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earthtooz · 1 year

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BABE I HAD AN IDEA- Reo Mikage ANGST where he calls reader a gold digging whore in the middle of an argument, ultimately affirming all of her insecurities so he has to figure out a way to show that he didn't mean it and that he's sorry without using his disgustingly abundant wealth 💔 anyways ilysm hope you take care of yourself

NO YOU ARE LITERALLY DISGUSTING FOR THIS (affectionate) YOUR MIND >>> YOU ARE SOOOOO RIGHT. SHUT UP THIS WILL LITERALLY BE THE MOST SCRUMPTIOUS FIC EVER BECAUSE I AM LITERALLY ABOUT TO PUT MY WHOLE EARTHUSSY INTO INCORPORATING THIS IDEA SOMEWHERE !!! BUT FOR NOW, TAKE THIS SNIPPET I WHIPPED UP IN ONE SITTING.

girl feel free to come back into my inbox WHENEVER and giving me your juicy ideas bc holy shit i loved this.

CW: HURT/COMFORT - A LOT OF BOTH, SWEARING, UNEDITED - I WAS GOING THRU IT WHILST WRITING THIS DON'T LOOK AT ME!

IMAGINE THIS: it's been a rough night for both you and reo, he's been through a lot in the past weeks because his dad just had to during the middle of soccer season to lecture reo about how to run a big business. the transition process is beginning to happen since father mikage is about to retire and although your purple-haired boyfriend has been preparing for this his whole life, having gone to business school part-time and graduating with honours, there's still a little part of him that feels weary from all the responsibilities.

all this accumulated stress needs to have an outlet eventually, right? welp, you just happened to be there at the right (wrong) time. you were simply delivering a platter of apples to your boyfriend who had his head in his hands, hunched over an endless pile of paperwork that was beginning to irk him with each passing second. countless images of him shredding up the paper flowed into his mind, a fury that manifested into his reality, except the paper was you D,:

one thing evolved into another, reo's endless stream of venomous words didn't stop flowing out of him as he spat poison after poison, burning you with the intensity of it all.

"you're so overbearing, can't you see that i'm fine? unlike you i can handle myself when things get hard," he spits, eyeing you with fury in his eyes, one that makes you gulp thickly.

"reo-"

-but you wouldn't know the first thing about fighting for what you want right, you fucking gold-digger."

that stops you in your tracks, silences you effortlessly, causing you to let your hands drop limply back to your sides as you stare at your boyfriend blankly. you're sinking into an abyss of hurt and insecurity, it's getting harder to breathe because of the way your chest swells with anger.

reo only continues, not noticing the way you physically and emotionally drop. "even if you don't give me attention for one second of the day, i won't forget you exist, so stop being so clingy and unnecessary! my money isn't going anywhere either, you don't need to occupy majority of my day so leave me alone. go shop online or something."

that was it. was that all reo perceived you to be? a dent in his money, the expenses of his bank account?

"fine. goodbye," you simply mutter before slipping through his office door, out in the hallway.

"don't bother me whilst i'm in here," he says with finality, one last declaration before you shut the door behind you.

the luxurious walls of reo's penthouse look down at you mockingly, the spacious area caging you in, chanting 'gold-digger' over and over again until it's all you hear.

staying here feels wrong.

so, you grab your purse and leave, as quietly as possible. slipping down to the garage where your (second hand) car was parked, you start the engine up and begin reversing out of the parking lot.

you begin to reflect on your relationship with reo. you love him, you really do, you love him because he's reo, the man who was always capable of making you smile, laugh, and make you feel like you were on top of the world. his money and fame was an added bonus that you truly didn't care much about.

but ever since dating him, you've had your own insecurities that have been forced on you by other people. there were crowds calling you a 'gold digger' who was only with reo 'for the money', and although you were sure of yourself and your intentions, your armour breaks down sometimes.

what reo said tonight was the final jab that allowed it to fully disintegrate.

you had a stable job of your own and finances to your own name, money wasn't something you avidly chased, sure having a few zeroes in your bank account was nice but that was all you really needed. as long as you could buy necessities and spoil yourself, it was satisfactory, and you could provide that for yourself!

reo loved to spoil you, showering you in luxurious gifts that you never knew how to accept. it would take a great deal of convincing for you to take what he bought you, and when you promised him to stop buying them for you, he agreed before buying you more material stuff.

as you pull up to the parking lot of the apartment complex that you resided in, you get into the elevator with a heavy heart, pressing the button to your floor with a lot of emotions.

the ride is silent. everything is so silent.

your apartment is even more silent. it's unused, slightly barren. your furniture was still there, except some dust had gathered on the tables and cabinets from how long you've neglected it.

the only reason you were able to keep your apartment was because you had no expenses outflowing since reo took care of almost everything. anything you needed, he bought it, groceries, bills, whatever, were charged on his card. for a period of time, your bank account merely grew and never decreased.

and since you hadn't been here for a while, electricity and water bills never bothered you too much.

you flop onto your made bed with a sigh. it wasn't as soft as reo's but you didn't find it in you to care, you just needed some well-deserved shut eye.

well, 'shut eye' occurred for merely an hour before your phone started vibrating violently.

with a groan, you shove your face back into your pillows before blindly reaching for your phone.

you already knew who it would be without looking at the caller id. of course reo would be looking for you, noting your obvious absence in his penthouse.

"hello?" you mutter.

"y/n? where the hell are you?" comes reo's frantic voice from the other line. he sounds genuinely concerned.

"doesn't matter."

"i'm sorry for everything i said. please, come back."

"reo, i'm tired, i can't do this with you right now."

"i'm sorry, i'm really really sorry."

"i don't want to hear this right now."

"i love you."

you sigh and you're sure reo can hear it on his end. unsure of how to respond, you just hang up on him before throwing your phone away. normally, you would feel bad about the way you left him, but that wasn't the case this time. you just needed to sleep on this.

but, it was reo you were talking about, and the last thing he was going to let you do was sleep without him.

at 1:24am, there's a series of ferocious knocks on your door, followed by screams of your name.

oh my god it was so embarrassing, you literally shoot out of bed as soon as you register what was happening and dash for your door. you don't want to disturb your neighbours' sleep and let them hear that the pathetic grovelling of your boyfriend. the entire hallway could hear reo and his shouting.

you open the door, pull him in, and slam it shut behind you again, leaving the purple-haired to stare at you with a bewildered expression.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss.

he looks at you the same way a puppy does when its owner kicked it out of the house.

you should've known that merely telling reo 'i don't want to hear this right now' would not be enough to pacify his determination and the fact that you hung up on him only intensified his pettiness. the purple-haired always sought you out, pulling himself into your orbit like a magnet. where you went, reo followed, even if it was to the ends of the world.

he had the money to do whatever he wanted, you suppose.

"i wanted to make sure you were safe," he pouts. "i didn't know whether you'd be here or not."

"well, i'm safe, and i'm here. so."

"i can see that," he leans against the back of your couch. reo looks so out of place in your small apartment, awkwardly playing with his hands. "so... should we go to bed?"

the audacity. "what do you mean 'we'? go back home, reo, i'll see you some other time."

as you turn around to go back to your bedroom, reo's quick enough to round around you, blocking you from the hallway with his larger figure.

"but you are my home. please, i'm really sorry about what i said, i didn't mean it," he pleads, grabbing your face so you could look him square in the eye.

you step out of his grasp easily, shaking him off. if you were in your right mind, you would've seen the look of heartbreak on reo's face.

"sure, if you didn't mean it then you wouldn't have said it in the first place, mikage."

you swerve around him to reach your bedroom and he follows you the entire time, trailing behind you, desperate for an ounce of your attention.

"i know i fucked up, but i didn't mean to hurt you and project my frustrations like that onto you when you were just trying to care for me." you sit down on your bed with a sigh and reo takes a seat beside you. "you know i love you right? like, a lot."

that's right. if there's one thing about reo it's that he loves you to an endless degree.

"thank you for always caring for me. i know you don't do it because you're after my money or fame, but because you want to ensure that i'm healthy and not rotting in all that i have to do," his voice cracks. is he beginning to cry. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

you let a beat of silence pass by before dropping your walls. he was always going to smash through them no matter what.

"i've always felt insecure in our relationship," you confess, no louder than an exhale and if reo wasn't holding on to every action of yours, he wouldn't have heard you. "being called a gold digger became normal when i started dating you and i didn't really care. well- i tried not to care."

you continue. "i don't want to let these comments get to me, but then you said it and... i don't know, it just felt horrible."

you feel an arm sneak under your leg, and another hand come to your elbow, both of which simultaneously pull you to straddle reo's lap. you don't look him in the eye- something he frowns at.

"i love you for you. you're the best i'll ever have, reo, but sometimes i-"

"-please don't finish that sentence," he murmurs, breath fanning against your face.

you meet his gaze. he's crying freely. tears are running down his cheeks like streams and you instinctively bring use your thumbs to catch the drops. you hate it when he cries.

"i don't want it to be anyone else but you," confesses the purple-haired. "i hate it when we're separated, i can't stay away from you too long or i think i will go insane."

his statement causes you to giggle a little.

"you laugh but i'm telling the truth."

"i laugh because you make me happy."

his arms wound around your waist, keeping you pressed against him, leaving you with no room to escape or part from him. just what reo likes.

"i'm sorry for what i said," he says against your collarbone. "when i didn't see you in our home, i didn't know what to think. i got so scared for a second because i had no idea where you could've gone so i started spamming your number-"

"-yeah wait, was calling me 24 times necessary?"

"i was going to keep calling you until you picked up so it could've taken 24 or 1000 times or more. now let me speak." you nod wordlessly, smiling a little at how silly reo can be. "and when i realised that you went back to your apartment, i felt horrible that i drove you out."

he looks up at you with glossy eyes.

"you came here because you wanted to prove me wrong, right? because you bought all this by yourself and don't need me, right?"

"well, kind of, but i also didn't want to be around you so i came back here."

reo frowns before leaning in to press delicate kisses to your neck. "please don't leave me. i need you by my side," he inhales before whispering his next statement. "even if you don't need me."

a hand of yours go up to thread through his hair. "don't say that," you use your other hand to direct his face away from your neck, pressing a kiss against his puckered lips. "i absolutely adore you, my love. you're my favourite person ever."

he smiles before leaning in again, kissing you with more fervour and passion. you can feel another tear slide down his cheek.

"lets go to bed, reo," you say when you part and he simply nods, laying you on the side of the bed before laying beside you, arms naturally finding themselves around your waist as reo tugs you as humanely close as possible. "sorry if this mattress isn't as comfortable as your twelve grand one back home."

"i couldn't care less," he whispers whilst tracing patterns on your bare skin.

so long as it's you he's next to, reo doesn't have a lot to complain about.

#bro when i say i literally wrote this in one go #I WROTE THIS IN ONE GO #reo mikage x reader #reo x reader #mikage reo x reader #blue lock x reader

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osamusriceballs · 2 years

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Foreplay

Iwaizumi x fem Reader

Warnings: NSFW

Words: ~1,4k

About: A little bet- who can withstand longer?

_____________________

Iwaizumi Hajime might seem relaxed and calm on the outside- but you know him better.

You can see the single droplet of sweat running down his face, the slight shifting in his seat and the constant adjusting of his pants. He’s not calm and collected, he’s rather barely holding himself together.

Not that you’re any different.

The idea to get aphrodisiacs and to see what will happen, has turned into a bet of who will give in first, and right now you’re not too far away from forgetting your pride and begging him to just take you on the couch.

This whole bet was just a stupid idea.

“You okay, babe?” His smile is slightly forced, the amount of restrain he’s exercising causing his patience to slowly run out.

“Sure. Do you mind if I move a little closer? I’m getting cold.”

Lie.

That is such a blatantly obvious lie, you’re surprised that he’s not calling you out, since your face is burning hot at this point- but it’s nothing compared to the burning between your legs. His broad shoulders shrug, a movement that causes his white shirt to stretch over his chest and you feel like drooling at the view. Iwaizumi is- without a doubt- an outrageously handsome and attractive man- with the dark hair that’s now disheveled because he runs his fingers impatiently through it, his prominent muscles everywhere, that somehow seem to have doubled ever since he started working as a trainer, his loosely fitting grey sweatpants that do nothing to hide the prominent bulge underneath- that seems to be growing while he shamelessly roams his eyes over your body.

Fuck, you need him so bad.

“Of course not. Come here, babe.” He pats the space right next to him on the couch and looks at you expectantly- making sure to linger his gaze at your body when you get up from the other side of the couch and slowly sink down next to him. His tongue darts out and moistens his lips, a simple movement that makes your body burn with more need for him when you think about what this tongue could do to you. How he would make you cum with his skillfully moving tongue, with his long fingers that relentlessly fuck into you, or his heavenly cock that always makes you see stars and cry out for him whenever he fucks you hard with it.

Your legs clench together when you feel the wetness pooling in your panties- they are absolutely soaked by now, and you ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from touching him- or from seeking some relief for yourself, you’re not sure what your lust-filled mind would rather do.

“Babe, if you’re cold, you can just sit on my lap. I’ll warm you up.” His voice is a little raspier than usual, his fists clenching and unclenching every few seconds. His suggestion makes you weak and you eagerly nod and grab his shoulders before you swing a leg over his lap and straddle him, making sure that his crotch is pressing against your wetness. You can feel his warmth underneath your fingers- he’s just as hot as you.

A groan leaves his lips, his hands resting on your bare thighs that are showing now that your dress rode up a bit, and you’re sure that he can not only feel the heat coming from your body, but also the wet panties against his pants.

“Fuck- Hajime,” you gasp, involuntarily grinding yourself against him and almost crying when you finally get a bit of relief. “So, so good, babe, keep going just like that, that’ll keep you warm,” his head falls back, and his hands move to your ass to support your movements and press you down just a bit harder- just to make you feel his hard he is for you.

“Is that cheating? I know we had a bet, but let’s just keep going for a bit.” You close your eyes when you hear him groan again, his words reaching your ears, but you don’t really care at this point. You would agree to anything he says as long as he lets you keep going, your body feeling like you could cum at any second- which would be quite embarrassing because you barely even started dry-fucking. Iwaizumi is too hot for you to take, and the aphrodisiac is taking a tool from you.

“Hmm, just a bit foreplay,” you gasp when his hand suddenly let’s go of you and spanks your ass hardly- and immediately comes back for another harsh slap. Your breath is irregular, and your heart is heavily pounding in your chest when you open your eyes and meet his dark and stern gaze. “Okay. Just a bit foreplay.”

You nod hastily, only now realizing how your hands have been clawing into his shirt and crumbling the fabric- but you know that he doesn’t care about that. Not right now, when his erection is hardly pressing against you, his muscles all tensed while he slowly grinds you against him. You whimper when his cock rubs against your clit through the fabric of his pants, that are now stained with your arousal. It feels so good, so good-

Your head falls forward and rests against his shoulder, your body aching with need in every single fiber. It feels like you’re burning, it’s all too much for you to take- until you feel him lean forward and moving his hands to your back. “Just a bit foreplay,” he murmurs and rocks your body against his, grinding and pressing your hips harder against him, until you move more vigorously in a pace that you know could make you cum- and him too.

“Yes, j-just foreplay, Hajime,” you whisper against his neck, and you feel him shiver when your breath meets his skin, his fingers now digging deeper into your hips. Your moans get louder, and his cock twitches repeatedly in his pants- a clear indicator that he’s getting closer- and you rock yourself even harder against him. “Hmm, babe, just like that. You look so pretty when you sit on my cock.” His words make you clench around nothing, the feeling is more intense than ever, your body shaking when you grab his broad shoulders for more support, when you urge him to help you move, and he sensually grinds you against him.

“Hajime-” you gasp, feeling the orgasm approaching faster and faster, unable to hold back at this point when his cock brushes against your clit again and again.

“Fuck, babe-” he groans your name loudly, and that’s when you feel him abruptly cumming- the twitching of his cock sending you over the edge too, and you cry out when you finally cum, when your body finally releases all the tension and makes you violently grind against him to prolong the high, while he keeps groaning your name and pressing you against him, until both of your bodies relax and calm down.

You sink against him, feeling him releasing the tight grip around your hips only to move up and down on your back gently to calm you down. You feel his cum on his pants, the stain very prominent on the light fabric, but you don’t care about it, and he obviously doesn’t mind it too for now.

He still breathlessly whispers sweet nothings in your ear and holds you close, making sure that you’re okay after the intense feeling- and you’re sure that it was intense for him too. One of the most intense orgasms you ever had- and you both are still fully clothed yet.

“That was... great foreplay,” you gasp when you manage to calm down your breath a bit, but your heart still beats heavily, and you simply rest your face against his chest.

“Absolutely.” He moves his hand to your hair and softly caresses it, but you can still feel him shaking slightly underneath your cheek, and you know that he can still feel the aphrodisiac- just like you do.

“You’re still hard.” You state after shifting a bit on his lap, knowing that he will need to fuck you quite a few times before he will calm down.

“And you’re still dripping.” He is quick to retort, his hands now coming back to your ass to knead the flesh softly.

You lift your head and look at him silently for a few seconds.

“Just fuck me already, Hajime. I don’t care about the stupid bet.”

His lips curl into a grin and he quickly stands up with you in his arms to make his way to your shared bedroom.

“As you wish, babe.”

#smut #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader #I just #got inspired #I actually wanted to post another fic #but well #I wrote this in one go #and now I shall head to bed #SLEEP WELL EVERYONE! <3

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aveblr · 4 months

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my kids are watching pocoyo, and yours should too.

note: i don't have kids; the headline is merely an expression.

so, as someone who is very passionate about art, i try to hold back from critiquing artworks solely based on personal preference...

that being said, i really like minimalism; the concept of achieving something grand with minimal resources captivates me, and pocoyo, in its ambitious yet lighthearted approach, successfully embraces this artistic philosophy in a way that is both interesting and groundbreaking.

in contrast to the prevalent corporate memphis seen in various enterprises' branding, pocoyo distinguishes itself by avoiding the trappings of a simplifying obsession meant to dumb down iconography.

this contemporary minimalist art style is not inherently bad—i personally find it relatively pleasant when used right— but its proliferation often acts as a visually unobtrusive background for corporate spaces. this is like the muzak of visual arts.

for those who don't know, is what we often call elevator music—fabricated to create a facade of a calm work environment for low-income workers, masking the exploitation they endure.

pocoyo utilizes minimalism with another purpose. it invites viewers to immerse themselves in the simplicity of its visuals, employing limited objects that encourage the mind to actively participate by "filling in the blanks."

the cartoon unfolds on an all-white canvas with only certain characters and key items strategically placed, creating ample negative space.

the intentional use of negative space allows the viewer to focus on the characters and the story without unnecessary distractions. the storytelling approach in pocoyo resonates with performative theatre, where negative space is abundant, engaging the audience by encouraging them to fill it with their interpretations; it keeps the viewer at the edge of their seat trying to fill that negative space, if not with items, with an ambientation and abstract elements.

in an era saturated with mindless maximalism and visual oversaturation in media targeted to children, pocoyo stands out by embracing responsible minimalism.

this approach contrasts sharply with the likes of youtube content-farms and cocomelon, a cartoon exemplifying this aggressive maximalism i'm talking about.

cocomelon's rapid scene cuts every 2 to 4 seconds contribute to overstimulation and potential addiction in young viewers.

they're putting our children on crack.

in contrast, pocoyo's deliberate pacing, occasionally featuring tracking shots and long takes, challenges and improves attention spans.

furthermore, pocoyo employs a narrating language akin to normal adult conversation, fostering a healthy communication style. this stands in stark contrast to cocomelon's patronizing approach and zombie ass nursery rhymes, which oversimplifies language and undermines the development of critical thinking and abstract appreciation in young minds.

so, in conclusion, pocoyo's nuanced approach to minimalism and storytelling not only sets it apart in the world of animated content nowadays, but also challenges the prevailing trends that prioritize overstimulation over depth. it stands as a testament to the potential of thoughtful, intentional design in captivating and educating audiences of all ages.

i love it so much.

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bawawawawaguitarsolofuckyeah · 22 days

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Look I really want Adam to still be present in season 2 because like- his history with Lucifer, Lilith, and Eve (Roo) is something we HAVE to explore.

Lucifer literally bagged BOTH of Adam's wives. One created equally to him (whom i bet he did love, because she was all he had), and another who was specifically made FOR him (whom i really believe he loved with all his heart) to reproduce and fill the earth.

If Hazbin Hotel is gonna follow the Bible story, Adam and Eve had to leave the garden and fought to survive. Working and fending for themselves against a world now cursed with sin and suffering. All they had were each other (bro did adam know eve and lucifer fucked?), and when they had their sons, one killed the other and the one who lived was banished by God.

They multiplied and multiplied and Adam + Eve had to witness the cruelty and madness their own bloodline inflicted against one another. The pain, the bloodshed, the apathy, all of it.

Of course, there were moments of wonder, discovery, and love. Times that Adam would hold dearly in his heart. I know he loves unconditionally, because he was made to do so. He's a family man, a husband, a father. He's the original dick. And i think all those magical moments were what made watching humanity fall deeper and deeper hurt even more.

If lucifer is ashamed and heartbroken from what humans did with free will, i do think adam also is ashamed and heartbroken. Because (technically) they are all his children. And he led the fucking exterminations. Did he choose to? Or was this a punishment? Both? (Do you think he had to kill cain?-)

But lucifer's situation is much more sadder because he never got to witness the good and the beauty of what came out from free will. His will to dream crushed, just as his heart was when he was banished from the very place he called home. His punishment for dreaming was to be the king of the very people who abused the free will he gave to them.

At least adam got to see the amazing discoveries humans found, the creations they invented, and the goodness that was left inside people. And got to stay in heaven.

Lilith- look we really dont have much info about her, even Eve. Lilith being made equal to Adam- does that mean she is as tough as him? As dominant as him? Something something third option? Was she a good mother? Good wife? Why the fuck is she in heaven?

Eve- do you think she's eaten by guilt, feeling at fault for how far humanity fell? Because of her foolish decision? Or did she embrace it? Owned the evilness she let into earth?

Adam, Lucifer, Lilith, and Eve. I NEED to know more. Adam is already such an interesting complicated douchebag lovable crass character that you love and hate at the same time. Lucifer, a sad tragic loving complex depressed goofy father that loves his daughter (and wife?) More than anything. Im excited to see what kind of characters Lilith and Eve will be.

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ao3-crack · 1 year

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(x)

#archive of our own #ao3 quotes #ao3 stuff #archive of our own quotes #fanfic #fanfic quotes #funny #ao3 #ao3 tags #basically I wrote this for myself #but you can read it too #me with all of my fics #seriously I write them for myself #then I go through my wips and wonder why no one has updated them in so long

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saltpepperbeard · 8 months

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Edward Teach in the OFMD Season 2 Trailer [x]

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #OFMD Season 2 #OFMD S2 #OFMD S2 Trailer #OFMD S2 Spoilers #Edward Teach #Taika Waititi #ofmdblog #ofmddaily #ofmdedit #ofmdsource #Edit #ANNNNNDD THAT'S ALL SHE WROTE #IF I HAD TO GET ONE GIF SET OUT ON MY LUNCH BREAK #IT WAS GOING TO BE ED #IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO BE THE BABYGIRL

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writeouswriter · 1 year

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Broke: Acknowledging that a character who is an objectively terrible person is also a complex and intentionally well thought out individual with different levels of nuance you can empathize with in some ways while not in others is immediately “woobifying” or “poor little meow meowifying” them.

Woke: “This character is a bad person” and “this character is still a person” are two statements that can, should and do coexist and admitting that they exhibit nuance and depth and are more than just their bad actions doesn’t immediately excuse or condone their bad actions or mean that you’re ignoring or trying to soften the canonical version of the character.

Bespoke: That’s the whole point, that’s always been the point, to be made to empathize with horrible people so you can understand that they can be anyone, that bad people can be likeable, can be interesting, can be human, are human, and it’s scary to think about all the ways they’re just like you and all the ways they’re just like everything you hate, forcing the use of critical skills in media analysis, forcing a confrontation of the duality of man.

Whatever Level is Above Bespoke: But sometimes, yeah, sure, maybe they are a poor little meow meow, what are you gonna do, get a lawyer

#oh you would absolutely hate who sparked this post would absolutely hate it #and i am absolutely never going to tag who it is #writing #writeblr #books #media #movies #tv shows #poor little meow meow #media analysis #character analysis #literature #oh my god oh my god i shan't say it but i looked at the urban dictionary for something and oh my god #listen I’m not forgiving them I’m just observing the writers purposefully wrote more to them like they are the worst but hey #lying in wait like a spider to see if anyone tags this as the character that initially sparked this no one has yet #Upon last check 12400 notes someone has mentioned will not say when or who 👍

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silly-little-musings · 1 year

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And we remind ourselves

that we are okay.

We will be okay.

We are more than we think we think we are.

The whole world does not hate us.

It cannot.

The people who we love

who we know never want hurt us

do love us back.

We are not monsters.

We are scared, wounded children.

We grew up hurting

and know only to expect it.

We know there is more than pain.

We know there is joy.

We know there is love,

real and true.

We know our fears are not unfounded.

We know our fears

are not the only reality.

We know we must reconcile that,

and we are trying.

We must let ourselves love

and care

and hope.

And as long as we are trying

we are enough.

And we must remember

no matter how must we feel it

no matter how much it stifles us

we are not alone.

Seek them out,

the people who know what you want them to know,

and we will sure find them

eventually. Soon enough.

After all,

we are We.

#mer's shitty poems #i'm in a mood tonight huh #i wrote this in one go #and i ain't proofreading it #so enjoy #poetry #i guess

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putridcowboy · 2 years

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the most important step in the hero’s journey is the gay sex

#mine #i was. higher than i thought i was last night #nooo post dont go out of my immediate circle u r so sexy #someone just tagged this as naruto wrote this. no he didnt i did #update now sherlock rp blogs are commenting on this. girl it is 2022 what are you doing #leave im going to attack you with wasps #fr if another person comments on this post itself again and it isnt funny im sending the bees after u #never in my life have i felt that one post that is like some of yall are so annoying god bless #more than i do now #this isnt about anything but if it was it would just be about gilgamesh #the more yall add to this post the more obvious it is that some of yall straight up dont know what the heroes journey is #yall need to stop assuming the hero is the protagonist of the stories yall read/watch/consume or whatever the fuck

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naturecalls111 · 9 months

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#black leg sanji #red leg zeff #one piece #comic #fanart #sanji vinsmoke #< the tag I use more often so just for easy navigation on my blog.#my dog of 17 years passed the other night and god knows I suck at processing things #I wanted a way to distract myself but I couldn’t Really distract myself so.#when I woke up after drawing this comic I hated how I wrote the end part #my brain was muddled so words weren’t coming to me the way I wanted it to #I was going to change it before posting it here but that feels… disingenuous. so I’m keeping it #my puppy’s name was Sunny. it’s silly of me but it makes me feel even closer to one piece now #anyway sorry for rambling #I miss my big baby

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chihirolovebot · 5 months

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on a real note that bit near the end of the video was genuinely haunting. hearing somerton talk about how gay writers are erased from history was one thing (with all the irony being that he stepped on the backs of numerous underpaid, underprivileged and uncredited queer writers to build his youtube channel) but when h revealed it wasn't even somerton's quote in the first place? the worst, most crushing sort of irony. how do you lament about the erasure of gay people and gay writers in history... whilst erasing a gay writer and taking his words as your own?

#it's genuinely unconscionable and its given me a lot to think about #i found somerton through his video essay on killing stalking #one of my favourite psychological horrors #i was overjoyed to find someone who seemed to recognise it for the dark character study of trauma and abuse that it was #and not a love story #now all i want to do is go back to that video and search up the phrases in google #to see who really wrote those words and phrases that got to me so deeply #fuck man . what a disappointment #james somerton #hbomberguy #veetxt

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solarmorrigan · 4 months

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I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things post s2 AU #stranger things #this one is a bit long just as a heads up; about 4.6k #is it good? I dunno but I had fun writing it and you guys seem interested so here we go!#eddiesteve #solar wrote

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