#who's projecting on fictional characters?

[crowleysgirl56]

Thanks to @miranda61 for sharing the link to the interview in the comments. What a lovely interview!

I love how they exclusively talked to him about the non-fictional characters he portrayed, and yet still showed a picture of Aziraphale in the loop of characters photos on the screen (the only fictional character in the loop)! 🤣

Funny how the other interviewer who popped onto the set kept trying to steer the conversation towards David Tennant but Michael didn’t really participate in that dialogue. Also interesting how they asked him about his next big upcoming project and he mentions Nye instead of Good Omens. I know he said something to a fan at the con he was at on the weekend, but I wonder if he’s being steered away from speaking about Good Omens publicly for the moment? (I’m assuming that’s coming from his management or from Prime video specifically preventing him from talking about GO for the moment because of…*gestures vaguely at everything*)

Michael in Good Morning Britain (19.11.2024) :)

[ateaaddict-blog]

still amazed at how well HSO conveys the smaller tragedies of Hypnospace, from the kids whose parents' who keep too strong of a grip on their lives (e.g. Ashley, Rebekah), to the adults trying to express themselves and make friends and not being able to (e.g. Sarah Sanders, Sandy, Terry ;-;) – and the fact that almost every single one of them (putting aside the main characters) have their stories go unresolved

because, yeah! that is what would happen were this real life! that worm blog you used to enjoy reading about last month is now gone? Welp! Your online friend's parent(s) decided to cut them off from contact with the outside world? Too bad! It sucks so fucking much, and makes the careful picking of Hypnospace's bones with the Archive Project even more bittersweet. It's really a minor thing in comparison to the wider story/gameplay, but I really adore HSO for that feeling of unease and unresolved tragedy without any real closure, which is one of the most genuine and real (if that means anything talking about a piece of fiction lol) things I've felt from a game ngl

[dec4podcast]

Actor, writer and music artist Andrew Mackintosh carved his own special niche in British television history as Detective Sergeant Alistair Greig, a key character in over 300 episodes of The Bill, one of the most successful and influential television dramas of all time.

But as we discovered when Andrew kindly sat for an extended interview, there's so much more to his varied career, encompassing acting, music and writing. We learn about Andrew's current project, the Apple Top 40 fiction podcast, Letter From Helvetica, talk about his early life and how his professional journey in music and acting began, and he shares with us some of his creative influences.

A podcast content guide for fans of The Bill;

(24:07) Casting – (29:39) DS Greig’s accent – (34:02) Main segment: Remembering Kevin Lloyd, script quality, cast and character dynamic, notable guest artists and production anecdotes – (57:30) Social and political awareness and activity – (1:21:18) Effect on career

The Bill producers imagined DS Greig as a young Scottish detective who played the clarinet, and were mightily surprised when they discovered an actor who fulfilled all those requirements.

Andrew with fellow luminary of The Bill, Natalie Roles (DS Debbie McAllister). Both star in the hit fiction podcast created and written by Andrew, Letter From Helvetica, which can be streamed free from wherever you get your podcasts.

We explore Andrew's continuing musical collaboration with Joe Dooley, and get to grips with some general acting and career matters, including authenticity in casting, accents, received pronunciation and the art of speech, and the mixed blessing of being in a long-running series. We also discuss opportunities for mature actors and, inspired by an unstoppable generation of rock and roll performers, if perceptions of age are evolving in a positive way within the arts and beyond.

Our companion webpage for this episode has some additional career details, images, links and recommendations for further reading, viewing and listening:

Sample Clip: Remembering Kevin Lloyd (DC Tosh Lines)

Very special thanks to Andrew, and to the producer of The Bill Podcast and Letter From Helvetica, Oliver Crocker, for making this episode possible.

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 50

Wow. fuck it’s weird to think we’re halfway there. 50 fucking days of Junkan . . . How’s everyone holding up?? I’m still writing these in advance so I have no idea if Future Jem is holding it together having to wait day by day for these, especially as we enter the period of the project where a lot of our favorite pieces come in.

So anyway “No Regrets” There’s the fic again for if you haven’t  read it and are interested.

There is a LOT to talk about with this one. So much that I’ll likely put this in a read under once again. I’ve got history, fun facts, scrapped(?) ideas, and memes.

Let’s start with my history with writing in general. Because the biggest thing that comes to mind with this fic is that it was the first time in Four Years that I had ever written something.

When I was, say, around 15 or 16, I entered the Death Battle Community on Deviantart (I swear to god this is relevant and I won’t take too long). It did a lot of things for me, it gave me a source of income when I was confident enough to open commissions, it helped me make a small amount of close friends (eventually leading to even closer friends), is the community that introduced me to Danganronpa in the first place, and it’s where I first started writing.

Now obviously, what I was writing were fights between fictional characters, most often to the death. With some attempt at a logical outcome for the match. And the account is so old and untouched that it still has he/him pronouns baked into it. I still have a lot of pride in some of the work I did on that account despite the equal amounts of dumb bullshit, grammar issues, and a severe lack of proofreading.

But shock of all shocks, Rocky Balboa fighting an Anime Character (yes that’s really the last thing I published online, it was like 40,000 fucking words and it made someone cry allegedly), is a far cry from a fic about Junko Enoshima really wanting to swap spit with Mikan Tsumiki.

 Suffice to say, I was very, very nervous about writing again. However I’m a woman with too many ideas, and not every idea can be done through just drawings alone. Especially with how I was doing things at this point. This wasn’t the first time I had desired to try writing fanfic, I still have a RWBY x Kamen Rider W fanfic haunting my brain to this day. But it was the first time I had felt so tempted. However as you might have gleamed over time whether through these posts, or talking to me personally, I have a severe lack of self esteem, ESPECIALLY when it comes to writing. And it was even worse at the time of this fic. This was the biggest roadblock for the it.

However, Junkan broke me once, causing me to draw Angst shipping art for the first time. So it only makes sense that it would break me a second time, making me write a god damn fanfic. And I made plenty of memes about this too, which i’ll post in order of creation. 

As you can tell by that last one I was fucking nervous as hell making this, which is understandable since it’s completely new territory for me in a medium i hadn’t touched in years. However, enough friends who also liked DR seem to be into it, so I was able to post it.

My AO3 account was of course originally a secret because at the time of this fic being made I was still deeply paranoid over anyone knowing I shipped Junkan. Now granted CJ is kind of an obvious alias given y’know, it’s just the initials of my fuckin main account. However it does require that someone on AO3 also have a Tumblr account and also be aware of a chick named “Carbonated-Jem” who at the time was drawing a suspicious amount of separate Junko and Mikan art.

Last thing before I talk about the actual fic. This was posted February 4th. Which fucks with me because I’m pretty certain that means that the first 50 Days of this project (reminder that most of the colored ones were after the fact) were made before that date. Half of this project was done in One Month at most. How the fuck did I do that????

Okay. So the fic.

The idea was simple at first, what if Mikan saved Junko from dying at the end of DR1. And then it spiraled from there.

This is not something I plan to talk about on this blog or anywhere but the privacy of my friend groups very often. But I am not a big fan of Danganronpa 3, I have very little nice to say about it, but my biggest issue with that Anime is it’s handling of Mikan. I do not like that Mikan was boiled down to just being whatever that was in the anime, since while I’ll never say that it was definitely a perfect relationship even with what we had teased in DR2, I think there’s a lot of nuance to the way Junko and Mikan described their relationship (moreso Mikan since last I remember at most Junko just made heavy implications that she broke each class member one by one with unknown methods). So seeing it be . . . that in the anime, just never sat right with me. If it were not for events that will be discussed later in the project, I would have been fully adverse to this ship as a result.

As you can see now I’m not only all for the ship, I’m dangerously brainrotted over it dsljfhsdlaf. How things changed.

Point is, regardless of whether you like DR3 and how it handled this dynamic (In which case, more power to you despite my lack of understanding), I had less than fond thoughts toward it. So you can kind of see this fic as also like, a way of me trying to do something more productive with that negativity rather than just wallowing on it. 

I’m gonna be real until Mikan jumps in to save Junko I don’t feel very strongly about the intro. You can very much tell this was my first time writing in 4 years, and not just that but it was me writing Junko for the first time rather than drawing her, and to take it EVEN FURTHER this was at the time the closest I had ever gotten to depicting the canon versions of the characters rather than Non-Despair takes on the characters like I was for every pic before and after this. Which yeah spoiler, beyond I think 2 instances later (there MIGHT be more) everything in this project is non-despair in nature.

You can probably still look at a lot of the art as like, just them dating Pre-Tragedy I suppose? But that’s up to you and your suspension of Disbelief.

Tangent, sorry. Back to it where was I.

Oh yeah, so I don’t know when the hell the idea for the Neo-World Program being implemented came in. But when it did that’s when I had like a solid vision for where I was going.

I think originally Junko wasn’t going to enter the program alongside everyone else? But the more I thought about it, it was like the only sure way that she could get what she wanted in the end. Since if Mikan came back reformed, whether with partial memories or nothing at all it’s a hard sell to think Mikan would be willing to go back to Junko outside of the specific circumstances that brought them together in the first place (that said i can’t say the idea of Junko trying to win her back isn’t interesting). I’d find it more likely for a full reformed Mikan in this context to like, get with Hajime or Ibuki.

So I threw Junko into the program as well, despite my concernsI did actually have a lot of fun writing the interactions. Not just Mikan (we’ll get to her in a sec) but also with Makoto. 

Writing Junko’s first moments in the program was my favorite part though, from what I remember at least. Especially once she starts giving Mikan her full attention. And that’s where we finally get to the art piece.

So here is the singular fun fact about the art. Junko had the bear clips originally, but I realized after the fact since the Neo-World program put the cast in their outfits prior to becoming Remnants, it’d make more sense to give her the bunny and bow clips instead. So I edited the art at some point to make that more clear. 

Anyway here’s the interesting part. There was in fact a time where this was going to be a series. 

The original intention was always a Oneshot, but you know how the mind tends to wander, it was inevitable that I’d be tempted to think about what else could happen in this timeline. 

It would have mostly been a Slice of Life series, more rom-com elements. Focused on the developing relationship between Junko and Mikan, essentially kind of recreating how they first met and fell in love, albeit with less of the evil girlfriends stuff.

Another part of it is that because Junko’s plans are on a hard hiatus till she gets off the Island, and more specifically because of Mikan’s influence on her in these very specific circumstances, the NWP actually does start reforming Junko on some level. I’ve always loved the idea that Mikan could have the potential to help Junko become a better person, whether it’s a Non-Despair AU where that means she just stops being a bitch to everyone (or at least mostly stops), or in Canon where she ponders that maybe starting the apocalypse isn’t the best course of action.

I did plan to try and write the rest of the DR2 cast, which admittedly was a roadblock because I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna do for characters like Nekomaru for example. I’ve only really latched onto a small handful of the overall cast of DR, so i’m severely lacking in my ability to write most of them. I did plan for Junko and Chiaki to become besties though, I feel like under a normal context Junko would just think Chiaki was really funny.

So it would have mostly been romance and shenanigans, one way I thought of to just give random little plotlines for Mikan and Junko was the MonoMono machine. Have Junko just get a bunch of coins and gamble away at the thing getting random items. And then said items just make the plot for the chapter.

That idea is what made me think of the other half of this fics equation.

So you know how there’s a fucking painting of Junko made during the Tragedy??

First off, missed opportunity to have that be a “Love” item for Mikan, would have been great foreshadowing.

Second off, actual point. I was like “how the fuck is junko gonna react if she sees this??” So I realized that while I wanted to have this overall fic have a lot of fluff and shenanigans and Junko kissing Mikan. There is in fact the elephant in the room of what’s outside of the program.

So, why not have Junko by some means start remembering reality, and realizing everything she’s been responsible for. Most importantly, killing her sister and killing Chiaki (yeah I would have kept Chiaki being a real person and not just an AI, partially just cause I think that’d hurt Junko more), and then having to cope with all of that because by that point Mikan would have unintentionally helped to make Junko a less apocalypse hungry person. 

And beyond that I don’t think I had any plans to show like, the aftermath of the program working. Partially because I feel like that’s reaching a level of writing I’m not mentally strong enough to pull off properly, partially because I think keeping it vague similar to how DR2 did it would have worked.

Now all that said, on some level I would try to like writing that story. There’s just a lot of hurdles I’d have to get past first. Not just my normal “Writing makes me want to slam my head into the wall” issue, but also stuff like-

How do I write the other characters when I have very little experience with them?

I actually have to make a plan for this one, I can’t just wing it like I did for the Vampire AU.

I have to write the Canon version of Junko for a big stretch of it and as I already established I barely grasp how the fuck to do that.

I just have other things I want to do which includes other writing.

So if you’ve made it this far into my inane ramblings, would YOU dear audience like to see this fic? I can’t say for sure how soon it would be assuming the response is positive, but I wouldn’t be opposed to making the attempt if there’s even mild interest for it.

Anyway, thankyou for your time! Hopefully will be awhile before I yap this long again.

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[catras-breakup-song]

i’m not gonna lie… i’m lost here. is this supposed to be an 4nt1/cr1t1c4l post? if so, i genuinely don’t understand the point being made.

is it that playful banter is a bad thing? is it that being too hands-on violates unspoken boundaries? the message is so unclear to my autistic ass…

oh, wait, OP provided tags:

so aside from the fact that they are absolutely not sisters by default, least of all canonically (even if you do interpret them that way somehow), nor was it ever intended by nate stevenson, i’m still having trouble figuring out how this is problematic.

in which ways is lighthearted touch totally contradictory to passionate kissing/caressing? why can’t partners who are dating do both, especially in different cultural environments such as the horde where intimacy is discouraged and friendly sparring with familiar peers is a safe expression? if it’s so different, what are we as the audience supposed to interpret from their style of physical affection by the final season? side note, but aren’t we supposed to consider the latest version of anything in general as the most accurate?

now i have a question lol, did you take this moment literally at her word, and all the other times she repeated it?

also, my friend just pointed out that this is the classic homophobic talking point of "they seem to just be very good friends! they were roommates!" lmao. i've never agreed with accusing anyone who cr1t1c1z3s catradora of lesbophobia, which i'm not doing necessarily, because that's simply not how it works, however i found this funny and partially true so i'm keeping it in.

the lip bite was included unintentionally 👀

anyway, as i’ve discussed on this blog before, i’m very arospec and it’s inseparably intwined with my identity itself; i also project that onto catra. something we often bring up in that community, is romance-favorability (as its own spectrum of range all the way to blatant repulsion btw) — which is a personal preference that’s defined as exactly as it sounds like and occasionally revolves around fictional depiction as separate from one's own reality — and arguably more importantly, amatonormativity — which is an arbitrary set of rules for romantic expectations set up by an alloromantic society. this is typically thought of as common denial of the idea that someone could actually want to separate themself from needing a life partner in marriage, but can very much be applied to an annoying list of what draws the line between romantic & platonic relationships. that line is very individualistic and is to be decided on such a level only, and it doesn’t even get into what queerplatonic means, a concept saved for another day!

my point is, the OP seems to be trying to claim that catradora objectively cannot be read as romantic because their dynamic growing up & early-on in the story doesn’t perfectly meet socially-constructed standards of what that should look like. i say we need to eradicate those standards altogether! it’s up to catradora to decide what they are, if anything specific at all, not us as the audience — assuming they could’ve had the words at their disposal to knowingly describe it. going back to my earlier paragraph above about how limited they were in the fright zone, i’ll borrow a quote from a comment i made on one of my recent reblogged posts (which is a great meta on how their mutual desire was uh... definitely not platonic):

"Catra and Adora’s desire for one another is shown in a variety of ways, mostly indirect. There are a lot of glances - until season 5, not the kind of open leering at one another that we’d seen between other characters. Mostly it’s fairly playful - wiggled or cocked eyebrows, glances at each other while smirking, that kind of thing, or really intense and somewhat angry glares when they’re fighting."

it's really bothering me that i can't recall where i read this from before, but someone analyzed before how, growing up, catra & adora didn't have a good sense of how to label their relationship with accurate terminology despite being subconsciously aware that they, whether they knew the other reciprocated or not, loved each other "like that." unfortunately, they couldn't further explore it because such love & affection was seen as a punishable weakness in the horde, so they resorted to the only safe option they seemed to have, which was subtle body language and play-fighting as [testudoaubrei-blog] described above.

also, since this screenshot is included in that post... i would be amused to read an explanation of how THIS LOOK from catra is "platonic with a capital P", because i'm not even sure if it's up for debate to be quite honest with you:

ESPECIALLY with the "i always have!" line (which 4nt1s like to doubt, but i don't care, it's official!):

[leandra-kinard]

Okay, to play 'devil's advocate' here a little and add some nuance (while definitely not condoning any of the tone-deaf, entitled behavior!).

There IS some merit in stories where people who previously thought they were straight figure out they're not. We had that with Buck; we previously had that with Michael. I personally know a man whose story was very similar to Michael's. So that part is not necessarily NOT gay culture, because it does happen often. People 'see the light' at 30, 40, even 50 and finally find out who they are.

I've often read people say (especially in regards to Eddie) "this, the comphet behavior, is what I did before I dared to admit to myself I'm bi/gay/a lesbian." So there's a natural and non-harmful projection of these kinds of valid queer experiences onto these characters.

Then there's also the slow burn aspect of it, the "will they, won't they" and "there's something there that could very well be more than platonic, these two idiots just haven't figured it out yet."

When it comes to stories and storytelling, there's an appeal to that. It's a very common trope in straight couples too, to have them only realize their romantic feelings a long, long time into their platonic/professional relationship. So why should that not happen with two people of the same gender?

Now this is where it gets a bit complicated, because it presumes a concept that is not necessarily wrong, but can be a little naive and unrealistic, namely the "gender doesn't matter, sexual orientation doesn't matter, this is about two souls falling in love". This isn't something that never happens in reality either, but its framing as a "one in a million exception" is the unrealistic part. There's no "straight with one exception"; discovering and experiencing actual attraction to someone of the same gender does make you no longer straight, and it means you never were straight.

I guess especially younger people cannot always fully grasp these nuances between what does happen in reality and what is a naive fairytale concept that essentially erases bisexuality.

I think it's unfair to say or imply that shipping Buddie is inherently or frequently (seriously) homophobic, or that it comes from a place of not liking gay men. Many of us who ship Bucktommy now used to ship Buddie because we did see the appeal and did see a potential (to a point; for me, in hindsight, that point was probably somewhere in s6 where it became no longer realistic for Eddie to have a gay awakening. A bi one maybe, but I am 99.9% convinced that ship has now definitely sailed. Then again, with some of the inconsistent writing, who the hell even knows what Tim decides? lol)

So, when people say, they don't want another story where someone already knows they're not straight that's also not per se wrong, imho. The phrasing in the above screenshot is definitely insensitive and tone-deaf and requires much more added context to make clear you don't mean it against established gay characters, you just mean it as a plea for coming out/figuring out one's sexuality arcs. Which is something I and many other queer people I know have said before. We want to see the epiphany, the struggle, the process of acceptance because that is something many of us did go through. To experience that with two characters we love could have felt very rewarding and validating.

To say this generally comes from a place of homophobia (while certainly some things that have been said and posted by the most toxic BoBs over the past half year WERE going in that direction!) also erases those queer experiences and feelings.

TL;DR: There are many queer experiences and view points that are all equally valid, and they could be expressed in various types of queer stories in fiction. Buddie as a slow burn and realizing one's sexuality later in life story would have been one valid version of the queer experience. Wanting Buddie is not per se the problem. The problem lies in invalidating the Bucktommy type of queer experience, especially Tommy's side. And the problem lies in entitled, rude and tone deaf behavior online. In my opinion.

I just think we, the Bucktommy shippers, should not fall into the trap of doing as was done to us by framing the other ship as inherently problematic (though calling out individual instances of problematic behavior and wording is valid! And the above are definitely examples of that). We can be better than that and recognize that many queer experiences and views are valid and can co-exist. The BoBs are the ones who cannot do that.

the more and more time i spend on tumblr and come across insane Buddie takes and behavior, the more and more i am convinced that the small, vocal, toxic subsection of shippers who don't know how to behave are, how shall i say it?

homophobic

they don't seem to actually like gay men. the situation with richard siken is an example of that. what they appear to like is their made-up version of what gay men are like and what they do. there's no concept of nuance or an actual understanding of queerness that informs their ship.

and i don't think you do need to understand it. sometimes you can just enjoy something without looking into it differently. but if you're going to be out on main talking about Buddie this and Buddie that, then you absolutely need to do the bare minimum and inform yourself on gay culture and gay issues so you don't, you know, go after a gay poet because you didn't like his tone.

sorry, there's a reason gay men of his demographic don't take shit. it's because they took so much shit that a large percentage of them died. the ones that survived don't owe you a tone when you act like an idiot.

the internet is free. wikipedia is free.

use a search engine and educate yourself, just a tiny little bit, and stop fetishizing while holding onto homophobic attitudes

[youchangedmedestiel]

Dean is sitting next to Cas on the dinner bench they picked up to eat after wrapping up their case with Sam.

He doesn't know what is happening to him tonight, but it's like his body wants to melt with Cas's. He wants to lean against him, he wants to touch him. He also wants Cas to touch him, and melt under that soft and comforting touch.

It's like every cell of his body is calling for Cas's. And when their elbows touch because Cas leans his back against the bench backrest and Dean shifts a little, Dean feels the serotonine spreading in his whole body.

That brush is barely perceptible, though Dean thinks Cas is sending him some signs to cuddle up against him. And Dean wants it. Oh yes, he wants it so bad that he needs it. He'd like to take Cas's hand in his. He'd like to cup his jaw and kiss him softly. He'd like Cas to hold him tight. He'd like to pet Cas's hair or have Cas pet his. Cas could be so submissive under Dean's stroke. Or Cas could be so dominant that Dean would do whatever he wants, he could even sink down on his knees under the table and take him in his mouth while Cas's firm hand would grab his hair.

Dean would moan at that and Cas would come in his mouth, groaning and holding him tighter.

Dean needs this so bad, but instead a brush of his arm against Cas's will have to be enough.

[redinthesea]

Here's this year's annual birthday illustration!!! I think this one is my favorite one so far, happy shared birthday Miss Crown Prince! Spare me some of your long lifespan... 🥂🎂🎉

(+stupid silly discord interaction doodle featuring improvised funny touhousonas under the cut)

[potatobugz]

eek! scary!

[explodingstarlight]

returning to my baby donnie roots

[charrfie]

[shakingparadigm]

okay but seriously all jokes aside I really do understand ivan. like having a schedule so packed and busy is so insanely draining no matter how long you've conditioned yourself to endure it. sacrificing certain things like lunch or sleep just to gain the slightest bit more time for yourself is something that feels almost essential to keeping yourself together and not feeling like you're losing yourself in the cycle completely. it's like its own little act of rebellion in a way, something along the lines of you can drown me in work and monotony but I'll keep carving these little spaces of time for what little I have for myself, even if I have to carve them out of my own chest. I will sacrifice parts of myself to ensure that I don't fully succumb to whatever you're trying to make me into. I am human, this is the proof, I will make time even if it ruins me. you know?? yeah. you get it

[stolenviolet]

how tall do you think harry is? 🥹

Three apples tall.

But like really big apples, y'know? Think fuji picked at peak season. Yeah, three of those bad boys stacked on top of each other and that's how tall I think he is.

[lornaka]

Danger noodle 🐍🧡

[formosusiniquis]

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another. 

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow. 

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?" 

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy. 

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious. 

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.”  He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks. 

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there. 

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

[vamptits]

wtf..party little poison