over the front, slings Eddie’s coat over his shoulder, and it’s autopilot that gets him in his car, just to back out and swing it at an angle, front wheels on the grass so the headlights will help him out—maybe he’ll have to jump the battery from Eddie’s van in the morning but that’s so fucking secondary; almost doesn’t register at all.

It does register just a little that his parents would kill him, to know he’d driven on the grass but, like: that only registers a sense of twisted satisfaction, and whole-bodied resolve: fuck his parents, he’d do, and has done, things far more drastic for the sake of the man he loves.

He climbs out again in seconds, ties Eddie’s coat around his waist in hopes it’ll hold more securely on the way up, and makes damn sure the ladder he heaves from where it’s propped along the wall inside the garage sits even and stands locked on the surface of the driveway before he climbs to the edge of fucking annoying-ass slant of the roof where it hangs closest to the ground, so he can climb up and around to the peak, lift up to the top, and swing into the tiny little hideaway Eddie’s made of the overhang outside their bedroom.

Climbing up here to find Eddie has definitely given Steve a whole new set of reasons to hate this fucking house, and its goddamn torture maze of a layout; he cannot wait until they save enough for their own place. They both agreed not to touch Steve’s trust from his grandad if they could help it outside an emergency, not yet, but…Steve’s beginning to think they should revisit that decision. They were gonna save and stay until Erica was graduated and gone, the last of them safe and out, but.

Maybe somewhere new, somewhere far enough—

He gets close enough for Eddie to startle—fuck, he must be out of it, stuck in his head so far to have missed Steve’s anything-but-silent ascent, especially across the shingles—and oh.

Oh, his Eddie.

Steve doesn’t know if distance, more time, or anything in this world at all they haven’t tried as yet can help—but meeting Eddie’s frantic gaze, catching the way his chest’s still heaving but nearly silent, too quiet for Steve to have caught before; that split second where Eddie is raw and hurting, eyes sunken and lips gnawed bright: Steve’ll plan later.

For now he closes the distance as quickly as Eddie does in kind, once he unfreezes, blinks back to the moment, what’s real: arms reaching, needing while Steve pulls him close and covers every trembling inch of Eddie he can reach with touch, with warmth, stroking his hair, breathing deep and even, murmuring low as he presses Eddie tight to his chest because he’s learned that Eddie’s nightmares come in a lot of varieties, but the ones that drive him up here? Away from their bed?

They’re the ones where he loses Steve, one way or another, and staying next to Steve feels unreal, still, for the way they claw and take gold that hard—they’re working on that, though.

But while it’s never been said out loud: in the wake of living that loss, even if only in his mind, Eddie gravitates toward proof of life, tangible ways to drive out the lies his sleeping mind concocts; it unlocks the tension in him with somewhere safe to fall apart—Steve’s arms.

Somewhere safe to unravel into: the rise-and-fall of Steve’s chest.

“Another one?” Steve eventually mouths at the shell of the ear he’s curled down to press lips along, gentle, rhythmic: real.

Eddie nods, as if he needs to, and presses tighter into Steve’s chest in the way that makes Steve aware keenly of his own pulse, the pressure on his lungs: by rights it shouldn’t be so steadying, so comforting, in the way that it is.

But it is, and he feels Eddie loosen, melt into him, and take what feels like a genuine breath in for the first time in far too long, straight between Steve’s collarbones before he stills.

Usually that’s how it goes. He stills, and he soaks in all the little proof points of Steve’s living, working, real body there against him, until he can let go of whatever haunted his dreams.

Or else: let go enough.

But then he’s tensing, and Steve frowns, already concerned, already preparing to catch and to soothe as Eddie tips his head up and pins red-rimmed eyes so wide on Steve, his cheeks the slightest bit shiny for tears Steve’s shirt must by soaked in, but he hadn’t noticed. That was the least important thing to pay attention to.

“You too?” Eddie asks, hoarse and devastated and Steve doesn’t get it at first, just then Eddie’s hand replaces his cheek on Steve’s chest, the pressure making a point of what’s racing underneath still, giving him away and—

Oh. Well.

Yeah.

This isn’t about Steve though, so he just strokes the pale-pink line at the corner of Eddie’s lips—he doesn’t mean to go all the way down to cup a hand around the side of his neck.

He often forgets that sometimes muscle memory doesn’t just leave when it’s not necessarily needed anymore—sometimes it lingers.

Sometimes it makes a hand on his boyfriend’s neck in affection land so that fingertips can count his pulse, because there was a time, there was a time and it—

“The hospital,” Eddie gasps, knows that’s one of the worst—knows wherever it starts it always ends with when Eleven told them the only way to get Henry’s hold out of Eddie for good, make sure that Eddie didn’t go down with the rest of it, was to let him crash then bring him back—and it’d killed Steve, it’d broken him in ways that weren’t just still tender, but that still hadn’t fully closed and maybe never would but Eddie knows that—

Which is how they end up sitting up, leaning back, Eddie’s hands now framing Steve’s face and drawing in for a slow, soft, but incalculably deepkiss that does help calm Steve’s heart: it’s not aimed to go anywhere, and lead to anything. It’s pure affection and care, and it doesn’t soften his pulse, or even slow it really, but it’s not…it’s more.

Like that love and care are flowing in when the valves open and working to convince him down to his cells that the things he fears—and did fear, in person, lived through and fell apart for—aren’t true, here. Didn’t end in the way that would have killed him, too.

“Fuck, Stevie, and I wasn’t there, I’m sorry,” and Steve’s drawn upward in the process of being pulled to lie on top of Eddie, roles reversing as he gets wrapped tight in Eddie’s arms and tucked beneath his chin where Steve’s pretty sure it’s on purpose that he’s crushed against to that wild pulse at its berth, and yeah.

Yeah, Steve breathes a little easier for it. Just…knowing this way. He always does, after that specific memory fuels his nightmares.

He thinks it says a great deal, that neither of them has to speak the need for this kind of comfort, this kind of reassurance. Steve knows it’s sings in his own veins like he’s never felt before, with anyone else, to not only be seen, but to be known for the whole of it. The whole of him.

He lets himself have a few more seconds, more than a few more heartbeats under his ear because Eddie’s still reeling for whatever drove him up here—but Steve lets the sounds of Eddie’s lungs filling up ground him before he wraps his arms around Eddie’s middle now and sits up, pulls Eddie with him.

“Don’t ever be sorry,” Steve kisses the crest of his cheekbone before he asks, so careful, so gentle, and only because the more he knows the better he can help, they’ve learned this.

But the honesty—as he knows just as well by now—sometimes has to hurt in the process.

“Which one drove you up here?”

Eddie shakes his head—not ready yet, and that’s fine, that’s so okay—and he moves to lean, to burrow in Steve’s neck and that’s okay, too, but his eyes catch on the dim headlight-glow against the tarp over the pool and Steve doesn’t even have to be this close to catch the flinch that follows so he asks soft, and only as he guides Eddie into his chest at the same time:

“The car?”

There’ve been more than a couple rough nights caused by contortions involving Steve’s car; Steve can’t know for sure which got center stage tonight, or if it was a new horror show altogether: just knows his chest burns for how Eddie trembles against him—still.

Eddie nods against his neck, though, doesn’t try to fight or deny at all and Steve leans to press his lips to the top of his head when Eddie speaks only—unwaveringly—against the place where Steve pulse beats at the line of his throat:

“Leaving.”

And Steve knows how he means it, and if anything could kill him more than knowing there’s space in Eddie’s head for the absurdity of such a thing—that Steve ever could, ever would even think about leaving him, what they have, what they are working together so hard to make for keeps in a forever kind of way—

The only thing that might have the capacity to kill him more is how that space in Eddie’s head doesn’t fade as quick as a dream, and follows him here. To this.

“But then, you were gone but then there was a,” Eddie hiccups a little—Steve can’t feel if there are tears but it doesn’t matter; there’s clearly heartbreak and that’s bad enough; “an accident, a bad accident, you…”

“Are right here, babe,” Steve takes hold of him and leans back like Eddie did before for him, tucks Eddie tighter up against his own heartbeat which is still heavy but calmer, now, so he whispers fierce as he buries his face in Eddie’s hair:

“I’m right here.”

And Steve holds him there; only moves to pull his unzipped coat up and around them both, to make a cocoon of what it means to live and breathe and feel this much, still, after being been hurt enough to easily have snuffed it all to ash.

It’s Eddie’s turn to need that proof of life: undeniable.

“We didn’t even fight,” Eddie mouths more than anything to Steve’s skin where his chin’s dragged down the collar of his shirt; “you just,” his voice breaks again, and Steve’s arms tighten further by default; “couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t handle…”

He breathes shaky, and shakes his head kinda nonsensically against Steve’s chest, only slightly, never sacrificing where his cheek lies and his ear holds to hear, to listen, and Steve cradles the back of Eddie’s head closer to him, breathes steady and slow as best he can just to try and give Eddie somewhere to grasp at, a foothold to stand on. Anything.

Everything.

“I’m so scared, Steve,” Eddie finally halfway-sobs, so lost and desperate, and clinging so hard onto Steve that it’s tight in Steve’s throat, in Steve’s chest, too. “Yeah, it’s gotten better, but I’m still so fucking scared.”

And Steve gets it. Steve understands. Steve’s not immune to it himself in the slightest.

He still hates it exponentially more for how it hurts Eddie.

“It’s bad enough that that, that place still haunts me, haunts us both when its fucking burned to dust, when there’s nothing, we couldn’t even getthere, fuck, fuck, for all intents it doesn’t even existanymore,” and Eddie sounds bitter for it, which Steve understands well enough; he hates that they gave so much, and ultimately won the war, but that the war didn’t end with the victory. That it claws at them like this. That it hurts Eddie so much, for how soft and big his heart truly is—Steve would have him no other way.

But Steve would give anything to take that hurt from under those ribs and into himself, just to spare him.

“Jesus,” Eddie’s inhale catches, and he shakes more than he was—Steve pulls the coat around them closer, though he’s not sure he actually can, but fuck if he’s not gonna try, just in case any part of it’s something he can help fight back.

“But then I have to dream, still, of losing you to the simplest bullshit, these, these normal fucking tragedies anyway, after everything we survived,” Eddie’s voice pitches louder, but stretches thin to breaking; “or straight up losing you because of mybullshit—”

And that, that’s also not new, so neither of them can possibly claim it’s a surprise how Steve hauls Eddie up and stops the words, the simple suggestion with the press of his mouth because: no.

Steve will spend the rest of his life proving it—he’s not immune himself, knows he needs it too, sometimes—but if kissing the nonsense quiet, smothering the sheer pain that the very thought lances through him, twists in his ribs with how much Steve feels the very opposite?

So fucking be it.

“I’m afraid that there’s still stuff you don’t know, even now, not yet,” Eddie whispers between them finally, a little wet on the last syllable in a way that wrings Steve’s heart, and once upon a time Steve would have said that in itself was just so very not-Eddie.

But Steve knows better, now. Knows Eddie better, now, and knows this part of him that’s rarely been trusted to the world at all and while Steve hates with everything in him that it has to exist at all, he’s so goddamn grateful, fucking honored to be trusted; to have proven himself good enough to merit it: to hold the privilege in the palm of his hands to try and keep it safe, and make it better where he can, always.

His Eddie: through and through.

“And then when you find out you’ll know, you’ll realize it was all a fucking waste, on me—“

And that: that’s more nonsense. So Steve’s mouth knows automatically where to go.

Because Steve’s in this forever. Steve’s in this for always. He’s thought himself a romantic from the first suggestion of the idea and yet he had no goddamn clue until he bumped shoulders with a pretty fucking nerd in a hellscape and felt butterflies; until he hauled a body everyone else screamed at him to leave, they couldn’t risk slowing down but they couldn’t understand what Steve already knew:

If the body weren’t a person, living and breathing and already winding tight through Steve’s heart, Steve would be dead, too. He knew that without a fucking doubt, even then.

And so now it’s only grown—the feeling and the certainty and the impossibility of ever letting go—and Steve’s learned well these past months how to say that, maybe best, in the way he kisses deeper than he used to know how, to feel it deeper than he knew anyone could—more likely than not only possible, really, because it’s Eddie.

And what he has with Eddie is something he never knew to think of seeing in the world at all, let alone something he’d even get to touch for himself—and then, to keep?

Steve Harrington’s not going fucking anywhere, not for anything.

He keeps his lips locked to Eddie’s until just past the point where they’re breathless and it could be terrifying—but Eddie chases it even as Steve eases them away, panting and gripping at each other as their chests knock, eyes blown in the dark to see everything.

And so he sees Eddie trembling—which yeah, he has been since Steve found him, Steve’s felt in it holding the man in his arms, and they’re both still levelling for the sake of needing air—but it’s not just the kiss. It’s not just a tightness Steve put there for pushing the way their tongues were trying to coax each other’s soul out whole.

So Steve leans to suck at the visible beat under Eddie’s jaw for a second before he tucks Eddie back in against him and lets him blanket across Steve’s chest, stretches so he can better nestle the base of Steve’s throat.

“Never,” Steve speaks it low, not least so that Eddie feels it rumble where he rests his head, like it could shake straight into that rapid fire brain of his; “I would never. I could never,” he hums; Eddie’s breath catches just short of a whine:

“It’s not possible.”

Doesn’t matter how long they’ve been this, together: Steve cannot imagine his life without Eddie. It’s not even just that he doesn’t want to; it’s that he can’t remember why it would be worth it, now that he knows what his life was built for: this.

Them.

Finally, after beat-after-beat-after-beat of just their gasping coming down, his breath so so fast, and voice so so fragile, Eddie tries to be, what’s the word Rob’s always throwing at him?

Contrary.

(He thinks that’s it.)

“But you—”

This time Steve doesn’t still Eddie’s lips with his own, not for lack of wanting, but definitely for the recognition that there are things that need saying, much as Steve used to chafe at too many words in a row: he’s learned that too, with Eddie. And he’s so fucking grateful for it; the life they’ve had to live, as much as the life they’re lucky enough to live now—all of it kinda needs the words.

“I’m not some defenseless maiden in one of your campaigns,” Steve tells him in the simplest, surest terms he knows; “I know you, you let me know you,” and he kisses the bow of Eddie’s lips at the top before he noses against the line of his jaw:

“And whatever bits and pieces that maybe haven’t seen the light yet,” he kisses the point of that jaw and goes further, mirrors Eddie again to kiss a ring around the blood beating still so fucking fast at his neck:

“I’m so ready to know them, and hold them close when they’re the scared parts, and square up when they’re the demons and fight them with you, and just,” and Steve finally just kisses that beating heart, when it pounds into the purse of his waiting lips like a gift all its own before he straightens enough to meet Eddie’s eyes:

“I signed on for all of you,” Steve brushes Eddie’s hair behind one ear, delicate and adoring as he’s flooded with how true the words are in his own chest: “because all of you, is what I fell for.”

“You can’t fall for what you don’t know is there—“ Eddie tries to protest, though it’s weak.

The fact that it’s there at all, though, isn’t something Steve was ever going to allow to stand.

“When did you know you loved D&D?”

Eddie blinks; frowns.

“What?”

Steve tilts his head, raises a brow: waits.

Eddie lets out a slow breath and answers, kinda hesitant—uncomprehending, but honest:

“First time I read more than a page of The Player’s Handbook at a flea market.”

Steve can picture it, the innocence; the wonder—how little has really changed, not at the heart of him.

“So you didn’t know everything yet, right?” Steve presses on. “But you still knew?”

And it’s in the inflection, the way he says that last word that Eddie gets it—it’s what Steve has wanted to get picked up and seen—and Eddie tries to sigh, to shake his head:

“Steve—“

“And you still feel the same, maybe more, now?”

“Steve, that’s just a fucking game. You, you’re,” and Steve would like to dwell on Eddie calling it just a game, not least to preen a little that it’s done to elevate his own significance in Eddie’s affections, but it’s not the time, and the tone of Eddie’s voice is too fucking bleak:

“I’m so fucked up, Stevie,” and he sounds just…so forlorn, so resigned; “I’m still so fucked up,” and there Eddie shifts, moves just enough to reach Steve’s face, to stroke his cheek like he’s precious beyond measure, his eyes glowing in the wan light that the car’s still giving, glinting with a welling up of tears that pull at the linings of vital things inside Steve’s chest.

“You’re everything there is, Steve. You’re what makes breathing still feel worthwhile, after everything,” and it’s hard, because seeing Eddie this way is killing Steve by a thousand fucking strikes but then, he can’t complain for being loved like this, would never; not least when he feels the exact same to the fucking letter.

“I’m damaged fucking goods, just a goddamn losing bet,” Eddie’s shaking his head and Steve can’t pretend he’s never felt the same but he likewise can’t pretend he’ll stand for Eddie seeing himself in a way that just so…

Wrong.

So he darts a hand and laces his grasp with Eddie’s in that way that’s become innate as he leads Eddie palm to his own chest and presses hard, to the point of pain, and it feels so fucking right as he near-hisses, pledges like a vow:

“You’re my heart.”

Eddie stills, barely seems to blink, stares at their joined hands. Presses close to feel, even harder.

Only more right.

“Simple as that, man,” Steve’s words land like a shrug, a given. “You’re kinda…the beat that keeps me breathing.”

Steve doesn’t know if that’s corny, or weird to say: but he doesn’t really fucking care, because it’s the unvarnished truth and he stands by it. And he thinks he’s more than qualified to say it and mean it, have it mean something real, because, like—

“And I mean, you know what it’s like, at least a little,” Steve lifts Eddie’s hand, gets a tiny whimper for moving it but makes up for it by kissing his knuckles; he knows that Eddie knows what it feels like, with his parents, with this fucking town; what Steve’s about to say isn’t wholly lost on Eddie, just a different…flavor:

“But I’ve had that heart ripped out and stepped on,” Steve takes a breath—remembering doesn’t hurt like it used to, especially not with Eddie in his arms, but that’s doesn’t mean the sting’s all gone: “spat on for what I tried to give along with it.”

And this time Eddie’s the one whose hand twitches: fierce, held tight, almost protective.

It’s a reaction Steve’s never been on the receiving end of before, not like this. As if he’s worth it, and unquestionably so. He’s definitely gotten used to it, a little at least, but is still always a little surprised how warm it lands, spreading through him molten like gold.

“Hurt like fucking hell, y’know, and I think that was when I stopped believing I’d ever find someone who could put up with me,” Steve admits, not as if he’s tried at all to hide it, but more in that he doesn’t think he’s said it quite so plain, right out loud; “like, who’d want me even if you erased all the Upside Down fuckery,” and the molten feeling gets a little extra kick for the sound that escapes Eddie at that, close-on to a growl.

“But then the fuckery grew, and then there were Russians and it was like I was made up more of just how it fucked my head up, wrapped in a bunch of gnarly scar tissue, more that than anything else, and my love was still too much, so I mostly tried to hide it,” he lands on, and somewhere while he was speaking Eddie’s curled down to replace his hand with his head over Steve’s chest again, still protective. More so, maybe.

“So I was scared, too,” Steve admits, not ashamed now but actually kinda proud, maybe a little, because here he is, actually putting it in words:

“I was scared at the beginning. With you.”

Eddie finally looks up, then, meets Steve’s eyes with lips parted, hanging on each word but visibly working through a struggle to make it all sink in, add up the way Steve means it to.

That’s okay. Sometimes it is hard; doesn’t mean it’s bad, or wrong, or anything less than the best thing he knows; the only life he even wants, anymore.

“I hid,” Steve nods, swallows a little rough; “in my own way, I hid, too.” From embracing how his eye was caught more indiscriminately than most; from accepting that his heart was always going to swell quick and ready first, and it wasn’t a fucking crime, it just more often than not was gonna hurt; that Eddie Munson had been a puzzle he couldn’t understand at the peripherals of his world for a while already before they were thrust into the apocalypse.

That’d all probably been a good bulk of the reason for his little nugget speech in the RV, which still gives Eddie a good laugh now and again, so no matter how mortifying, he can’t even fully regret what the hiding made him do.

Until—

“But then we almost lost you, we did for those horrible handfuls of seconds, worst of my whole fucking life, when all I could see out of nowhere was the future, and it was made of you, and it was the piece of me getting spat on except it felt like allof me,” and it had, the experience never leaving Steve, not really, that hollow fire that’d destroyed him unrelenting; “all of me just getting ground into dust because I’d lost you before I could ever have you, and all I knew was that you were all that mattered and you were gone, so what even was the fucking point—“

Steve runs out of breath, and Eddie sits up, but Steve’s takes the in to flip their hands caught between them, takes Eddie’s from where his own pulse has picked up for he memories, and the feeling and pressed his palm to Eddie’s chest: the point.

He didn’t expect to need proof of the whole fucking point as badly as he does.

“Then you were back,” Steve’s sighs out relief and gratitude the same way every single time, Eddie’s heartbeat a balm as much as a fuel, a sacred sort of fire in his veins to keep going because the words are maybe never going to be easy, never going to come natural like they do for Eddie but: for Eddie, Steve will do just about anything.

With that as the starting point: this is child’s play.

“Then you were breathing again and I knew I couldn’t let being afraid be enough. It could live here, maybe will forever,” he brings his other hand back to his chest, where the terror simmers, and Eddie sees the opportunity to touch again and slides his fingers in tight to hold there, too; Steve can’t help but smile, and relish the little extra beat that the feeling nudges through his veins.

“It could live here forever,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand against his ribs; “ but never at the cost of you.” Then he pulls, presses his other hand in Eddie’s on top and gathers everything to the core of him as he pledges, vows exactly that deep:

“Never more important, here, than you.”

And Eddie’s breath catches, and he tips forward into Steve’s neck again—and Steve slips one hand free to hold him, to protect him from all sides, too.

And to hold him together, in case the rest of what Steve needs to say, needs him to hear, shakes through him too strong.

“You were like,” Steve licks his lips, shakes his head, holds Eddie a little closer, this time maybe more for his own sake, as he breathes out just against Eddie’s ear:

“I think maybe we both, in our own ways, are scared fucking shitless,” he huffs, because it’s not that simple but it’s exactly that simple; “and on the surface even, we deserve to be ‘til the day we die, if that’s what it shakes out as,” and Steve does believe that, Steve’s come to terms with it and yeah, he’s still working on not judging it so harsh but he is working on it. Robin pushes him.

Eddie…inspires him.

“I hope it doesn’t,” Steve admits softly, because part of him is scared of being a little scared forever; “but it’d be more than understandable. More than justified.”

So yeah, part of him is a little scared—but more of him?

More of him—

“But I think we’re more scared, and so much deeper with it,” Steve threads his fingers through Eddie’s curls, buries his face a little in the mess of them to breathe him in:

“And in the deeper fear, that deeper place, I think it means that we,” he swallows, and is grateful that Eddie is held tight where he is just now, so that the words Steve says when words aren’t his strongest suit can be backed up by how fucking hard his heart’s beating again, because he feels this, he fucking means this:

“That we feel something so fucking big, this massive beautiful thing that could tear us apart as quick as it lifts us up and we want both, or either, or all, whatever it gives because we just,” Steve sucks in a breath, because honesty, honesty; “we need it, we—”

And Steve stops on a dime when he feels Eddie’s mouth press to the center of his chest even through their clothes, heady and potent; feels his lips move as he speaks, hoarse but not trembling, scratchy but sure:

“Loving is terrifying,” he says, and not at all like it’s a regret, more heavy like it’s a privilege with real goddamn weight as he slowly works his lips up Steve’s throat and the leans back just enough, onlyenough to meet his eyes:

“But I’ve never felt more alive than I do for every fucking bit of it, with you, because it’s you,” Eddie grabs the hand of Steve’s he’s not still holding square-on and laces their fingers, unshakable.

“Living at all hasn’t ever felt more right.”

And there’s something in those words, or maybe the way they’re said, that shakes Steve to his bones, tightens his hold on Eddie to the point of a blissful sort of pain.

“I jump when you grab your keys, when I hear them rattle,” Eddie whispers like a secret, like he’s not proud of what he’s saying but he can say it, because it’s Steve. “Sometimes even when you’re next to me, driving us both home, because home is the same for us both and most times I can latch on to that, and remind my body that we’re just going home,” Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes almost glow as he locks them onto Steve’s even more unbreakable, somehow:

“That you are my home.”

Steve’s heartbeat trips again for that, overfull, and Eddie’s hand clenches in his shirt so tight, still protecting.

“But sometimes,” Eddie closes his eyes, clenches his jaw before spilling out, voice suddenly so very small:

“Sometimes I’m scared you’re just dropping me off, and stopping in while you pack.”

And god, he…that’s what he…

“That’s why you were so,” and Steve doesn’t have to say on top of everything, he doesn’t have to say building on the obvious—he doesn’t have to.

“I went to the car.”

Eddie swallows hard; nods like it’s a battle. Yet he does it.

Steve’s so proud of this man. Steve’s honestly proud of the both them.

“Yeah,” Eddie grinds out, sandpapery and a little painful even just to hear but now it’s there, now they know.

And Steve can gather him close, press him in slow and arrange just so atop him as he lays back down, remembers he brought Eddie’s coat too as the real dead of night starts to settle in, so he shimmies it off his waist and doesn’t bother convincing Eddie’s arms to give up where they’re wrapped around Steve, he just tucks it in as a blanket around them over where his own jacket’s pulled as tight as it can go to keep them both, and then he sighs, exhausted but content and maybe they’ll climb down the ladder Steve had made sure was waiting; maybe they’ll swing straight into his room, the same as Steve’s sure Eddie made his way out in the first place. Maybe they’ll wake up to the sunrise right here, just like this.

Steve’s happy regardless of whichever he gets, because all of it happens together.

“Just for the lights, babe,” he breathes into Eddie’s curls, kisses them firm and holds until the sentiment, the single statement swells to keep the whole of what Steve means for the keys, the car, the idea that he’d ever go anywhere without Eddie that he’s not coming home from, and that his home is Eddie, too: always.

Always.

“Only the lights.”

♥️♥️♥️

✨also on ao3

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divider credit here and here and here and here

[madame-wilsonn]

Where the home is

MASTERLIST

Request: I'd like to request a fluffy fic with Arthur where he gets to live in the country with his love (very cottage core), raise his children (awkwardly but adorably), and run a garage. I'd love to know how his life would have turned out if the vendetta hadn't happened so I supposed this is a "fix it" fic? I know you're really good at those! I don't have a dialogue prompt for you, but perhaps an "ambitious man" comes to the garage and Arthur's wife worries he'll want to go back to his gangster lifestyle, but he assures her he's happy? (You don't have to take that direction tho.) - @zablife​

Summary: after a certain visit, you fear Arthur might not be happy with your life anymore.

A/N: Thank you so much for your request, lee!! I was really hesitant at the beginning with this story but I still hope I did justice to the request! Nonetheless, I had a lot of fun writing for Arthur and imagining a s4-free life! Clearly, this man doesn’t get enough love so I did my best to change that! I really hope you like it!!

And special thanks to @thesoldiersminute for making the perfect gifset to fit my story in such a short time (again), you’re a real hero 💗

Warnings: a bit of angst and fluff!!

Word count: 3,074 words

“Arthur, breakfast is ready!” you yelled out the kitchen window, setting up a plate of scrambled eggs on the table.

Your husband joined you a few seconds later, wrapping his free arm around your waist. He kissed your cheek tenderly, handing you Billy.

“Hello, little guy,” you cooed, tickling his neck.

You pulled out the high chair, making sure he was safely seated before taking place next to Arthur.

“So, what are your plans today?”

“Hmm…gotta go to the garage,” he explained, eating a mouthful of toast. “I’ll come back for lunch, we can go pick those apples for your pie, yeah?”

A soft smile graced your lips, your hand reaching to squeeze his.

He got up, quickly sipping the last of his tea. One kiss on your forehead, one kiss on Billy’s and he left. You watched him get into the car through the window, chuckling when he waved at you, a huge grin on his face.

This was your new routine, your new life. Far from the dust and soot of Birmingham.

Arthur’s last deal got him enough money to buy this cottage, with enough land to grow chickens and have a garden. It all seemed like a dream. Watching your husband play with your son, prepare dinner with him next to you.

You never thought Arthur would finally accept giving up the Shelby business. It became the only option for him once he learned you were pregnant. He didn’t want to raise kids in the middle of gang fights, drugs, and gun powder.

His little family was his last shot to a happy, brighter future and he didn’t want to ruin it. That’s what he would tell you.

However, you couldn’t help but wonder if he missed his old life sometimes. Of course, you knew he was happy with you and the countryside allowed him to fulfill long-forgotten dreams. But was this really enough?

You sighed, grabbing a screaming Billy in your arms.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re going to see Dada. Come on, you can stop crying, now.”

At the mention of his father, your two years old began calming down, repeating “Dada?” until you explained yourself again.

Ever since Arthur left this morning, Billy did not stop asking for him. And what was once a sweet little boy, turned into a screaming, kicking monster. Nothing could silence him. No matter how many toys you brought to his attention, no matter how many cookies you tried to bribe him with. All he wanted was his father.

Which is why you found yourself entering the garage a few minutes later. Oliver— one of Arthur’s mechanics— warned you your husband was in a meeting with some man. You waited outside the office, trying to distract Billy.

Finally, the door opened. A man came out first, dressed elegantly with a hat in his hand. You had never seen him before, not even in the village. But considering the three-piece suit he wore, you could only guess he came from the city.

A smile stretched your lips as Arthur came out, a confused look on his face. The stranger looked at you, then to your husband, expectedly.

“Mr. Lavin, this is my wife, Y/N.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Shelby,” he shook your hand as you replied then grabbed a small card from his pocket, “Alright, here is my card. You can call me when you’ve made a decision. Have a nice day.”

You frowned, staring at Mr. Lavin exiting the building and turning back to Arthur.

“Who was he?”

“Oh, he sells cars. Wants to join our businesses together,” he explained, taking Billy from you. “Did you miss daddy, hm?”

Your toddler giggled, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…he’d keep selling the cars and I would deal with fixing them when it’s needed. And his company is much bigger which would increase benefits, I’d make more money.”

You hummed, realizing this man just proposed to give Arthur his old life back. The small voice of insecurity grew louder and louder at the sight of your husband, thrilled with the idea of expanding his business.

“Love? Is everything okay?”

You focused your attention back on Arthur who had Billy sitting on his knees. A sight you’d never get tired of. Although your husband could be quite clumsy and rough on the edges, you discovered a whole new side of him when he met his son. You had never seen your Arthur so happy. And you were absolutely sure that this lifestyle was the best for him and for Billy. But you were terrified that he may prefer his previous life and accept the businessman’s proposal.

“Yes, yes, I’m alright,” you cleared your throat, pushing your worries further down in your heart. “We just came here because Billy couldn’t stop crying but we should head back now.”

“You know what? I’m going home with you,” Arthur got up from his chair, still carrying his son in his arms. “It’s calm today, I can let Oliver handle it so that little rascal doesn’t drive you mad,” he added that last part while tickling Billy.

With one hand against your back, Arthur guided you outside where the car was parked. The way back home passed in a flash. Staring out of the window, you were only half-listening to your husband. All you could think about was the businessman in his classy suit. Arthur dressed the same way when you met him. His hair used to be shorter. He was close to his family and worked with them at the company.

And then you married him.

You weren’t a controlling wife but you saw how your brother-in-law, Thomas, manipulated Arthur into doing dangerous jobs. No matter how hard you tried to help your husband to give up his drug consumption, his brother would always come back with a man to threaten, beat up or kill.

Of course, he promised it was the last step to become a fully legal company. You believed him in the beginning until Arthur’s state got worse. Your pregnancy was the last thing to convince him to move away.

You lived a happy life, raising your child in the middle of green fields and chickens. Your husband had almost no contact with his brother except for the big family reunions.

You contented yourself with what you had. Granted, it was a less glamorous lifestyle but you never missed any of it. You tried to convince yourself Arthur felt the same way when you had some doubts. It used to work, only by seeing how much better he had gotten.

But this morning’s meeting made you question everything.

“Y/N? Hey!” blinking a few times, you looked at Arthur who opened the door for you. “We’re home.”

You thanked him with a tight smile, your mind still clouded with your doubts and insecurities. You were aware you could share your feelings, and maybe talk about different solutions to make everyone happy. But you knew that as soon as you admitted how you felt, there was no taking it back and you didn’t want Arthur’s decision to depend on what you wanted. Especially if it meant that he could be happy.

Strolling through the garden, you stopped in front of each tree to collect the apples. Arthur had Billy sitting around his shoulder, gleefully trying to catch the red and green fruits.

“Oh, this one is beautiful. Good job, Billy,” your husband exclaimed when he saw his son’s find.

You adored apple picking, it was always a lovely moment. But you couldn’t enjoy yourself as much today. Your incessant ruminations were eating your general cheerfulness away, making you quieter than usual.

Arthur had picked up on your strange behavior ever since you visited him at the garage this morning but he thought you were just tired. Your growing silence only turned his slight concern into worry.

Noticing your absentminded state, he gently put Billy on the ground, letting him meander off in the field. Arthur brought you closer to him, passing an arm around your shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded, tiptoeing to grab one of the apples that caught your eye but you were too short. Before you could do anything else, you found the fruit in your hand, your fingers grazing Arthur’s calloused ones.

“Thank you,” you tried to smile as naturally as your troubled state allowed you to. Glancing at your basket, you added. “I think we have enough apples for now.”

You began walking back to your house, Arthur right behind you. As you entered your kitchen, your husband announced he would be taking Billy to the nursery for his nap. You began working on your dough, the house quiet and peaceful.

However, the silence only made the buzzing in your mind stronger and louder. Your thoughts wandering and spiraling until you felt dizzy.

You kept mixing the batter mechanically, your arms sore. But the pain was incomparable to the despair you found yourself in. There was no way to win. Either you forced your husband to give up something he loved. Or you let him even though it would wreck the balance you had installed.

“Y/N?”

You jumped as Arthur’s voice startled you. A shaky breath escaped your lips, turning your head to look at him.

“Billy’s asleep. Can I help you?” he stood in the kitchen’s door frame, his gentle eyes gauging your expression.

“You can cut the apples if you want,” your tone came out harsher than you expected. Arthur frowned at your cold voice, hesitantly walking into the room.

As he peeled the fruits, he tried to replay in his mind the last few hours of the day. You were obviously upset, more likely about something he did. But the poor man had no idea. It was neither your birthday nor your anniversary. He fixed the lightbulbs in the hallway like you asked. He even brought you fresh flowers yesterday when he noticed the old ones started to wilt.

And you seemed perfectly fine this morning.

So he began thinking about the events that must have happened between the time he left for work and now. You did seem pretty upset when you arrived at the garage but he hadn’t seen you for hours.

Arthur dropped his knife as he realized he may have found the issue. Maybe you were upset that he left you alone with Billy to work instead of helping you at home. But you usually didn’t mind…

Regardless, it seemed to have bothered you today and as your husband, he couldn’t be the reason behind your low spirits.

He took the time to cut the apples the way you showed him, making sure they were “thin but not too much”. He took his time, trying to be as diligent as his rough hands allowed him to. The last thing he wanted was to make you even angrier with chunky apple bits or paper-thin ones.

Sheepishly, he walked to the sink, setting the bowl next to you. He observed you for a moment, noticing the deep frown on your forehead. It was now or never.

Arthur cleared his throat, trying to gain some courage before hugging your waist from behind.

“I-I’m sorry for this morning,” he whispered, resting his cheek against yours.

As soon as the words hit your ears, your movements stopped. You clenched your jaw as you inhaled deeply, wondering what gave you away.

“I promise to stay home more often to help you with the baby. I’ll hire more men at the garage so you don’t have to be alone when he gets fussy like this morning.”

You frowned, confused. You tried to understand his speech but no matter how you analyzed it, it didn’t make any sense.

“What are you talking about, Arthur?” you turned around, dusting your hands on your apron. He didn’t reply right away, staring at you strangely.

“I-I thought you were mad because I went to work this morning. Billy was giving you a hard time and I wasn’t here to help so I thought…you’re not angry about that?”

You sighed, exasperated. It wasn’t his fault and you shouldn’t have been angry at him. But how he completely missed the reason you were so upset just…ticked you off.

You went back to your pie, trying to distract yourself to not cause a fight but Arthur couldn’t give up.

“But…why are you mad? Did I do something to-”

“You didn’t do anything, Arthur. It’s fine.”

You heard him scoff, letting go of your waist.

“Then why have you been like this the whole day?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you stayed quiet. You reminded yourself that Billy was asleep and how hard it would be to calm him down if he woke up. You focused all your attention on the dough before you, trying to ignore your husband. Trying to ignore the growing red monster in your chest.

But Arthur called your name, a hand on your shoulder and you snapped: “because I feel you’re not happy anymore and I’m fucking terrified! There!”

His hand left your shoulder and you took advantage of that second of disbelief to escape, throwing your apron on the table.

You walked to your favorite tree in the garden— the one with the swing attached to it. It was a small gift from Arthur. He built it when you moved in after you mentioned having a similar one in your childhood home.

You let out a shaky sigh, feeling the whole world crumble around you. You couldn’t help but feel a pinch of guilt in your chest, realizing you had convinced yourself you lived a perfect life when it wasn’t the case. You prided yourself in your family, having built a happy and safe household.

But maybe all you did was manipulate Arthur into accepting what you considered a “better” lifestyle.

Tightening your hold on the edge of the swing, you allowed yourself a minute, crying your frustrations away. You breathed in the fresh, summer breeze, slowly calming yourself down.

You were aware your reaction had been disproportionate and you needed to apologize to Arthur for your behavior. You just wished you could stay here forever, shut yourself away in joyful memories. If you focused enough, you could almost feel the wind caressing your cheeks and hear Billy’s precious giggles as Arthur pushed the swing.

But running away from your problems never really made them go away.

Opening the door as quietly as you could, you found Arthur on one of the sofas. Billy must have just woken up as he lay in his father’s arm, nodding on and off against his chest. You played with your fingers anxiously, entering the living room.

Your husband’s gaze on you almost made your cheeks heat up. He had every right to get mad at you for your outburst, to tell you how ridiculous it was and make you feel even smaller than you already did.

Instead, he extended his hand to you, allowing you to sit on his lap. You nuzzled your face against his neck, bringing an arm around Billy as well.

“What’s going on, hm?” Arthur finally asked, tenderly brushing the hair out of your face.

“Do you miss your old life?”

Your question made him frown. He had no idea where this was coming from. You knew everything about his past. You had stood up against his demons, dragging him out of the hell he was a prisoner of. Without you, he would probably not even be here anymore. So why would you ask him that?

“No, love. Why would I?” he replied, his confusion clear in his tone.

“I’m scared you do…sometimes,” you whispered so quietly a part of you hoped he wouldn’t hear.

“What?”

“I’m not angry at you for that. I understand…I think. I’ll always do what’s necessary to make you happy but I’m not sure it’s the best decision and-”

“What are you talking about?” he interrupted, just as confused as before.

“I’m talking about the job, Arthur!” you exclaimed, getting up. “That businessman who came this morning! He’s just offered you your old life back!”

Your husband blinked, everything finally clicking in his mind. Sighing, he put Billy on the sofa and joined you in the middle of the room.

“I never planned on accepting it,” he admitted, taking your hands in his.

You shook your head. “You’re just saying this because I don’t like that idea.”

“I’m not,” Arthur leaned in, kissing your forehead. “Expanding my business means I’d have to work in the city, I’ll be less home. I don’t want that. I don’t want to go back.”

You found yourself melting in his touch, your worry slowly withering.

“I want to be around. I want to see Billy grow and have more children. And the future I imagine is here, in the countryside with my family. Because that’s where my home is,” he explained, bringing tears to your eyes. “I am the happiest man on this whole planet. Never thought it was even possible to feel that way. But you give me that and that’s all I want.” You felt another kiss against the crown of your head. “Also, working for those big companies means cutting my hair and I like it long.”

You giggled at his comment, hugging him closer. Arthur chuckled, his heart welling up as your laugh resonated through the house. 

Feeling a small tug on his pants, he looked down to see Billy, extending his chubby arms towards you. “Dada. Hug,” he kept repeating.

“Oh, you wanna join, little man?” Arthur bent down.

You embraced your boys as tight as you could, contentment filling the void you had felt. Arthur’s earnest words eased your insecurities, shutting down the ugly voices in your head. 

“I want this as well,” you whispered after a beat of silence. Your husband gazed at you, dropping Billy on the ground. “Everything you said, I want it too.”

A radiant smile appeared on his face, his eyes gleaming under the afternoon sun. Caressing your cheeks, Arthur brought your lips to his. Your fingers got lost in his hair as you felt your knees grow weaker.

“What do you say we leave Billy with John and Esme for a few days and have the weekend for ourselves?” he muttered, eyes growing darker. 

“Sounds like a brilliant idea.”

[dylanmunson]

summary: you're eddies friend from band camp from when you were both younger. 

spoilers from s4 

masterlist //// wattpad

---------------------------------------------------------------

Rocking out to Cherry bomb in Gareth's garage, you on bass, Gareth on drums, and Jeff on guitar. You grin at Gareth as the song finishes. 'i know you said Eddie was on the run from whatever had happened but surely you know where he's hiding?' you ask putting your bass down. Gareth shakes his head shrugging his shoulders. 'I told you i have no idea' he sighs. 

Some younger boys bike past, stopping in front of the garage 'Hey Dustin, Mike!' Gareth grins over at the younger boys 'no lucas?' the boy who you amuse is dustin shakes his head 'he's still in hospital watching over Max' he sighs. Gareth only nodding, you look between the pair and raise a eyebrow 'oh' Gareth chuckles 'This is y/n' he points to you 'Dustin, Mike' he smiles pointing at the boys. 

'So she is real?!' dustin laughs, mike grins looking at you, 'wa- what?' 'Eddie mentioned you but nobody believed you were real' mike says shrugging 'and whys that?' they both shrug their shoulders pushing their bikes closer to you. 'speaking of' 'we dont know where eddie is' dustin buts in looking at Gareth. you roll your eyes and look at the boys 'come on man! i miss my best friend' you groan kicking a stone. 'best friend?' you raise a brow at the younger boys, you chuckle nodding 'yeah best friend, have been since we were 10, met at camp, the only reason i went back every year' you chuckle, Gareth nodding, you guys all having met at camp 'I'd come to surprise him over spring break but' you shrug 'he kinda just disappeared without a trace' you sigh stuffing your hands into your pockets. 

'y/n he uh.. eddie he umm' dustin mumbles, you frown folding you arms over each other 'eddie what?' you say walking closer to dustin. 'eddie died' 'no' you shake your head moving back 'no, no he didnt' you shake your head moving back 'no he's just disappeared, everyone still thinks he killed those kids right jeff?!' dustin sighs looking between the older boys 'im sorry' you shake your head 'why didnt you tell me?!' you look towards gareth and jeff, they look at each other before looking away. 

'well?!' you shout 'because we knew youd react like this, we wanted to find the right moment to tell you' you laugh and look towards the sky shaking your head 'and when was this perfect moment going to magically appear?!' you say grabbing your stuff before walking out of the garage and away from the boys. 'best friends my fucking arse' you shout flipping them the bird as you walk down the street. Dustin looks at everyone and sighs. 

'Hey! hey wait!' dustin shouts running after you 'what?!' you says trying to push the tears back. 'i need to show you something' he mumbles looking down, you shake your head laughing 'show me what?! you think this is funny? why did nobody tell me my best fucking friend died!?!?!?!' you sigh as the tears fall. Dustin shakes his head and pulls you into a hug. 

'just.. just follow me ok?' he says, you sigh but follow him anyway. 

You walk for a while along the main road before walking into the woods, 'dustin was it?' you say rubbing your arms, he hums and looks towards you 'where are we going?" you sigh pulling your denim jacket closer to your body 'not much further i promise' he smiles softly. 

you see a little log cabin in the distance 'dustin' you mumble stopping in your tracks 'wh- whats' he stops you putting his finger to his lips as he carries on walking towards the cabin. 

he opens the door slowly, and looks around, turning on the little light to show a little living area, you frown. Theres a little tv in the corner and a sofa in front of it, a little kitchen area in the opposite corner and a hallway which leads off into three other little rooms. 

'Henderson i swear to fu-' the person says coming into view walking out of what you assume is the bathroom, you look up to see eddie looking right at you, you look at dustin 'you said he was dead dude?!?!' you mumble/shout at dustin, walking over to eddie 'well hello to you to princess' he grins wrapping his arms around you, you crumble into his arms sighing. 

'i know but he's still wanted and was near death when we were in the upside down and i urg i panicked and' 'dude calm' eddie smiles softly at the younger boy. 'when'd you get here?' 'la-last week' you mumble into his chest 'was gonna surprise you but you just disappeared after all those killings happened' you mumble into his chest as the tears begin to fall again. 'they said you died' Eddie chuckles shaking his head 'no, cant get rid of me that easy' he grins rubbing your back, you move back pushing his chest 'dont do that again man!' you look at dustin 'and you' you push at his side 'dont scare me like that again' you mumble giving dustin a hug as well. 

'so whats the upside down?' you smile softly looking at eddie, he just shakes his head sitting on the small sofa, looking towards dustin to explain everything. 

[gregorygerwitz]

more 2011 au thoughts pretty please? or just cozy trio thoughts in general thank youuuu

⚡

Hi again, nonny!

I don't have a lot of thoughts about the 2011 AU this week because I kind of... stopped thinking about it? I spiraled into a new cozy trio AU that I'm still fleshing out a bit. But! I have thoughts about... I guess "general" cozy trio. It's not my main cozy trio 'verse that I write in, because it follows canon a bit more, but I have been thinking a lot about how Hailey and Mouse would react and cope with Jay leaving in 10x03 if cozy trio was established instead of just Upstead?

First of all, the three of them would have talked about it, there would be no Jay making this decision and telling them on his way out the door. He'd recognize how he feels and what he wants is so similar to what Mouse did back in s4, and the two of them would have a separate discussion about it and what a decision like that means. Obviously, Mouse isn't going to stop him from going if that's what he wants, and he's there to be supportive when Jay explains it all to Hailey, too - because there's a lot of thought and reasoning that went into it, and it requires a lot of discussion, and communication. yes, they all sit in the big bed for this discussion because it's comfortable and it's their safe space even when Jay is hurting and has to leave them for a little while

also the idea of Jay starting his initial conversation with Mouse with "I've been thinking about going back in" the way Mouse started it with him in 4x02... thinking thoughts and feeling feelings

and he absolutely doesn't extend his rotation he keeps it to the 8 month timeline they originally discussed and agreed upon because I understand why canon did it but that doesn't mean I have to adhere to it too

Mouse is very worried when Hailey works so much and rarely comes home. he recognizes that it's how she's coping with all these feelings, but it's still worrying. he definitely lingers at the front desk "to talk to Trudy" for a while every night until he knows what unit Hailey's working with and where she's gonna be so he can listen to a police scanner when he gets home and keep an eye on her, that way.

The stuff with O'Neil still happens, just slightly different because having Mouse there adds a whole new layer to all of it in a really fun way (for me, not for him).

During the initial case that brings O'Neil to them, before anyone realizes he's up to something. Mouse is definitely intrigued by Safe Place and its purpose - because he's kind of... been in the same place as most of those kids? he wasn't a teenager when he was on the streets and doing drugs and needed help, but he was still young, and the idea of kids even younger than him being in that position hurts. so, if Hailey is going to be out at all hours throwing himself into work, he can spend one evening bringing some of the extra blankets and non-perishable food from the house to Safe Place (with a check, because he was raised by Thelma and Gregory and the Gerwitzes fix everything with money and he has disposable income again which is probably dangerous but it's fine he has good intentions)

The night he's over there talking to Sean and dropping everything off is, in fact, the night Hailey is in the garage (and his tech cage) back at the district putting all the pieces together. The next day, when Hailey and Voight find out where he was (because Mouse is still concerned when she doesn't go home and he definitely mentioned getting home late, himself) he kind of gets... pulled into the more dangerous side of the investigation.

Mouse is very used to the "safer" parts of cases - checking digital trails, finding information, just sitting in his cage with his snacks and his computers - but now they're asking him to act in an undercover capacity to get information on/from Sean and what he's doing. Because he established himself as a face that has a reason to be seen around the building because he may or may not have offered his time if they need an extra volunteer on his days off from the CPD.

*muffled Vigilante Shit by Taylor Swift*

at least they'll have a fun story to tell Jay when he gets home??? that definitely won't give him an anxiety attack because both of his partners decided to put themselves into a really dangerous and extremely risky situation??? I'm sure he'll be fine with it.

[strangertheories]

i have my own theory but basically, do you think that will could've manifested the upside down into its current appearance? like with powers

Honestly, this is one of the most likely explanations and I think this makes a lot of sense. Will being a traumatized kid under a ton of stress morphs the Upside Down into his town, freezing it at the moment he got taken. This is also why the Russians couldn't get to the Upside Down there; the Upside Down is only Hawkins. Another possible explanation is that somehow the boundaries between the two got broken and then the UD became half Hawkins half UD, although I feel as though the Will explanation makes more sense. To me, the thing about this is less the what and more the how.

So firstly, maybe Will hopped off of Vecna's powers. We're shown they have a lot in common and based off of other evidence like the static (at Mike's house) which Vecna uses to make a connection with his victims in S4. Vecna gets people's abilities when he creates this connection with them when the portal is made so maybe his connection to Will was so strong when Will came into the Upside Down without a portal, Will ended up absorbing some of his powers. He then used these powers to subconsciously transform the Upside Down into a familiar environment or on the other hand to hide from the demogorgon as it is mentioned that he is good at hiding.

The other possibility is that Will always had powers but repressed them as a child. There are a lot of parallels between him and Creel so I guess this could make sense (being called sensitive, art, etc.). Also because of the fact that Will was clearly targeted by Vecna specifically and wasn't just a random child considering all of the weird events leading up to his disappearance; the static-y TV, flashing lights at Mike's house, the fact he was stalked which the demogorgon doesn't do, how the garage door unlocked the same way Eleven later unlocked a door, the shadow not looking like a demogorgon, etc, etc. Now usually I theorise that's because Vecna sees himself in Will (a sensitive kid shunned for not conforming) and so he targets him to join him, like how he projected onto the only bullied child at the lab. But I don't think the two have to be mutually exclusive.

Originally, I was opposed to Will being especially chosen because I preferred the idea that these people weren't destined to get involved with the Upside Down but instead ended up being involved as a result of their own actions. But the show would make way more sense if Will had powers or a special link to Vecna than if he didn't. His actions still matter as well, as do the actions of the people around him, because they are making the choices because of their characters and not because of Vecna. If they choose to have a twist of "oh Vecna was actually manipulating all of them and knew Mike would find Eleven and Joyce would do what she did" I wouldn't like that, but I don't think that's inherent to Will having powers.

Personally I'm more inclined towards the first theory and I might make a follow up post about it, however I think both explanations could work. There's a lot more thoughts I have on this but I've spoken about that in the past and this post is already quite long. If anyone has follow up asks I'd love it because I have so many thoughts on this for S5 since we know it'll be a main focus. Thanks for the ask! I love theorising about the show and recently I've spoken a lot about the fandom but I would really like to theorise more because I love it a ton. Issue is, it takes lots of time and gets no clout.

[gaycrouton]

the metastasis of mourning

jfc, I turn 25 and write a drabble about death. I'm so dramatic. 

msr | cancer arc (s4) | angst | 1.3k | ao3 

She's thought about her death through imagining the imprints of her life she'll leave behind. Fingerprints of her existence left on lipstick-stained china in the sink, a cassette's ribbon forever paused in the middle of a song she'll never hear the end of, her plants slowly turning brown from neglect.

She's imagined the hollow ringing sound the phone might make in her apartment when Mulder calls in the middle of the night to talk about a bad dream. In her imagination, the ringing would stop abruptly before the completion of a full trill — signifying the moment where his sleep wore off, only to be replaced by the realization she'll never pick up the phone again. That no one was going to tell him that everything was okay, that he was okay. Though, after she was gone, he probably never would be.

That was one of the hardest things for her — imagining the other side of the call. The thought of Mulder hanging up the phone and sitting alone in his darkened apartment.

It scared her to think of where his mind would go without her there to bring him back.

He'd just finally found someone to talk to, finally found comfort in turning to another person, and she was going to take that away from him. Sometimes she resented how quickly their friendship had blossomed. The depth of their mutual affection had spread like a weed and it felt impossible to extract herself. Not that she wanted to, but she wanted to make this easier on him.

The little things around her apartment that meant a lot to her would go from sentimental keepsakes to objects for a garage sale after she passed. She kept a phone bill from January 1994 in her dresser because it was the last statement she'd ever get with her Dad's name on it. He'd called to say he loved her and that they were still on for dinner. The paper held sentimental value only to her, and she knew it would be thrown away by whoever was charged with going through her stuff. The scarf Melissa gave her a month before her passing would be given to Goodwill. No one would know how often she held the fabric and heard, "It matches your eyes, Dana." Maybe someone would imbue the objects with the love she had for them and she could live on in a tiny way through her belongings, but the objects wouldn't miss her.

Mulder would miss her.

He wouldn't help her memory live on, not in the traditional sense. He would just die with her, existing in a self-imposed limbo where he walked amongst the living while spending all his time with the dead.

She'd seen how his life was impacted by the disappearance of a loved one, it scared her to think what would happen when there was no chance they'd come back.

Maybe Mulder's belief in ghosts could lead him to interpret that she may still be with him in some supernatural way, manifesting her into something that went against her beliefs. He'd be so desperate to be with her one last time that he'd see her everywhere. It saddened her to think that while she was gone, a light would flicker in his apartment and he'd think it a paranormal wink from beyond the grave. He'd spend his days interpreting their relationship through faulty technology.

She mourned his proverbial death just as much as her own.

Would he be able to drive to Georgetown without accidentally driving past her apartment on impulse? If he heard her favorite songs on the radio, would he listen and smile, or would he turn the channel?

She didn't have a desk, but her memory would pervade the whole office, the reputation of Spooky Mulder's dead partner so strong that people would read her name across the door instead of his own. Would the office become a mausoleum of her final days, a museum of when she was there? A pencil that remained unsharpened because she was the one who wore it down? A sticky note stuck on his computer promising a coffee on her that would never come? Would he look at the newspaper clippings from when she was gone and feel nostalgia for when he was able to imagine her somewhere that wasn't six feet in the ground?

Mulder would be deafened from the missing sound of her pen scratching against the grit of a legal pad, would he hear a pair of heels coming from down the hall and wait with bated breath to see her come around the corner? Would his heart skip a beat when he saw a woman with short red hair? Knowing Mulder, he'd trail a few feet behind the woman, allowing himself a few moments to pretend like he was following her.

"I know what you're afraid of. I'm afraid of the same thing."

No. Mulder. Not quite.

Sure she feared her death, but she feared what would happen to Mulder after.

Hell, she feared looking at his face after a coughing fit or a nosebleed because she could see a preview of what was to come. While he saw the blood and the phlegm and was made acutely aware of a dying body, she saw the hollow eyes and downturned lips and saw someone's life slipping through their fingers. For every physical twang and ache her body felt, she knew Mulder felt it in his soul.

She'd been carrying around a letter in her bag for the past few weeks. She's written out her request for him to speak at her funeral. She was always jealous of how eloquently he could express himself, especially since it had always been so hard for her. A Eulogy by Mulder would be the best commemoration she could imagine.

If that little anecdote about rain being the result of angels crying was true, surely a downpour would occur once he put a voice to how much he would miss her. Every time she found a chance to give him the letter, she just couldn't.

It would kill him.

When she was at her worst, she wished they weren't friends. She wished she didn't spend so much time trying to make sure she respected him as a partner and cherished him as a person. She wished he wouldn't smile at her like that. She wished they hadn't become the only person the other trusted.

She wished she didn't love him.

When those thoughts came to her, it was hard for her to even entertain them. Her love for him was what helped her get through this. When she was coughing so hard she thought her veins would burst, she could calm herself by imagining Mulder was there, stroking her back and whispering words of comfort. When she was lying in her bed, too weak to move, she'd replay her memories with him in her mind like a movie. The cancer made her body feel like ice, but his love warmed her like the sun.

Sometimes she thought they were like their own X-File. She could imagine him presenting it to her on one of his carefully crafted slide projections.

"Scully, what do you make of this? One person develops cancer, yet their partner is dying?"

Empathetic illnesses.

She might've had the malignant tumor, but he'd contracted some sort of vicarious metastasis. It was the curse of their partnership, they followed each other no matter what. She just wished he'd stop at death.

The hopeless look in his eye when she said she wasn't getting better told her that he wouldn't.

As much as she hated the idea of him spending the rest of his life with the shadow of her memory, her biggest fear was that he'd reunite with her too soon.

[deeg9]

It’s too late. (Fan Fiction)

[Picking up where S4 ended] - Part 6

\\ Read Part 5 here \\

Lopez, Grey, and the DEA Agent sat in a van outside of the condo building, waiting for Tim to pull out of the garage.  

“They’re convincing,” Grey said, but his tone revealed he was suspicious. “May be a little too much. Is there something I should know, Lopez?” 

“God, I hope so,” Lopez muttered under her breath. Agent Banks wiped his mouth to hide a smile. 

“What?” Grey’s head snapped around. 

“What? Nothing,” Lopez shook her head. “Sarge, I didn’t like the way that sounded. Lucy’s at risk.” 

“I know,” Grey held up the radio. “Team Blue, be prepared to move in on my signal.”

“Copy,” Officer Nolan’s voice crackled over the frequency. 

**************************

Tim checked the envelope on the way to the car to make sure it wasn’t bugged. It was clear. 

“Lopez. Grey. This guy isn’t messing around,” Tim said once he was inside the car. “Did you hear that threat? You better be mobilizing to get her out of there now. He will kill her if you raid the warehouse.”

Tim leaned back on the seat and closed his eyes for a moment to regroup.

“Please,” he prayed, “Get her out.” 

**************************

Lucy watched Tim leave and knew he was worried. 

She hoped he didn’t pull the plug too soon. She knew she could find out more about Hajek’s operation without Tim there. She hated to admit it, but the best thing they could do at the moment was split up. 

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind Tim, Hajek rushed over to her, shaking her confidence.

“This way,” Hajek grabbed Lucy’s arm lightly and guided her toward a closed door. 

“Where are you taking me?” Lucy asked, looking behind her. Two goons were following them, and the other two waited for the same elevator Tim had. 

Hajek didn’t answer. He opened the door and motioned for her to go first. 

She walked in and saw it was the master bedroom. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, this is not part of the deal. I am not sleeping with you.” She told him with a hard edge to her voice.

“Relax, Princess. We’re getting out of here.” He nodded toward the far wall where another elevator stood. 

“Why do you have two elevators,” She asked incredulously. She knew once she was inside the mic might cut out and she wouldn’t be able to signal the team. “This place isn’t even that big.” 

“Stop talking and get in.” 

**************************

Lucy’s audio flatlined, which meant it was currently out of range or the signal was being blocked.

“Move in, Team Blue," Sergeant Grey said over the radio. “Lopez, pull up the blueprints. Do we know where the other elevator lets out?” 

“Checking now,” Lopez zoomed in on the plans until she found the elevators that went to the penthouse. 

“This is weird, Sarge.” Lopez pointed to the screen. “It looks like it goes to the same garage but one level lower.” 

“I’ve seen that before,” Agent Banks said and then cursed. “There’s a tunnel. Usually, celebrities use them to avoid the paparazzi. He’s going to pop up in another building nearby and drive out where no one’s looking.”

“Team Blue, be advised there is a lower level to the garage than what Bradford came out of. Do you see an access point?” Grey clicked off the radio and waited for a response. 

Two minutes later, Nolan’s voice sounded. 

“Negative, sir. We will keep looking.”

“All units be on the lookout for automobiles registered to Roy Hajek. We believe he is exiting another building nearby by way of tunnel. Repeat we believe the suspect is not in the target building.”

Grey set the radio down and shared a glance with Lopez. A sinking feeling filled his gut. 

A few minutes later, Nolan’s voice came over the line. 

“Control. This is Team Blue. We have cleared the garage and penthouse. The second elevator requires a key and the building super is getting us a copy to access. Stand by for more information.” 

Grey clicked the radio back on. 

“Control. Issue an APB for Roy Hajek and Officer Lucy Chen alias Chloe Wu. Set up roadblocks at all freeway access points for an 11-99. All units, Code 99.” 

Agent Banks pulled out his phone and checked a text.

“Bradford arrived at the warehouse a couple minutes ago. He’s inside.” Agent Banks shared. 

“Tell your men to stand down!” Grey ordered.

Agent Banks nodded and placed the call, holding the phone up to his ear.

“Stand down. Hajek’s taken a friendly hostage.” He said as soon as the person on the other end answered. 

Grey heard a response but couldn’t make out the words. 

Agent Banks looked up to make eye contact with Sergeant Grey. 

“Sir, it’s too late. They’ve already moved in.” 

**************************

The DEA was careful to keep everyone separated so it wouldn’t be obvious when Tim was diverted back to the LAPD.

Grey and Lopez found him waiting on the precinct floor when they walked in.

“Where’s Lucy?” Tim asked. 

“There was an unknown tunnel in the garage.” Lopez told him slowly. “Hajek got away and he took Lucy with him. Tim, I’m so sorry.”

Tim took a step back and looked up at the ceiling, holding the back of his head with his hands. He took a heavy breath.

"Hajek's got a sixty-minute head start. With his resources, he could be anywhere," Tim knew he sounded defeated, but he couldn't shake the weight building in his chest.

“Everyone is looking for her, Bradford. LAPD, DEA and I called in a favor to my friend at the FBI.” Grey assured him. 

“If anything happens to her, I’m done,” he glanced between Lopez and Grey. “I didn’t pull Lucy out of the ground just to watch her be put right back into it by the badge.” 

“We’re not going to let that happen. We’ll find her.” Lopez promised.

Tim nodded and tried to focus on the task at hand. “Ok. Get me a list of Hajek’s known locations and let’s get teams dispatched to all of them.”