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hitlikehammers · 1 month ago

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Early November, 1984 and all Eddie wanted was to light up behind the Byers' place in peace🚬

he went all that way and all he got for it was a maybe-dead💀-but-definitely-unconscious-king👑-slash-maybe-babysitter(?), plus some shithead children directing his van🚐 to those fucking abandoned labs that may as well be lit up in neon lights screaming 🚨THIS IS A FUCKING TRAP🚨

Eddie shouldn’t be here. Like, not in a it’s forbidden kinda way, but more in a, there’s no real reason for him to fucking be here.

Save for the obvious.

It’s just…after the whole dead-not-dead thing with the youngest kiddo, the property around the Byers house has kinda turned into no-man’s-land; easy place to get high when Eddie wants a change of scenery, basically, with no one trying to break his nose, or call the pigs.

Or snatch his supply.

But when he hears that fuckface Hargrove call out, the tone on him—and Eddie’s real sensitive to tones, he can guess between the lines for everything he can’t read—he perks up; listens in. Stays put out of sight.

(And no, he does not cream his pants when Harrington calls back, Jesus; taunts like the cocky prick that he is—

And no it is not a close thing or…whatever.)

Point being: he hears more than sees what happens. Up to and including a gaggle of literal fucking children dragging Harrington toward wha Eddie thinks is Hargrove’s eyesore of a car, one of the sheepies crossing around like they’re planning on driving it, and Eddie’s not one for the rule of law or anything—definitely not if it’s Hargrove’s property that’s on the line—and fuck yes Eddie’s driven without a license, and far below the age to get one, but, but—

He’s tripping over himself to turn the keys in his own ignition and swinging the van around quick enough to kick up dirt before he leans over and throws open the passenger door.

“Hey,” he hisses, low but not quiet, he needs them to hear but he doesn’t know if Hargrove’s gonna storm out any second, it’s a delicate balance; “hey, get in,” and he’s crawling over the seat to open the back, too, to push things to the side to mostly leave it flat, tossing blankets to the middle with no care for their cleanliness because there’s no time for that shit, there’s no time and then he’s grabbing the hinges of the doors and flinging his whole top half around to eye this hoard of strange ankle-biters and what’s revealed quickly to be their still-weirdly-attractive-when-beat-to-shit charge in Steve Motherfucking Harrington, trying to project some degree of meaningful trustworthiness, because he is trustworthy, here and now, but they’re kinda in the fucking clock of crazy-eyes-Mc-West-Coast stumbling out of the house, so Eddie’s kinda gotta urge these rugrats with real feeling, waving his hands to the point where his fucking wrists hurt:

“Get in.”

And of course these little urchins still and just, raise a fucking eyebrow at him. Like they’re not working on an inexact sort of fucking timeline—

“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeesh. He wasn’t off when he said they were ankle biters; the little lambies have teeth.

“I just wanna help,” Eddie tries to say it with as much of the genuine concern that he really and truly feels, and not get weighed down with the probably-suspicious-off-the-bat vibe of pulling up in a random van just to start the exchange out with waving some strange kids into the back of it.

Jesus, that sounds terrible, wow, okay.

He gets it.

“No,” oddly, not the ringleader girl who eyed him first but it’s the curly headed boy now who stands up, squares his shoulders, and stares Eddie down with an only-slightly-less-menacing glare. “No, you’re not gonna hurt Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I swear,” Eddie’s honestly surprised by how unmuddled his tone bleeds put as desperate, versus irritated by this motley crew of munchkins trying to fight him when he is risking his own neck to help them.

And…King Steve, but then: can he be that motionless, hanging awkward from the noodles limbs of a handful of preteens (at most)?

“I just want to get you out of here, somewhere safe,” Eddie bites his lip, wonders where the fuck he intends to go and realizes he was probably just going to drive toward his home and hope for the best; “Er, somewhere safer than here,” and they don’t fucking budge, little assholes, and Harrington doesn’t fucking twitch, and just, just…

Ugh.

“Come on,” he urges them again, just shy of begging; lets how fucking nervous he’s getting seep clear into his tone a little, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d have convinced them to move if not for the crashing of something in the house behind them, and—well.

Nothing like impending doom to speed shit along.

“I wanted to drive,” the redhead’s muttering with a scowl as they heft the body they’re barely keeping off the ground and awkwardly feed Harrington head-first up to Eddie where where he’s crawled properly into the back of the van to help, and Eddie thinks these little fuckers just might be more wild and feral and insane even than he originally would have guessed for how they make to scramble behind their Steve; only just manages to steady and lower the royal body as careful as he can before the hoard clamors in and denies Eddie so much as a moment to press his finger under Steve Harrington’s flop of bloody hair and touch below his jawline where those stupidly infuriating moles of his speckle his skin, marks that Eddie’s hasn’t ever really paid attention to ever, nope, Eddie only needs now to assess whether he’s just accepted a dead fucking body into his van but: no.

Maybe a little sluggish, but pulse’s strong. Which: Eddie doesn’t care about past the legality of it all. Beyond getting saddled with a murder charge or some other bullshit.

No other reason. Of course. Yeah.

The only thing that floors him more than the Hardy Boys-plus-Girl on steroids tearing onto the cushions around where their unconscious charge is laid out, as Eddie shifts into gear and makes to get the fuck out of dodge, like, yesterday, is the even-louder voice in his head that asks probably the most pressing question:

The fuck did the King do, and how, and why, to make these children this loyal?

What follows all that is quite arguably—actually more than that; definitely a strong contender for—the most surprising thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. That could maybe ever possibly happen to Eddie, in any circumstance for any reason within any universal construct or reality. And he’d been really marinating in his Munson Doctrine this year, too, having been forced to reevaluate some shit after the letter arrived to hammer the most disappointing nail in the coffin of Eddie’s first senior year, but then…fuck everything, then there were the stupid little sheepies and their stupid gorgeous goddamn babysitter—which still, still: what the fuck was that, who the fuck even was Steve Harrington?—and Eddie’d barely even put the ink down to dry before all of them banded secretly together and shredded that motherfucking document before it could even properly take root in Eddie’s brain.

All while something else entirely started to take root in his chest, in his hea—

Well. Something. Something that wasn’t even remotely recognizable inside his most recent—and most polished to date, if he does say so himself—draft of the Doctrine like, at all.

Which is the point.

Because Harrington was indeed alive, and did indeed wake up, and clocked Eddie quicker than expected, even by name—Munson? What the fuck?and hell if that hadn’t fluttered between Eddie’s ribs an indefensible amount that no one would ever know about ever, thank you very much, but still: Jesus H. Christ—

But all his own humiliating discombobulation at the not-even-hands-just-voice-and-presence-of-the-golden-boy aside: it’s a damn good fucking thing Harrington wakes up, and is definitely not dead, because Eddie knows where the King lives, and he knows he’s not driving in that direction but had instead been foolish enough to give these shitweasel munchkins the benefit of the doubt here, like that there maybe was a safe house or some shit, fucking sue him, he was a little prepccupied, yeah—by the threat of a chase with that Hargrove fucker and then by the absolutely spectacle of Harrington screeching at the wayward waifs like a harried mother at the stovetop, because fuck, but Eddie nearly crashes them into three ditches and at least five trees for for trying to watch and he can’t even pretend otherwise—but the end result is definitely not a fucking safe house, and these little asshats have directed him in the wholeass wrong direction, if the undeniable fact of the old abandoned labs at the edge of town looming big through his windshield, looking at least slightly less abandoned (as if that’s not goddamn terrifying in and of itself), what the fuck has he literally driven into, is he an accomplice, and to what, and just, just Jesus—

“Hey.”

Eddie is honestly wholly jolted out of his spiral for a lot of reasons, here. The low tenor exhale of a sound in a voice too kind and open and invested, to much like music given what it does to Eddie, what music means to Eddie and what this voice shouldn’t fucking mean too straight out the goddamn gate. The proximity of a body close enough to feel the warmth of each breath. The indefensible feeling of it being nearly erotic out of nowhere and with no justification at all—just the reality of Eddie’s world right now, to feel the barest brush of the side of a body alongside his, leaning forward where he’s still in the driver’s seat. All of that would tip his world at the very least into a different sort of spiral pattern, breathless in a completely other way.

But.

What knocks Eddie hardest and most effectively in one go is the hand on his shoulder, braced to comfort and steady, and the realization in the flesh of how fucking big it is, how the span of that palm, those fingers, because Eddie knew those hands looked big, not that he’d studied them with any real…attention or anything but feeling them was something entirely other, and the touch, the touch is…is—

“Hey,” and Harrington’s breath is close enough then to tickle Eddie’s hair, goddamn: “breathe.”

And where Eddie hadn’t been wholly aware that he wasn’t, y’know, doing the breathing thing so well, either for the absolute insanity of the evening or the ominous spread, all proper D&D-style foreshadowing of nope don’t go there not now not ever waiting where these menaces had directed him to drive; but whatever the reason, where Eddie now takes a gulp of air in now that fucking burns, there’s Harrington, leaning over a little more, a second hand on Eddie chest to steady him as he falls all while he’s fucking squeezing Eddie’s shoulder, only a second before he’s getting ready to jump out of the van like he wasn’t just beaten unconscious like, five fucking minutes ago.

What the actual flying fuck.

If Eddie weren’t a goddamn idiot, he’d put the van in reserve before anyone could get out the back, fuck the way they’ll be thrown against the sides, at least they won’t be walking—willingly—into whatever the fuck’s waiting, all angry red and kinda…pulsating in the distance in a way that may or may not be a trick of his own paranoid mind, and then spewing little glowing motes into the air like lightning bugs.

Which could be charming, if it weren’t way fucking past the season for that shit.

And in fairness, the whole experience of Steve Harrington touching him and leaning close and breathing near him and telling him to breathe? That shit does carry him through—mostly—the hours that will follow, cliche and genuinely fucking embarrassing as it is, as it will be, to acknowledge at all.

But in the now—

“Thanks, man.”

And…oh, well, fuck.

As in point number one: that hand—bothhands—really are distracting as all hell but then also, simultaneously, very much point number two:

What the actual fuck.

“What?”

Apparently sending Eddie-usually-eloquent-enough-to-spin-some-pretty-bullshit-on-demand-Munson reeling outta nowhere is this fucker’s MO. Probably for the best that Eddie’s been writing him off as a pretty airhead for years now—if for nothing more than his own sanity.

Or else, like…relatively speaking.

“You got us here,” Harrington gestures out the window and…yeah.

“Here?”

That’s the relative part. And the insane part to be thanked for. Because where they’ve ended up is definitely the DoE labs that were supposed to have shut down or whatever, after people disappeared and came back and disappeared again and also didn’t and were never gone and fake bodies and whatever.

No one thanks anyone for bringing them to a place like this.

“And it’s more than I could have asked someone to do,” Harrington’s going on like it’s a casual thing, a favor like walking his goddamn dog and not more like what’s actually staring them down inside the fencing, namely the building that doesn’t look as abandoned as advertised by half, and definitely doesn’t at all look like the only thing it’s missing is a big neon sign blinking TRAP! FREE TRAP! IN THE MARKET FOR A QUICK PAINFUL DEMISE AT THE HANDS OF THE WORLD’S SHITTIEST TAINT FACTORY EAST OF ARMPIT-IAPOLIS? STEP RIGHT UP! ALSO REMINDER: CLEARLY A TRAP!

“Harrington,” Eddie doesn’t love the way his voice trips over a bonafide gulp. “Steve.”

He also doesn’t love how much feeling sneaks into that part because one, where the fuck’d that even come from and two, he…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever said this guy’s first name out loud. As in…ever.

He doesn’t love how nice it feels, how scary but bubbly-warm it tingles at the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

So there’s all of that.

Still set inescapably under the threat of the non-existent-but-no-less-real-neon-sign-of-death and…stuff.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve’s pats Eddie’s shoulder again, moves the hand from his chest like he’s pulling away, like he’s leaving to go toward the trap and Eddie whips his head around just in time to catch Steve shrug sheepishly and add:

“Like, mostly.”

It is not at all lost on Eddie, how Steve doesn’t even try to sidestep that he’s walking into the gaping maw of probably death, here.

That might be the most terrifying part of this yet.

“I could,” Eddie’s voice is a crackle, so he tries clearing his throat, licking his lips; “I could at least try to help.”

That comes out a little stronger, but not steadier, and he doesn’t really think he’s making his point very well at all.

But then there’s Steve, and his hand back full on Eddie’s shoulder, saying:

“You could,” like he believes that; “and we’d be grateful,” added in like he means that too.

And most unbelievable of all of it, what he tacks on last with a squeeze of his hand and a lower pitch for no reason Eddie can figure save to catch inside the clench of his pulse so it takes to jittering like fucking mad as the King himself exhales:

“I’d be grateful.”

And what the fuck does that mean, said with eyes so bright when the night’s so dark?

And what the fuck does it mean when Eddie’s heartbeat starts jittering, a butterfly between cupped hands, until:

“I need you to be safe though,” and the words have physical form, brush Eddie’s frizzled curls straight behind his ear like…tenderness, delicate.

What. The. Fuck.

Eddie blames the way his heart goes form butterfly to battering ram, ready to crack through his ribs for no reason save a feeling he can’t justify, but’s too real to pretend away as less when he half-fucking-moans:

“What about you?”

Because Steve’s shepherding the kiddos. He’s keeping Eddie on the sidelines, safe. He’s charging into battle with a handkerchief and a bat and a goddamn pair of rubber gloves found from somewhere, sticking out his back pocket like he’s flagging in day-glo, holy hell—

But who takes care of Steve?

“I’ll see you at school,” Steve winks, leans this time to bump one shoulder straight to Eddie’s and then he’s jumping out the back of the van, and he’s moving too fast and—

“Harrington,” Eddie calls, suddenly forgetting he’d ever been trying to keep quiet, to avoid attention of whatever they’re going out to face, Hargrove or harbingers of worker fates, or both at once; “fuck, fuck,” he hissed as he trips over shit that got shifted back in his way as he stumbles to the doors and yells:

“Steve!”

And it’s like maybe saying his name does something to Steve himself, too, because he pauses, and even for the distance, the little curve of his lips isn’t a smirk, it’s a smile.

It’s fucking beautiful.

And then he’s saluting cockily before he turns on his heel with just one last parting shot;

“See you on the other side, Munson.”

And the tunnels beyond only let him watch so long, see so far. The weird shit in the air, and the bandanas he can see a scuffle over, to make sure they’re tied over noses and mouths, lit by weird pulsing colors, obscene squelching noises he can hear the echoes of even this far back and just, just…

Typical eldritch fuckery from a monster manual.

That doesn’t belong in real life.

It’s a fucking trap, Admiral. Good fucking god.

And Jesus H. Christ, but Eddie hadn’t even had the chance to light up tonight as he’d planned, as he’d explicitly driven out to do.

For fuck’s sake.

>>>part two 💚

For @miraculousmultifan, who requested Post-S2; 'Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—very late, obviously, and MID-S2, rather than post but it ENDS UP being post-S2, promise 🖤

✨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 @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @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 @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things s2 #proposal: what if eddie gets involved circa S2: the great harrington v hargrove showdown?#developing relationship #eddie was just trying to smoke behind the byers' house okay?#he explicitly DID NOT sign up for the unconscious king of hawkins high making a getaway in his van with his apparent brood of children!#he DEFINITELY EXPLICITLY DID NOT SIGN UP for the FEELINGS THAT COME LATER #boys and their FEELINGS #(seriously eddie goes about catching feelings like 0-to-60 here)#eddie munson: the most reliable getaway car driver you're ever gonna find #steve harrington: unfairly attractive even when beaten to a pulp and bloody on the floor of a van with his feral ankle biters standing guar #developing to established relationship (just give it some time)#happy ending #stranger things #gift fic #miraculousmultifan #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes #hitlikehammers' hobbit-birthday prompt fest

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erinwantstowrite · 3 months ago

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Hi! I dont usually ever send asks but I saw your post about including more DC characters in your AU's and was wondering if you were ever planning on including Kate Kane and/or Renee Montoya as they are two of my favourite characters in all of DC and almost never appear in batfamily fics even though they both work with oracle, nightwing, huntress, and other members a surprising amount in the comics. I like the idea of Kate especially being reluctantly enamoured with Peter, and that she would remind him of Col. Rhodes as I feel they have similar no-nonsense attitudes, dogged determination, and militant mannerisms while being pretty gentle on the inside. You might have answered this before but are Peter and Col. Rhodes close? I would assume they at least know each other pretty well from his friendship with Tony. Also thank you so much for LOF and all your writing - it genuinely brings me so much joy. <3

i 100000% want to write Kate Kane in the future, though i still need to read up on her, Renee, and Helena to make sure i'm writing them correctly. i started LoF worried about juggling too many characters in the plot and also didn't actually know a lot about the batfam outside of what i'd already been reading, considering LoF was supposed to just be me and alighterwood messing around with a silly au, i didn't think to put more than the cast we have. other aus will definitely have them in the future because i feel bad i missed out on them. i briefly considered putting at least Kate in LoF, but i feel like she would have at least been MENTIONED before now, and it would feel like a cheap throw in. she deserves more attention in another au

and i hadn't thought about it, but Kate and Rhodey ARE pretty similar. Since Rhodey is Tony's best friend, he and Peter get along very well! i hadn't mentioned him too much in LoF itself because, well, LoF was supposed to be 15 chapters originally. it was supposed to be wrapped up a while ago but then i got a little too into writing it. and i made a mistake forgetting how present he'd have been in Peter's life. admittedly, this comes back to me having a hard time juggling so many characters. he'll be showing back up in a couple chapters (when we finally get our Avengers POV) and i hope to remedy that mistake

#i mean he's been mentioned a couple times in LoF? i think?#so i could have done worse and not mentioned him at all #so i'm giving myself a C+ for how he's been handled so far #because peter had been fairly focused on the situation involving his parental figures and his training more than anything #so if they weren't actively training with Peter or were not a parental figure they weren't mentioned as much #i had a rhodey counterpart mentioned in the chapter with happy's counterpart #but i think i scrapped it because it didn't feel like it fit his character #so yeah here's hoping i can give rhodey the attention he deserves later #as well as Kate and Renee and Helena in another au #erinwantstowrite #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #leap of faith ao3 #leap of faith catch me if you can #thank you for the ask!#peter parker in gotham #dc #marvel

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fluffypotatey · 7 months ago

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Can we please see Javy (Top Gun) and Javi (Twisters) in a fic or blurb?

hm well i haven’t written their official intro to each other yet (and i do plan to in Jake’s pov) but i got memes for how it would go down!

it’s literally just two different memes but one’s edited two more times lol

#so like #imagine: Jake and Javy coming to Oklahoma to check and see if the Wranglers are ok and not caught up in the worst of the tornado outbreak #(spoiler alert! they’re right in the middle of it and almost died!!!)#so you have an emotionally constipated Jake worrying about his cousin (Tyler) and of course his cousin looks fine when they reunite #all smiles and shit and even on some dumb coffee date (cue the huffiness and pouting)#MEANWHILE!!! Javy is catching up with the Wrnaglers who tell him all the tea with Storm Par and Boone & Lily start laughing bc #‘Looks like we had a Javy with us this whole time!!!’ bc of Javi #and who does Javy end up meeting minutes later???? JAVI!!! and both of them find some humor in all this #(Javy more than Javi because he knows exactly how Jake will react)#and Javy is right because the moment Javi is introduced Jake begins to pout again and be all huffy bc #‘for fucks sake Ty! couldn’t stop at one Javy could you!’#color Javi and Kate confused while Javy is cackling and joking about how flattered he is on how taken Tyler is of him #Boone is 100% no help and immediately begins to tell Jake and Javy (while the rest are still here) about Tyler always feeling #the need to needle Javi for the pettiest of shit #Kate finds this all hilarious. Javi isn’t sure if he should tease Tyler or stay flustered. and poor Tyler.exe has stopped functioning #Jake is still huffy some days later #(Tyler sighs so loudly about it telling Jake that sometimes Tyler’s actions or friends are not correlated to Jake’s self centered ass)#(Jake calls bs on that)#asks #tgm x twisters #jake hangman seresin #javy coyote machado #javi twisters #twisters javi #twisters #twisters 2024 #top gun maverick #tgm au #tyler owens

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taradactylus · 9 months ago

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uhhh sharing some doodles-

-first one is inspired by the recent episodes

-second is Eclipse technically from my au

-third is a redraw of an older drawing I made when I was still new to TSAMS

-and last one is just an unfinished doodle of a random scene in my head. Remember Moon's nightmare?? Yeah, that possible dimension's events live rent free in my head-

#tsams #sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #sams #tsams eclipse #tsams sun #tsams moon #sams moon #sams sun #saturn au #tsams oc #shorta?#I finally catched up on the lore #jesus christ Moon #he needs a big slap from someone #seeing the signs and paralells of the past #my projecting self feels like Sun will maybe be in danger later on #But who knows #also a redraw of an older doodle

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vynxwave · 1 month ago

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Your responses made me realize something about TFP and how Starscream and Megatron were in it: doesn't it... feel so incredibly wrong to hear Starscream calling Megatron "Master" all the time when compared to basically any other media portrayal of these characters? And it was normally said not even in a sarcastic way, but in a terrified, desperate way and later in the series even with a genuine desire to please? There's so much else that feels wrong but that really stands out to me in retrospect. -arceespinkgun

Oh yeah, definitely.

While thinking about this, I was struck with the realization that Prime Starscream's characterization definitely comes from the Bay movies (as does his dynamic with Megatron). From this clip compilation:

0:21 ("I live to serve you, Lord Megatron")

1:32 (appeasement met with violence for his treachery)

4:08 ("master" title usage, violence and Starscream pleading)

5:12 (title usage)

5:41 (title usage)

5:58 (title usage, feigning concern)

6:19 (title usage and complimenting him)

It's so strange that Prime Starscream ultimately ends up upholding Megatron's superiority over him, even seemingly coming to care about him. He goes from this (3:58) to this (57:06) because the conclusion of his unaligned arc (20:57) was that he has to return to Megatron because he doesn't have the means to accomplish what he wants on his own (6:10)... which felt so dull because his dynamic with Megatron didn't change while he became loyal / to care about Megatron which was completely undeserved.

The way the dynamics of Prime's Decepticons was written as a whole feels impacted by how they operate near exclusively from their warship (later with the addition of Darkmount), save for some places being used as the backdrop of their battlefield, because they feel so confined/restricted. (Similar can be said of the Autobots too.)

In other continuities Starscream proudly and continuously undermines Megatron's authority, but in Prime he's beholden to Megatron's authority in a very severe way due to the narrative positing him as weaker/inferior. Pairing this with Megatron's cruelty specifically targeting him... it just doesn't say anything meaningful because it's completely unaware of what it's saying by portraying them like that.

Airachnid, comparatively, is given the treacherous role with more seriousness and dignity.

Starscream in Retribution (book 3 of the aligned continuity family novels), I felt, did him and his dynamic with Megatron better than Prime. There, the feigning loyalty/deference aspect feels like it has better purpose/use and the narrative does not posit him as weak/inferior and it makes a world of difference.

#vynx.analysis #the bay movies were the hardest “i'm definitely not the target audience for this at all” i've felt watching something in a while #i watched them a couple months ago so i could catch later references to them and know the artifacts/concepts from them #more could be said about tfp starscream but #i struggle to write about him because all of the problems are from how he's written as a whole / his role and it's like aghh #the way he was written feels so negligent bc it's ignorant of how his dynamic with megatron actually comes across #in general i suppose i don't find tfp well-written

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kingkatsuki · 10 months ago

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Specifically thinking about long distance relationships today.

So tell me how you and your f/o would first meet online?

#I feel like Bakugou and I would meet in one of those online games he’s downloaded to mindlessly waste time between shifts #and he’s so foul at first because he thinks I’m weak but we play and he realises that I’m #actually whooping everyone and he’s like well damn okay #and now he’s messaging in the alliance chat and like getting excited when I’m online even tho he tries to hide it #and gets annoyed when other creeps in his alliance try to flirt with me #and then he’s asking for my discord #me and Sanemi get into a fight on discord the first time we interact #in some stupid big server I only joined for the emojis #but he’s a jerk so I tell him to shut up and a message later I find a msg notification and it’s him trying to continue the conversation😭#enjin slides into my dms on Instagram #he finds my post at a concert and hates the fuckboys that are commenting below #ends up messaging me to see if I’m okay but then immediately worries he’s one of those guys #Tamsy I feel like is that mutual I’ve had forever on twt and we like each others posts but we’ve NEVER talked to each other??#it’s not until I’m feeling sad at 2am and I post something self-deprecating that he drops me a msg🥺#and we end up staying up until 5am just talking to each other #Kirishima is ALWAYS the guy that responds to my ‘morning’ with a morning back! every day without fail #and I slide into his DMs one day and ask how he’s ALWAYS awake when I am??? like to say it back so quick #and he admits he’s kinda learned my schedule and he tries to be online for it because it’s one of the best parts of his day #and he likes saying it back😭😭😭 even if he’s off from a night shift and needs sleep he can’t without seeing me msg #Shindou blatantly flirts with me in a gaming discord and I think he’s an incel so I block him #he gets a friend to ping me to beg me to unblock him and I refuse #the friend then sends another message with a screenshot of Shindou basically begging me to unblock him😭#Dot and I meet in one of those AITA Reddit threads #and we end up borderline arguing over whether op is TA #so much that we get told to take it elsewhere😭😭😭#enjo #bakujo #eijo #but also catch me sending Dynamight sassy banter on his official socials😭😂

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billdenbrough · 7 months ago

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cannot possibly express enough how strange this one is. ok. @naturecalls111 prompted me (technically for microfic monday, but it was quickly determined to be untenable) kevaaron + frogs. there was an additional, informal element to the prompt she wanted that rocketed it from 488w (already egregious) to 1.6k (don't look at me), but i'm already wrestling with my psyche enough abt this one lmao. we'll leave that part to be a surprise so i don't have to think about it anymore HAHA. i guess. anyway. kevaaron + frogs, for mina.

“This is your fault,” Aaron says.

Kevin is affronted. “How could this be my fault!”

“Nobody cares enough about what I do to curse me,” Aaron points out, huffy. As huffy as a frog can be, anyway. “But you? Absolutely. You’re also really annoying.”

Kevin sulks.

“How sure are you?” Neil asks, following Nicky into the room. “I mean. Frogs?”

Nicky gives him an incredulous look, then snatches Kevin off the desk. Kevin makes the world’s most indignant croak, which everyone rudely ignores, except Aaron, who rolls his eyes.

“He has a queen mark,” Nicky exclaims, brandishing Kevin at Neil. “What kind of frog has a tattoo?”

Neil stares at it, then sighs. “Okay. Sure. Why not. So it’s Kevin. How do you know it’s Aaron with him?”

“Kevin wouldn’t leave without him, so it had to be one of us,” Nicky explains. Kevin thinks this is an optimistic reading of his character. “Which already probably meant Aaron, but I’ve confirmed he’s the only one also missing. So.”

“How did this happen?” Neil muses, sitting down on Kevin’s bed. His bed is right there. Kevin strongly considers kicking him. Except he doesn’t have the right feet.

Almost immediately after he has that thought, his mouth opens—without his express permission—and his tongue goes flying, a projectile aimed right at Neil’s face.

Neil barely manages to dodge, throwing up his arms and falling backwards quickly enough that Kevin’s tongue narrowly misses his skin. (Thank God.)

Nicky squawks, dropping Kevin, who thankfully lands on the desk. Aaron is watching Neil with interest. And Kevin—

Kevin is just pleased his aim and ability to forcibly correct Neil’s behaviour is still intact.

“Oh, gross,” Nicky complains. Neil looks relatively unruffled, though he shoots Kevin a slight glare before moving to his own bed. Thank you.

“Yep, that’s Kevin,” Neil mutters. “I wonder how Aaron got wrapped up in this.”

Nicky cocks his head.

“Assuming turning people into frogs is a real thing—which, okay, yeah—then I have to assume it doesn’t happen randomly,” Neil says. “And as annoying as Aaron can be—” Aaron rolls his eyes. Again. “—It’s gotta be Kevin, right? The reason?”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Nicky says immediately. Which is so rude.

“Maybe they were together?” Neil muses aloud.

“Or it’s like a fairytale,” Nicky says. At Neil’s confused—and slightly judgemental—look, he elaborates, “You know, like, The Frog Prince! Or The Frog Princess! Or—that movie coming out, the Princess and the Frog!”

“This is too many frogs,” Neil mutters, but looks attentive. “So what’s the common theme? Other than frogs.”

“You know, normal fairytale stuff,” Nicky says, waving his hands through the air. On the desk beside Kevin, Aaron has gone still. It’s weird that Kevin can tell—it’s not like Aaron was especially mobile in the moments prior, after all—but paying attention to Aaron isn’t that big of a surprise, these days. “True love’s kiss, all that.”

Neil goes still too.

Aaron is looking at Kevin, gaze watchful, eyes intent.

Kevin looks away. Unfortunately, this means he’s looking at Neil, who is observing him with a calculating expression. At least Neil can’t expect a response, Kevin thinks. Small victories.

“Well,” Neil says. Kevin assumes he’s talking to Nicky—as strange as Neil is, conversing with a frog is probably out of even his realm of behaviour—but he’s still looking at Kevin. Ugh. “That might explain it.”

“Huh?” Nicky asks.

Kevin cannot look at Neil anymore.

Aaron is still looking at him.

“Neil frequently has bad ideas,” Kevin says, a pre-emptive defence.

“I don’t disagree,” Aaron says. It’s fucking weird. He’s a frog. Green and disproportionate legs—maybe he should try keep those when they get back to normal, Kevin thinks, suddenly daydreaming of a genuinely tall defence line; and then his thoughts shift a little to the left, Aaron’s knobbly knees but now they’re green and his calves are endless, pressing against Kevin, and wow, okay, Kevin is shelving that one before he gets too anatomically-confused, what the fuck—but still so Aaron. It still feels the same, him looking at Kevin, and now there’s something in Kevin’s throat to swallow past. He’s not even sure if he still has a throat, technically.

Neil and Nicky are still talking in the background, a buzzing noise that Kevin can’t focus on.

“Fairytales aren’t real,” Kevin says.

“We are frogs,” Aaron enunciates. Which is a reasonable counterpoint.

“This is ridiculous,” Kevin mutters.

“Kevin,” Aaron says. This is going to do something insane to Kevin’s dreams, he thinks, dismayed. Aaron croaking his name, and it being completely understandable. Life is so hard.

“Ugh,” Kevin says. His tongue goes flying past, apparently the frog equivalent of throwing one’s arms up in exasperation.

Aaron watches it go past, then looks at Kevin. If they were normal, he thinks Aaron’s eyebrow would be raised, or face tilted to the side, or something to that effect. People don’t think of either twin as especially expressive, but Kevin knows Aaron’s face, has mapped all its mountains and shifting planes. He misses it, suddenly, fiercely. More than the consistent pulse of exasperation and disbelief at their situation, the underlying desire to get back to normal. It’s an active, immediate thing: he wants to see Aaron’s face again, a deep-seated ache.

“Careful,” Aaron says. “If you keep throwing that tongue around, I won’t let you put it in my mouth.”

Kevin chokes. His tongue tangles itself on the way back into his mouth, his eyes bulge, and he makes a sputtering noise. Neil and Nicky don’t even pause their discussion.

If there’s a way for a frog to look calm in the wake of their friend (?)—also a frog—almost dying in response to an implication of flirtation, Aaron does.

“Aaron,” Kevin wheezes, once he’s got his tongue safely back inside his mouth and has reminded himself how to be a person.

“Kevin,” Aaron returns. He sounds so calm. So sure. And Kevin still knows him, down to his bones, but in this body, he can’t figure out his tells as easily. He can’t watch the movement of his knee, the furrow of his brows, the curling of his fingers into a fist. There’s no jaw to tighten, no hair to run his hands through, and while he still has eyes, they’re not ones that Kevin has memorised the way they soften.

“Is that a joke?” Kevin asks.

“We’re frogs,” Aaron reminds him. “We’re already the joke.” Before Kevin can decide how he feels about that, Aaron says, “Kissing you? Sure. Why not. Worth a shot.”

“Why not,” Kevin echoes. “Worth a shot.”

Aaron looks at him again. Kevin thinks maybe this is what it looks like for a frog’s eyes to soften, but who knows? Maybe he’s just looking for what he wants to see.

God, this whole thing is fucking ridiculous, but maybe the most unsettling part has been realising how much he misses seeing Aaron’s face. He’s gone longer without seeing it, obviously, it’s just—he’s never had to look at Aaron without it being Aaron. He can’t explain it better than that.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind,” Aaron says suddenly, “if it were a fairytale.”

Kevin blinks. (Oh, that was weird.) He thinks that over.

“Oh,” he says, then smiles. He thinks he smiles. He’s not really sure what his mouth is doing. It’s unnervingly large in relation to the rest of his body.

“Oh,” Aaron echoes, but he hops closer. One hop. Two. His legs are very strong, Kevin notes, but then he stops thinking about it, because Aaron is really close.

Kevin cannot believe he’s maybe—probably—almost certainly—about to kiss Aaron for the first time. And they’re fucking frogs.

Kevin hops that last step, moving in closer.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes again. Kevin has never seen a frog do that before, though jury’s out as to whether that’s because normal frogs can’t, or because Aaron Minyard brings a level of exasperation previously unknown amongst the species.

Kevin leans in, and kisses him. It’s the weirdest sensation he’s ever had—their bodies are approximately 30% mouth right now, which is a lot to deal with—but then Aaron’s mouth is open a little, and Kevin’s weird, powerful tongue darts in and tangles with Aaron’s.

This is fucking insane, Kevin thinks, and then there’s a sudden whoosh of air through the room, and suddenly the desk crashes and he and Aaron are sprawled across each other on the floor.

Human.

And naked.

“Oh my god,” Nicky says. “You’re back!” And then, tilting his head at Kevin, “And naked.”

“We’re leaving,” Neil announces, grabbing Nicky by the elbow and tugging him out of the room. His expression is dismayed. “I don’t want to see you today,” he says over his shoulder, which Kevin would like to apply to Aaron, but probably mostly means him.

Aaron is beneath Kevin, which luckily means his modesty is protected, given his usual hangups (Aaron and Neil often tell Kevin that it’s not that everyone else has hangups, but that Kevin is entirely too open with nudity; Kevin largely ignores this); unfortunately, it does mean Kevin landed on him, and now he’s groaning.

Kevin gets off him, then looks at him. At his face. God. He missed that face.

“Why are you staring at me?” Aaron grumbles.

“After everything that just happened, that’s your question?” Kevin asks, incredulous. Fucking fond, because of course it is.

“Everything else has a root cause of you being annoying,” Aaron says. “This—”

Kevin leans in, cupping Aaron’s jaw with one hand.

Aaron shuts up.

“Take a guess,” Kevin says. His voice is – soft. Too soft to hide behind.

There’s so much going on Aaron’s face, eyes quick, expressive, roving all over Kevin’s, taking him in, figuring him out. Then his expression clears.

“You’re so annoying,” Aaron says, and then he surges up and kisses Kevin.

It’s much better, Kevin thinks, getting to do this as them.

#kevin day #kevaaron #aaron minyard #aftg #aftg fic #aaron grabs a pillow off kevin's bed to cover himself once his brain catches up and kevin SQUAWKS #he's like. how dare u. that's MY pillow. and then his brain catches up to what it's covering and he gets blushy and a little smug about it #aaron calls him a weirdo but kevin is unruffled. he kissed the boy! isn't a frog anymore! berated neil even in a new body! wins all around #crack treated seriously #i . guess #frog mention //#this goes in my duelling mina tag #this isn't her art but it is her fault. so. it feels appropriate. but i will reconsider later #poor nicky is SO stressed this whole time and does not want to involve andrew. understandably #kevin keeps stealing his snacks to throw them away but nicky doesn't want him to die for turning andrew's brother into a frog. ykwim #the girl who cursed him a) was correct to do so but b) was less fairytale dramatics and more Transform And Kiss Your Crush about it #punishing kevin for being annoying and rude by way of like minor embarrassment (theoretically) not Intense Fairytale Curses #omg these tags look RIDICULOUS. i will cease now. unbelievable #jane writes sometimes #jane kevaaron #jane ficlets #jane kvar ficlets

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todayisafridaynight · 11 months ago

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no ones ever gonna understand how much i love daigo doin this stupid shit after dissolving the tojo

#snap chats #is this a gaiden spoiler. its been like five months catch up you nerds #ANYWAYYYYY NOO I LOVE HIM ....... this whole bit is like four seconds long but i love it so much #i just reminded myself i should probably make gaiden/y8 videos for daigo.. i'll make it a JP/ENG comp or somethn.. one day #not soon tho like its barely anything since he's not in those games Long At All but still. im lazy 💀#excuse me while i gush about daigo for twenty minutes now because hehee HE'S SO CUTE I CAN'T GET OVER IT #this is literally the middle aged equivalent of going yippee like YOU CAN TELL HE'S SO RELIEVED IT'S SO CUTE #got the energy of a student with crippling anxiety after they somehow get through giving a presentation without throwing up #AND his lil smile ......... thank you gaiden you made me wanna eat drywall with daigo's sad puppy dog eyes about kiryu #and then immediately made up for it a minute later #sorry i keep scrolling up to look at him and i love him so much. what if i threw up #i dont like using babygirl lightly but this is actually the most Babygirl frame of him ever ive decided #thats my boy .... i love my boy so much ..... he's so cute ... come so far in life congratulations king ..... ily ...#him lookin up at the sky for a minute just to breathe i know he thankin god for the fact he somehow isnt dead yet #im gonna ignore the fact all of this was for naught so i dont bash my head against a wall anyway stan daigo #im gonna be sick i love him so much #if i redraw this later shut up. i love him...#this is why i try not to look at cutscenes anymore cause when i do i feel my brain being put in a microwave and start to melt #its not my fault i love my guys so much .... ok bye i have work to do ....#and then when i finish that work i can go back to loving my guys YAAAAAY !!!!!!!

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hitlikehammers · 1 month ago

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Seriously though, ALL THAT EDDIE MUNSON WANTED in Early November, 1984 was to get a little high and maybe make it through senior year this time 🎓

...but if by mid-November of 1984 he maybe felt a little more strongly about wanting something someone else because 👑Steve fucking Harrington💗 is maybe his surprisingly (?) squishy heart's 🫀 fucking kryptonite🧪 and maybe, unthinkably, impossibly 🚨THIS IS NOT A FUCKING TRAP?!?!?!?!??!?!🚨 What THEN?!?!?!?!?

<<<last time:

“See you on the other side, Munson.”

Typical eldritch fuckery from a monster manual.

That doesn’t belong in real life.

It’s a fucking trap, Admiral. Good fucking god.

And Jesus H. Christ, but Eddie hadn’t even had the chance to light up tonight as he’d planned, as he’d explicitly driven out to do.

For fuck’s sake.

Eddie’s fingertips are numb from drumming the steering wheel so long, cuticles biting from biting too hard for too many minutes, maybe even hours. He can’t turn on the van, can’t risk the noise.

Wishes like hell he could, to drown out the stray growls, the screams, the howling, the definite fucking explosions of something, the…ripping.

He doesn’t know how he knows that’s what the sound is, the low screechy rumble. But he knows.

So he’s about three gasps of too-shallow breath from sicking up whatever he ate today when he hears something else.

Footsteps.

Motherfucker.

His legs are half-numb, asleep from staying so still, so unobtrusive for so fucking long, but he dives for the still-half opened back doors, doesn’t bother with the windows because part of the whole production was being able to hear something, no matter how sick it sloshed around his veins every time there was anything to hear, and he scrambles blind for something to swing, to hit with, whatever’s finally coming to his door but then it’s too late, the the hinges are creaking and—

His intruder’s just as struck dumb as he is, but Eddie has pure fucking adrenaline on his side, so he pants out while he crumbles like a string-cut puppet, so much for that tattoo idea—

“What,” Eddie spits, shaking his head more like a spasm, hair going everywhere and catching in his mouth; “and I do not ask this idly, Harrington,” then he’s wheezing kinda humiliatingly; “but what,” and he gestures wifey at the still crimson-tinged woods beyond, now lit brighter with actual fucking flames farther back, plus the not-dust clusters floating on the breeze and that’ll definitely be what Eddie blames for the way he coughs out hard:

“Actual fuck?”

“Munson?” And the way Steve says his name sounds like it should be accompanied by a frown, or at least more confusion, but what Eddie seesinstead is something like the…good sort of surprise.

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been even just a part of anything like a good sort of surprise. The suggestion of it alone here any nows heady as all fuck.

“What are the hell are you still doing here?”

And, well. He, that’s…

That’s a very interesting question.

“Umm,” and holy fuck, is Eddie glad it’;s as dark as it is, it has to be impossible to see proof of how hot his cheeks have gotten.

“Well, it seemed pretty intense, whatever you were,” he clears his throat, tosses his wrist again at the still-very-glowy maybe tunnels or maybe rips in spacetime, fuck if Eddie even knows.

“Wanted to try and come help but,” he shrugs, hides a little behind his hair; “not really my forte, but getaway car,” he reaches and knocks on the wall of the van, a little proud: “that I am a sought after professional so, I figured,” the he shrugs again because…what the hell did he figure? What the fuck use is he in whatever the fuck this actually is, which, which…

“But I’m gonna ask one more time,” because Eddie is nothing if not obnoxiously curious, so:

“What the actual fuck?”

And Harrington? Steve?

Motherfucker just snorts, and grins a little, despite the soot and blood and the swelling from the whole getting beat unconscious not so long ago.

“Gas leak, I guess,” Steve huffs something like a laugh that’s not actual funny, but feels more like an inside joke Eddie doesn’t get, but desperately wants to; “probably what’s been causing all the weird shit around here.”

“Oh, wow,” Eddie covers the weirdly gnawing ache to know, know, know this man and his little secrets; fuck, also his big ones, all his secrets, all of him, what the fuck. “Didn’t know you were a goddamn comedian, save some for the rest of us,” he rolls his eyes when Steve frowns a tiny bit, tips his head like a puppy who doesn’t understand and good fucking god is it adorable.

Eddie’s so fucked, isn’t he, and out of nowhere.

“King can’t also be the jester, man,” Eddie takes pity on him, explains, wonders if giving his secrets will merit him the pleasure, the privilege of learning Steve’s the way he wants, or finding something in the inklings he’s feeling that are real and not just wishful thinking or heightened emotions in an impossible night that makes no sense so maybe any possible future for what Eddie’s got sparkling at the edge of ever single one of his veins is just as nonsensical too, and fuck—

“You mentioned a getaway car.”

Eddie stills; and that’s not mean feat.

“And seems like I was maybe a little incapacitated in the way here so,” Steve leans in, close enough that Eddie smells smoke, and sweat, and might fucking faint because it’s fucking intoxicating. Eddie’s not even mad he didn’t get a joint in before the night went to shit in the maybe-best-and-most-fantastic of ways.

If it’s not just nonsense, and a blip of the impossible on the radar of Eddie Munson’s deeply unimpressive life.

But Harrington’s eyes are twinkling, and when Eddie gets over the thumping of his heart and hears the squabbling of tweens approaching, the question Steve’s teeing up comes straightforward, but then full of layers all at once.

“Up for giving us a lift, then?”

If Steve’s involved?

Is he fucking ever.

—

Dropping the little barnacles off doesn’t take long, even if they’re kinda scattered around town. Eddie gets an earful and a half about D&D, which isn’t the worst thing, though he mostly relishes see Steve’s reactions, listening to his little interjections for the shitheads to can it. It’s…there’s just something about it.

Something about him.

“My house isn’t this way.”

Eddie…realizes that.

“Yep.”

So fucking eloquent, Munson. Jesus.

“Pretty sure yours is, though”

Oh, look. All this time Eddie’s tried to write him off as stupid and pretty and he’s actual a paladin fighting dragons with an actual brain under that gorgeous hair, son of a goddamn bitch.

“I’ll sleep better,” slips out of Eddie’s mouth without thinking, because of the two of them left in the van, seems like Eddie is the one who’s fucking brainless.

“What?”

He really wants to bang his forehead into the steering wheel but…that would be a good chunk of what’s driving Eddie, literally, toward Forest Hills.

“Your head,” Eddie taps his own temple, keeps driving, keeps his eyes on the road because he thinks he won’t be able to look away if he even gives himself the slightest taste in this moment.

“You look alright now but like,” Eddie sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, because:

“Not gonna pretend you didn’t scare the fuck out of me, not to mention your brood,” because that’ll soften the really fucking telling confession, obviously, score one for Eddie not being a whole-ass sap about someone he barely knows and—

“Oh.”

Eddie breaks his own rule not to look in a fuckking instant, because that single word, more a breath exhaled, is…wondering.

“Oh, you’re,” and Steve looks like he’s working from something bigger than just Eddie making a fool out of himself for worrying over Steve Harrington’s wellbeing. “You wouldn’t sleep well because,” and Jesus H., Eddie stepped in this shit because now Steve’s spelling it out, but then at the same time…he’s spelling it out like he wants to see all the letter laid plain to…

Marvel at.

Almost like…almost like he doesn’t know what to do with it. And if he doesn’t, if he didn’t know what to do with being cared about, what the fuck did that mean for Steve fucking Harrington—

“Sure,” Steve finally says, pulls Eddie from his thoughts, his wonderings, the way he’s fucking appalled at the implication that maybe no one’s ever shown Steve enough regard to fucking care.

“Sure I can,” and Steve’s feeling the words out like they’re precious and not just…basic; like maybe he’s afraid they’ll go away:

“Stay.”

Eddie shifts into park and runs around to open the goddamn door before he can think twice of being that absolutely and indefensibly insane, makes sure Steve steps down from his seat without incident, without a single bump of scrape.

Holds himself back from guiding him with a hand at the base of his spine to the door but like…only just.

He throws a pair of jammies that look like they’ll fit and pretends to take time in the bathroom that not mostly just freaking the fuck out about the wave of, like, just…feeling things about the fact that Steve Harrington is in his house. In his room. Will be in his clothes when he convinces himself to breathe, and walk out of the safe space near the shower.

“Okay if I wake you up,” Eddie makes himself enter with words, lest he get caught up in just staring, and never find his way back out. “I think that’s what they say you gotta do for hits like that to the noggin.”

Steve snorts, but nods, and only winces for the motion a little.

“Yeah, dude,” Steve says, and it’s…fond. Good god.

Addictive, more than anything Eddie’s ever sampled, and he’s not as experienced as he talks a game for, but like, he’s had his share.

“What are you doing?”

Eddie looks up from where he’s shaking a blanket out to stretch across the floor. It’s cold enough that he’ll need it, is all.

“My uncle sleeps on the couch,” Eddie says, because it’s really that simple.

“Then let me,” Steve reaches for the threadbare blanket, grabs at the corner and scrambles up from where he’d sat on the bed like he damn well was supposed to, because he’;s got a fucking head injury.

Also he’s a guest, even if kind of a…guest brought here under some degree of duress. Eddie didn’t exactly give him too much of a choice. But he doesn’t, can’t dwell, because Steve grabbed for the blanket.

And his hand touched Eddie’s hand in the process and made it inconveniently accurate that now they both have brain injuries of one kind or another, goddamn.

“Get the fuck up here,” Steve finally sighs, but again, like it’s fond, and how, and why, as he pulls Eddie up by where they’re both holding the blanket still; “not kicking you out of your own bed,” he mutters, shifting to the side that Eddie doesn’t use. Like he knows.

Eddie’s maybe vibrating from the fucking cells of him until sleep finally comes in the form of Steve’s steady breathing, and the warmth of him inescapable and so fucking like comfort, wrapped in the worn blanket Eddie’s mama made when he was still small.

—

Anyway. That’s how it starts. Being anything, in the vicinity of Steve Harrington.

Waking him up dutifully four times before it makes sense to get up and go about the day; or else, for Steve to. Eddie isn’t into mornings.

But he does tail Steve out the door before realizing that Steve doesn’t fucking have his own car here, and then he’s shoving bare feet in his Reeboks and taking Steve to Loch Nora, where he’s still sleepy enough—probably, or at least it’s a decent excuse—to ask if Steve’ll call him a couple times today, just to make sure his head’s still okay.

And Steve does the…fond-marveling look that skips in Eddie’s chest, fuck all, and agrees. And waves at him with a secret little grin—and Eddie wants all the more to know those fucking secrets—and then, know what that fucker goes and does?

He calls. On the hour, every three hours until they both agree to go to bed. Like he knew somehow that Eddie was waiting, the whole goddamn day. Even if he doesn’t wholly understand the why.

But then of course Eddie can’t leave well enough alone, even after the sees Steve off that next morning and through the calls that follow after; can’t fucking sleep in the days that follow, not like he managed that first night, when objectively he should have been freaked the fuck out the worst, given even the hint of what he thinks maybe he saw in the woods—but whatever. Point is, he realizes real quick that he needs to know if Harrington is alright, with his own two eyes. Under his hand when he dares touch his skin just a little to see if it’s still warm and…stuff.

And yeah, okay, he might not know all the details or the context, but he’d picked up enough to know things were peachy in the most wholly fucking sarcastic sense possible, and the idiot is in fact at school that Monday when he absolutely should not be, if the state his face is still in is anything to go by, but…yeah.

Eddie corners him in the locker room, where Eddie doesn’t go because he cuts gym like he gets paid to—wouldn’t that be nice, he’d be rich—and he’s gonna call it a public service more than a vaguely stalkery act because hey, he’s a super senior but he thinks, just maybe, that sport-ing with what’s undoubtedly a concussion isn’t the best idea.

He pops out in front of Harrington before he makes for the back entrance after coming from his car between classes for fuck knows what reason, maybe cleaning his goddamn pulverised face a little, and shimmies him closer to the tree-line where Eddie’s storefront sits and its weird, or maybe concerning, because Harrington lets him with just the slightest sounds of protest—maybe he’s worse off than expected if he’s this willing, fuck, and what’s Eddie gonna do if the Golden Boy passes out in the middle of the woods, way to think this through—

“Any reason you kidnapped me from phys ed?”

Eddie startles at that voice. Remembers vividly—inconveniently—how broad the hands that the voice comes with are. How arm. How—

“You shouldn’t be having balls throw at you,” Eddie answers, more petulant that’d be planned. And wholly unprepared for the curl of a smirk he gets in return at the wording.

Jackass. His majesty’s just fine, Eddie should have left him. To—

“Knight in shiny armor again, Munson,” Harrington tuts at him, but…once Eddie processes and accepts the flush he knows is on his cheeks, he can actually look at the guy, who’s taken a seat now on Eddie bench, thighs thick how he spreads them wide across the wood.

Wood, Jesus, thank fuck he didn’t say that out loud to make it two-for-two.

“Gonna give a guy ideas, if you keep at this.”

And Eddie’s jaw drops a little at that tone, lewd little, taunting but not for the cruelty of it, more the playfulness like somehow the world’s tipped on its axis and up is down and Steve Harrington can make weirdly-close-to-come-ons in the presence of Eddie Munson. Or, fuck. Not just in the presence of.

Clearly directed at and to, in the absence of literally anyone else.

And he can’t know it, not then, not yet: but giving Eddie Munson an in, giving him the ideas?

That’s a fucking dangerous game.

And the wildest part of all of it is that smirk, that glimmer in those eyes.

Like Steve goddamn Harrington knows it, and—somehow, unthinkable—wants dealt in to play.

>>>part 3/3

divider credit here and here

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