she says he won't let her get a dog, which is fine, because they're in an apartment, and that's the kind of thing people say about their partners. he won't let me get a dog. and you're at a dinner party and you tilt your head a little to the side just like that dog he won't let her get, because is this the thing that's going to upset you? you don't know every corner of their relationship, she could be joking, they could have had so many healthy conversations about the dog, right, and maybe she's not letting herself get the dog because of money and time and whatever. but, like, she did say let
and she wants to move away from his hometown and he wants to stay and then he tells you with a wink and a conspiratorial stage whisper don't worry i'll convince her and she laughs about it - so clearly this is something they laugh about. but you do just stand there and stare at him like what the fuck, man. you can't say what you want to say which is why do you get the final say on everything because they're both obviously aware of the other person's stance on this and have obviously had private conversations about it and what are you going to do about it except make a scene and then he'll be mad at you and call you one of those bitches behind your back and she'll cut you off, which is a loss that doesn't feel worth it just because he makes you a little skeeved out every 3rd comment
and they both agree he just isn't the type to get flowers which is fine because everyone shows love differently, and are you really gonna judge someone based on their sense of individual relationship responsibility? maybe he's constantly cleaning her car and writing her poems and making her furniture or something. maybe she doesn't even like flowers and this is perfect, actually. and no you couldn't date him, obviously, ew; but like, she tells you she's happy. you almost send her a tiktok that says don't be 25 and the cool girl that doesn't need anything, you'll hate not getting flowers at 30, but that's like, starting drama & you shouldn't start drama needlessly.
and you're a little older than her but not so much older you can pull the whole trust me on this one babe thing and besides that wouldn't have worked anyway (when does it ever) and besides you have trauma so you and your therapist both agree that you're always looking for a problem even when there isn't one. and you tell yourself that just because you see them for 15 minutes every month does not mean you can identify every single red flag based on a single shitty half-joking(?) comment
and besides, what are you going to do? she says i actually wanted another stand mixer but thankfully he stops me when i'm about to spend too much money and you're standing there like are you okay? is this normal? is this just something people say? and again - what are you going to do?
to your therapist you try to language it - it's not, like, any of my business. but sometimes, doesn't it feel like - you should do something. there's got to be something, right? you've tried dropping little hints but they sail right through and you've tried having a single serious conversation and she got upset because why does it matter to you, yes it's different but we're happy, it doesn't need to make sense to you and you're like. really unwilling to push a boundary about it anymore; because the truth is that you know logically it shouldn't matter to you, as long as both parties are happy.
and besides, you've been wrong before. it's just... like, every time you see them both, something else happens, some kind of shiver down your spine like do you even hear each other when you talk. it's their strange, bickering orbit. just the way he's on his phone through dinner or watching sports instead of helping in the kitchen or, fuck, another one of these little throwaway comments he makes about we'll see about that, babe. she laughs when he calls her passions stupid shit and meanwhile she gets him tickets to see the knicks and he tells you well at least she's smart about something and still! it's none of your business.
you say get the dog anyway and she laughs. like, this is is you being funny. and not you saying - no really. get the dog. get the dog and get out of here. pack up and start running.
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It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.
Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.
It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.
Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.
Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.
It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.
It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.
Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.
They have a couch now. A sofa.
It's so fucking unreal.
He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.
And it feels really fucking big.
At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.
For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.
The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.
It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.
And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."
"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.
Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.
Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.
"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.
"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."
Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.
Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.
And it's so unreal.
"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."
Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.
"Why's it crazy, angel?"
He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.
"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."
Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.
"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."
"We've got a couch now."
Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.
"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."
Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."
And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.
But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.
And they have each other.
They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.
In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.
Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.
🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)
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INGREDIENTS:
2 cups evil boredom
3 teaspoons (heaping) blorbo poison (powder, not liquid)
1 daycare theme (10 hour loop)
1/3 cup brainrot
*1/2 cup distilled back pain
**(un)diagnosed mental illness
*(any kind of pain works, back pain is usually what i have on hand)
**(if you aren’t a fan of the flavor a diagnosis leaves, undiagnosed will work in a pinch! Personally, I like to add a bit of both.)
INSTRUCTIONS:
First, turn on the daycare theme (10 hour loop) and pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees.
Sift together your evil boredom and blorbo poison in a medium sized bowl.
Add in your pain of choice and mix well.
Once thoroughly mixed, it should be looking a little thicker. Some granules from the evil boredom and blorbo poison are fine. (You can always mix further, if you’re worried about it affecting the texture.)
Add your brainrot and beat with a whisk until it’s looking lighter, a little fluffy. (If you aren’t in the mood for fluff, a dash of angst or hurt/comfort can help tone it down. An AU if you really wanna spice it up.)
Realize this is turning out a lot better than you thought it would. Dang. Well, you’re certainly committed now.
Go ahead and get out a glass baking pan. Coat the bottom with non-stick spray. (I tend to favor Y/N brand Nonbinary Spray myself)
Using a baking spatula (one of the rubbery bendy ones), carefully move your mixture from the bowl to the pan. It’s alright if you get some on the sides, the heat should help it settle once it’s in the oven. To get out any air bubbles, tap the pan (carefully!) a few times on the counter.
Place the pan in the oven and set a timer for 15-25 minutes, or take a peek every now and then and see if it’s the right shade of cheerful.
Congratulations!!! You’ve successfully survived evil boredom, despite the hurdles you faced, and made something! (Pretty tasty too, if I might add.) You are still mentally ill, though. But - hey - now you have a little treat! And hopefully, your day’s just a little bit brighter! Enjoy!
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