#I might if I have something meaningful to say

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello my dear readers,

I hope you're all doing well, wherever you are and however you're feeling. I just wanted to take a moment to talk about something that’s been on my heart lately, and I’d like to do it with honesty and vulnerability — the same way many of you have supported me throughout this journey.

As some of you may have already noticed, I’ve made a few changes to this account. The most obvious one is probably the Masterlist, which now looks quite different. You’ll also see that some of my previous stories are no longer available.

Let me reassure you right away: this wasn’t a Tumblr glitch or a technical issue. This was a decision I made. One that wasn’t easy, but one I felt I needed to make.

Over the last few months, this space has become more than just a creative outlet for me — it’s been a little home. A corner of the internet where I got to share my ideas, my characters, my love for storytelling, and most importantly, where I got to connect with all of you. Writing stories, especially the F1 drivers as dads series, brought me genuine joy. Seeing your reactions, reading your kind messages, and receiving your thoughtful requests always meant the world to me.

But lately... something has shifted.

In recent weeks, I’ve noticed that the response to my stories hasn’t been what it used to be. There’s been a gradual — and sometimes disheartening — drop in likes, engagement, and requests. Where there were once 800–900 likes on a piece, it’s now 500 or sometimes even fewer. And while numbers aren’t everything — and trust me, I’ve never written for clout or validation — they do tell a story of their own.

They tell me whether what I’m sharing is still resonating, still exciting, still bringing you comfort or joy.

I tried to tell myself it was just a phase. That maybe everyone was just busy, or that Tumblr's algorithm was playing games again. But after a while, it became harder to ignore the pattern. It wasn’t just one or two stories — it was most of them. And even before I closed anonymous requests, they were already slowing to a trickle.

I’m not angry or upset at anyone. Please don’t think that. I truly, truly am not. This isn’t a blame game.

But I am a person. A writer who pours hours — sometimes days — of heart and thought and energy into every piece. And when that effort starts to feel invisible or no longer meaningful to the audience I love so much, it hurts. Quietly, slowly, in a way you don’t notice at first. But it builds.

I’ve always known that every trend has its moment. That nothing lasts forever, especially not on the internet. The "F1 drivers as fathers" stories had their moment — and it was a beautiful moment. I laughed with you, cried with you, and created entire worlds with you. But it seems that the moment has passed.

So after a lot of thought, I decided to remove some of my stories — not because I’m ashamed of them, but because it was hard to see them sit there, unloved and unappreciated. I didn’t want them to become ghosts in the archive. I wanted to preserve the memory of when this account was full of light, warmth, and excitement.

I’ve kept the stories that were most well-received, the ones that meant something to you all — and to me.

I know some might find this dramatic, or unnecessary. Some might even say I’m being rude or fishing for attention. That’s okay. People will always have opinions. But for those of you who do understand — who do care — I hope you’ll hear me when I say: this was never about likes or popularity. It was about connection. And when that connection started to fade, I knew it was time to let go.

So with a heavy heart, I want to let you all know that I will no longer be writing F1 fathers stories.

This chapter has come to a close.

It has been a wild, wonderful, funny, heartwarming ride. I’ll always be grateful for the joy you gave me, for the love you showed, for the way you embraced my characters as your own.

To those who have supported me through every update, every fic, every quiet moment — thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

This isn’t the end of my writing. I still love telling stories. I still love creating. But it’s time for something new — whenever inspiration finds me again.

For now, let’s say goodbye to an era that brought so many smiles.

With love and gratitude,

Ariana

[astronomical-light]

"#his existential nerd ass LATIN tattoos are so deeply important to me #i have approximately 2836372 thoughts about them" would love 2 hear more of these thoughts 👀

and i would love to talk about it!!! while robby only has two canonical tattoos that we know of, i have a personal robby's tattoos extended universe that i will also talk about, because why the hell not.

so as other folks have noticed, the tattoos on his biceps are... kind of shitty. they're faded, the lines aren't crisp, they're uneven. they're OLD. thinking about the progression of his tattoos makes me go off the wall bonkers crazy, because i like to think he got memento mori first, and then every subsequent tattoo? is a little more hopeful.

robby is not a half-measures guy. robby, almost to his detriment, needs to have a REASON to do something. i think his tattoos are deeply intentional to him, even if they're from when he was a slightly overdramatic youth. his tattoos all fit a thematic arc, to me. i think he treats them as reminders for what he thinks Matters Most at the time he got them.

MEMENTO MORI - literally "remember to die," usually translated as "remember you must die" or "remember you will die"

a reflection of one's mortality, that death is inevitable. some people interpret this to ~live life to the fullest~ in the face of the fact that you're not going to live forever, but i think robby got this tattoo after his first bad loss of a patient during his residency.

everybody has to die. not everyone can live, but robby wants to remember them anyway. robby is going to remember them whether he wants to or not.

AMOR FATI - "love of fate" or "love of one's fate"

alright, so we know we're going to die, now what are we going to do about it? where this one gets real fun is what this particular phrase can reveal about robby, because amor fati is often associated with nietzsche and eternal recurrence. was he an undergrad philosophy major? minor? did he just take intro to philosophy and it burned into a formative part of his brain for him to remember several years later? who can say. anyway, eternal recurrence is the idea that everything that has happened will happen over an infinite period of time, and nietzsche used this as a litmus test to affirm life. do you want to keep living the same life you're living forever and ever, amen? i think robby gets this one after memento mori, after he's had more big wins than he's had big losses. it's his reminder of why he does what he does.

not everyone can live, but robby is going to keep trying to save who he can. he is going to keep trying over and over and over again.

now, this brings us to BONUS TATTOOS! these are my personal headcanons, and you can take them from my cold dead hands.

CHAI - "life"

keen-eyed readers might have noticed that @alethialia and i both write robby with a chai symbol on his right wrist, and now i will explain why! the short answer is that noah wyle has wrist tattoos, and we can see them on screen. since robby canonically has tattoos, we know he's not against them (and this is also something that reveals how strictly he adheres to his faith, because, y'know. forbidden!) and since i love any excuse to continue to Get Symbolic With It, i had to ask myself the question: what would robby tattoo on his wrist?

robby's tattoos are already an Existential Crisis starter pack, so i wanted something that tied into his faith and could be meaningful to him in that way—because seriously, dude. you can't have everything be in fucking LATIN.

and a shoutout to @kritischetheologie here, who entertained my questioning when i messaged her before she had even watched the pitt, asking what symbol she thought he would have after giving her a quick and dirty rundown of his character and his existing tattoos.

literally putting the symbol for life on his pulse point makes me want strap myself onto a rocket and launch myself into outer space. it's his most visible tattoo! it's the one he sees all the time! a reminder to LIVE, a reminder that life is precious, a reminder that he does what he does to save lives. this tattoo is on every single robby that i write even if i don't explicitly mention it; this is MY canon.

next we can consider the fact that noah also has another tattoo on his left wrist. i go back and forth with this one, because this is a tattoo that he keeps hidden underneath his watch band. this is a tattoo that's more personal, that he wants to be able to see whenever he wants but doesn't want everyone to be able to see all the time.

in some universes, this is a tattoo he gets for jack, but i have more on tattoos for jack later, so the other option i like to think about is: this is a tattoo he gets to memorialize adamson. his mentor, the man who taught him so much and the man he's trying to be. is it just an A? maybe. but adamson = son of adam = running with the interpretation of adam from the hebrew adamah, or "earth" or "ground" (because again, i love any excuse to Get Symbolic With It), maybe he has a tiny little globe. many considerations here!

FINALLY, we have the tattoo that makes me even more bananas than the chai tattoo, and that's the matching tattoo he gets with jack when they decide that, hey man, you're kind of it for me, let's get married about it (i also have several thoughts about this, but that is Another Post for Another Time).

SONG OF SONGS, BABY.

robby has i am my beloved's on his chest. jack has my beloved is mine. they handwrote the text for each other. i am so normal about it.

this post was so much longer than i meant for it to be, but thanks for coming to my TED talk. i'll be here all week.

[shall-we-die]

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{Lovely Boyfriend}

☰[Main list]•⊰ Love and Deepspace

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Sylus takes his role as your protector very seriously. Whether it’s from physical danger or emotional distress, he’s always there to shield you.  He may seem cold to others, but with you, he’s fiercely loyal, almost possessive (in a sweet way).  Not a man of many words, but his actions speak volumes. Expect subtle gestures a hand on the small of your back, lingering touches, or silently fixing something for you.  When he does speak, his words are deliberate and meaningful.  (Yeah saying things that make you cry... like those things about flowers and blah blah, sorry I can't remember the whole sentences but it was in the card that him and MC went shopping) His strength is intimidating to enemies, but with you, he’s surprisingly gentle. He’s mindful of his own power and never wants to accidentally hurt you.  If you’re upset, he might wordlessly pull you into a firm but comforting embrace.  He’s the type for grand, flashy gestures, but he also can show love in quiet, meaningful ways.  Might leave small gifts where you’ll find them, a rare flower, a handwritten note, or something he knows you’ve been wanting.  (But he can also scream that you’re his lover. As you might know) Prefers solitude, but you’re the one person he chooses to keep close.  If he’s in a bad mood, he might distance himself briefly, but he always comes back.  Notices little things about you. your favorite drink, how you like your coffee, when you’re tired before you even say it.  Adjusts his behavior accordingly (e.g., dimming lights if you have a headache without being asked).  Doesn’t like others getting too close to you, but he’d never control you. Instead, he might subtly mark his territory (standing closer, a possessive hand on your waist).  If someone flirts with you, he’ll give them a look that sends them running. (Like that mf guy from Cafe, who wanted to send you some snack.) Doesn’t feel the need to fill every moment with chatter. Just being near you is enough.  Enjoys quiet moments together, reading, stargazing, or just existing in the same space. 

Will Fight the World for You. Will die for you... Cross you, and he will make sure they regret it.  But he also respects your independence. won’t step in unless you want him to.  Your happiness is his weakness. If he sees you genuinely happy, he’ll do anything to keep it that way.  Might secretly take pictures of you when you’re laughing or focused on something.  His Love Language is Physical Touch (Only With You) He’s not the type to casually touch others, but with you? He craves contact.  Always has a hand on you somewhere. your waist, the back of your neck, fingers intertwined with yours.  If you’re sitting together, he’ll pull you into his lap without a word, arms wrapped securely around you.  His kisses are deep and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of your lips.  Starts gentle, almost teasing, but if you respond eagerly, he’ll lose control just a little, pinning you against the nearest surface with a low growl.  Loves kissing your neck, especially where your pulse jumps under his lips.  If you share a bed, he always sleeps with an arm around you, pulling you close so your back is against his chest.  If you stir in the night, he’ll tighten his hold instinctively, murmuring something sleepy and reassuring.  Worshipful Hands~ When he undresses you, it’s with slow, reverent touches, like you’re something precious.  Traces every scar, freckle, and curve with his fingertips before following with his lips.  His voice drops to a rough whisper when he tells you how beautiful you are.  No matter how intense things get, he always makes sure you’re taken care of afterward.  Brings you water, wraps you in blankets, or draws a bath if you want one.  Holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your hair while his heartbeat steadies under your ear. 

Acts all tough, but once you’re alone? He’s clingy (we all know this)  If you try to get up too soon after being intimate (or even just lounging), he’ll pull you back with a grumble. "Stay." Buries his face in your hair or the crook of your neck when he hugs you from behind, inhaling deeply.  Notices when you’re cold and silently drapes his jacket over your shoulders.  Makes you coffee/tea exactly how you like it without asking.  Only Smiles for You. His usual expression is serious, but when you catch him off-guard with a joke or a sweet gesture? His smile is rare and breathtaking.  You’ve memorized the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters.  Holds your hand tightly when crossing the street, even if there’s no traffic. If it’s raining, he’ll shield you with his body or an umbrella without hesitation.  Might not say "I love you" often, but he shows it in every touch, every glance, every time he puts you first.  When he does say it? It’s in a quiet, private moment, whispered against your skin like a secret. He'll be so dramatic about it, give you a long speech of how he feels and how he wants to love with you forever. Hes sometimes emotionally Closed-Off Grew up hardening his heart, so expressing feelings is hard. He’ll shut down instead of talking when upset.  Worst Moment... After a fight, he disappeared for three days without a word.  He has trauma he refuses to share, even when it affects you both.  And if he thinks he’s right? Good luck changing his mind.  like he Ignored your advice on a mission, got injured, and still wouldn’t admit he was wrong.  But he Tries to Change (For You) Cause beneath the armor, he’s trying. And when he loves, he loves hard, with every scar, every silent sacrifice, every clenched fist that loosens just for you.  He's a man who worships every inch of you.  He’s naturally authoritative in bed, but it’s never just about control. it’s about pleasure. 

His commands are low and firm. "Look at me, kittem." "Don’t hide your voice." "Take what I give you." But if you ever seem genuinely uncomfortable? He stops immediately, cupping your face to check in.  Loves leaving bruises where only he can see, inner thighs, the curve of your neck, the dip of your waist.  If he sees an old mark fading, he’ll replace it with a new one. Pins you effortlessly. hands locked above your head, his body caging yours.  Lifts you like you weigh nothing, whether it’s against a wall or bent over his lap.  His strength means he can manhandle you exactly how he wants, but he’s always careful not to hurt you.  Aftercare is everything. after being so dominant, he turns tender.  Wipes you down with a warm cloth, brings you water, and pulls you into his chest.  Strokes your hair as you come down, kissing your forehead. "I’ve got you." Loves Teasing You in Public.  Loves when you try to hide your reactions, only to break later in private.  Blindfolds you sometimes, just to hear you gasp at every unexpected touch.  Traces your skin with the tip of his fingers. "You trust me, don’t you?" Usually so composed, but when you push the right buttons? He snaps.  Afterward, he’s almost embarrassed by how much he needed you.  I love him so much, ok?

[kedreeva]

hi i have a tumblr question and i was hoping you could answer it for me!

if person a makes a post then person b reblogs it and adds to the body of the post, person c reblogs it from them without adding anything then i reblog from person c just with my own tags who gets notes in their activity page?

i know person c will see what i add or tag bc i see it when others reblog posts from me that i have reblogged from others but will person b see what i add to a post? can i tag it - person b that is a great addition thanks for the info!!

will person a see it if i tag something like - op this is great thanks for sharing!

i am not new here but i am new to interacting with posts - trying not to lurk so much and it feels embarrassing to not know this stuff. i am so so shy and it feels easier to use tags to offer kudos/thanks/whatever than to message people or add to the body of a post when i do not have anything real to offer on the subject and i want to make sure i’m doing it right.

you always seem so kind to everyone and seem to be one of the biggest blogs i follow so i am assuming you have experience being person ab&c.

thanks in advance for your help 💟

Hi!! I'm really happy to hear you are interacting more, reblogging posts so so so helpful to the tumblr ecosystem, welcome to creation conservation! 💜

To answer, if you reblog a reblog, only the original poster (if they still exist) and the person you actually reblog it from will get the notification in their activity feed (which doesn't mean they will see it for sure, as people can filter activity and hide tags if they want). However, those aren't the only two who can see- anyone that clicks on the notes link at the bottom will be able to see all tags added to a post. Many people do go into the notes to read tags. I can't speak for anyone else but often if I add significantly to a post, I'll pop into the notes for a day or two after to see if anyone has anything interesting to reply. It's also the case that Tumblr keeps posts alive MUCH longer than other sites and this means posts revisit dashboards sometimes, and people may check the notes of posts they've added to. But they won't get a direct notification. The same is true of replies; op and the person who reblogged the post you're replying to will both get notification, and some people (me) have replies turned off because replies get emailed to me otherwise, which is a direct email about someone saying something that usually is not talking to me.

That being said, it's also not unusual to directly send an ask to someone to thank them if an addition they made a long time ago helped you or made you happy or was meaningful to you. I get asks like that sometimes, I've sent a few over the years. It's easier to just reblog, but sometimes you gotta say something more directly and that's perfectly okay to do, too.

Most people, if they want someone specifically to see tags, will just go up the chain. Clicking on the header bar of any reblog that has an addition to it will take you to the blog that made the addition, if they're still active, and you can reblog from them instead of person c. Slightly more work, but not much.

Lastly- adding stuff to posts in the body isn't necessarily bad. It was frowned upon back when adding stuff skewed the post by adding a bunch of indents, but with that no longer being the case, you can add away. People might still go up the chain to reblog from someone else if they don't like your addition, and that's okay. What other people do doesn't have to be your business. And person c should have similar feelings about you skipping over them to reblog from b.

There's no right way to do it- if it can be done, then the site was designed to do it. There are a lot of customizable features here, so others can figure out what to do regardless of what you are doing.

I hope that helps!

[lacedinribbons]

could you do headcanons for how the beatles would kiss the reader 🎀,,, im obsessed with your fanfics fr fr girlie

of course lovely! enjoy :)

The way the boys kiss you

john♥︎: intense & unexpected:

john kisses like he lives- bold, confident and passionate. his kisses come out of nowhere- one moment you're talking, and the next, he's cupping your jaw and drawing you in. there's tension in his lips, like he's trying to say everything he doesn't know how to put into words.

he'll press his forehead against yours after, murmuring something cheeky to make you blush.

"You didn't expect that did you, love?"

paul ♥︎: soft & romantic:

paul's kisses are warm and melodic, like a love song he’s just sung for you. he'll brush his nose against yours first, testing the waters, waiting for you to smile before gently pressing his lips against yours.

his hand might find your waist or cheek, pulling you in slightly, keeping it tender and meaningful.

"mm.. i have been thinkin' about this all day"

george ♥︎: shy & lingering:

george is shy at first, eyes flickering down to your lips like he's quietly asking permission to kiss you. but once he kisses you, it's all consuming. he kisses slow, like he's afraid the moment might vanish if he rushes. his hands tremble a little against your skin, nervous but gentle, but when he pulls away, he can't help but look at you like you're a secret he's lucky to know.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?"

ringo ♥︎: playful & sweet:

ringo's kisses are full of joy and warmth, he'll sneak up behind you with a big, goofy grin, plant a kiss on your cheek, then go for your lips before you can recover from your giggles. it's always light hearted, but when he's feeling sentimental, he'll surprise you with a kiss so soft and heartfelt it will leave you speechless.

"that was nice wasn't it? we should do it again, for science."

[aurescentia]

hit eject

written for Steddie Bingo (@steddiebingo) - A Splash of Summer - prompt: Saying Goodbye

ao3 link || Rating: T || Tags: Slice of Life, Everyone Lives, except for... well, it'll make sense, (not-so-subtly about Chrissy) (if you squint), saying goodbye, somewhat established relationship

fic is below the cut!

Steve’s getting ready for a funeral. Again.

He’s been dreading this day since the moment they’d proposed it. He doesn’t think there was any point to such a thing; it will only drag out the inevitable and make everyone feel worse off. 

It was pointless, something sure to dredge up bad memories and worse nightmares for everyone in attendance. He couldn't stand how normal everyone was acting, taking this at face value.

But even Robin was on board – she was downstairs at this moment, waiting for him in full mourning gear, black veil and all. The kids were probably already there, weeping, sharing memories, tossing flowers into an empty, unmarked grave. Not even a real grave–

As if on cue, Robin appears in the reflection of his mirror, rapping lightly at the doorframe. “Almost ready?” she sniffs, asks him so gently.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, giving up on his hair. It was muggy and humid in early July. Farrah Fawcett had given up the ghost, leaving Steve high and dry, and he hasn't found a good replacement hairspray yet, much to his dismay.

Maybe they should have a funeral for that, just him and Dustin. He wants to laugh, but thinks Robin might beat him with her handbag if he does. Right. He's supposed to treat this seriously.

The two of them pile into the car, strangely quiet as they pull out of his neighborhood. Normally, his car is filled with the sound of gossip and banter. Music. Always something when it's the two of them, and it's always the two of them. But not today, and the lack of commotion is making the back of his throat itch.

They drive past the cemetery without comment, though it surely must stick out like a sore thumb in both their minds.

Keeps driving around all the cracks in their town that remind them every day what happened in Hawkins. What nearly broke them for real. Robin reaches for his hand in a rare moment of physical comfort, and Steve takes it without hesitation. Wonders if it's for her benefit or his, but decides it doesn't matter if they both need it.

They're a mile outside the closed-off trailer park, nearly to the junkyard, when Steve slows the car to a near stop, idling on the side of the road. He can see Wayne's truck, just ahead.

“I don't know if I can do this,” he breathes, but it comes too fast.

“You can,” she insists, squeezing his hand. “This'll be good closure for everyone. We never had anything to cap off... what happened in March. I think it'll be cathartic. Meaningful.”

“Why?” he snaps through gritted teeth. “What's the point? All it's going to do is remind everyone–”

Steve cuts himself off before he slides off into a tangent. “Did you know Dustin finally stopped radioing me in the middle of the night, like– two weeks ago?”

He shakes his head. “I think it's a bad idea, a thoughtless idea–”

“–I think this is for them,” Robin insists, squeezing his hand tighter. “For the kids, for Wayne. If this is how they process their feelings, I'm happy to indulge them a little.”

Steve sighs, knocking his forehead against the steering wheel. “...just don't know how Eddie could be so–” he cuts himself off before he says something rude. Now's not the time.

“We don't have to go, if it's really–”

“No,” Steve sniffs. Wipes his nose with his free hand, without ever letting go of Robin's. “No, you're right. This is for them. Let's do it.”

They pull up beside Wayne's truck and make their slow way through the junkyard's lot, following the sound of laughter and noise through the early morning air.

Part of Steve had winced when they mentioned how early they were having the funeral, until he realized it was for Wayne's benefit – having this gathering right after he got off work, because no one at the mill was getting days off right now, after being closed for nearly two months.

And the thought of that, Wayne being unable to take time off for this, sent Steve kicking rocks bitterly into the dust around them. But Robin was still holding his hand, still there. They'd make it through today just fine.

They found the rest of the group standing around the makeshift grave, sharing doughnuts brought by someone who clearly had more foresight than Steve had this morning. At the sound of their tandem approach, Dustin's head whips up, grinning wildly.

“See! They didn't bail; I told you guys.”

Robin detaches, leaving Steve in favor of Max and El, standing awkwardly off to the side. The other outsiders to this gathering.

As Steve is surrounded by the boys, all trying their best to talk the loudest over one another, he thinks again about how ridiculous this all was. A farce.

“Harrington actually made it? Well, hot damn!”

The only person this had ever mattered to was Eddie, and Steve had a hard time taking anything that wily fucker said seriously.

Eddie jumps down from the makeshift pulpit, breaking through the tide of children at Steve's feet to greet him with a rough shoulder shake and a grin. Steve rolls his eyes, pulls him into a lopsided, one-armed hug that leaves them both pink-tinged as they separate.

“Said I'd make it, didn't I?” he mumbles, kicking more gravel.

Side-eyes Eddie while his head is tilted toward the ground, trying to make sense of his outfit. It looks like a bad version of a prom rental, complete with a boutonniere – an oversized suit jacket, black slacks, white shirt with a ruffled bib that looked straight out of the previous decade.

He’d done something horrible with his hair, slicking it back into a low ponytail until he looked more clown therapist than funeral attendee, but Steve didn’t comment. Eddie’s levity was already helping lift Steve out of the foul mood he’d been in that morning. He’d rib him later, on the drive over to–

“Ed, you gonna get this thing started, or what?” Wayne calls from where he'd been leaning against the pulpit. “‘fraid I'm half-dead on my feet, as is. Wouldn't want you to have to bury me instead.”

“Alright, old man, hold your horses,” Eddie calls back without looking away from where he and Steve are still standing, close.

“And you wonder where I got my flair for the dramatics from,” he whispers, thumbing back in Wayne's direction.

“Oh, I never wondered,” Steve huffs, following Eddie's lead back toward where everyone else was gathering.

Eddie knocks his shoulder diffidently into his, and Steve knocks back twice as hard. Makes them both stumble in a way that’s so fond, he nearly does it again just to see if he can knock them both off their feet.

“Loser.”

“Dork,” Eddie scoffs right back.

But then Frank, Jeff, and Gareth come tumbling out from somewhere deeper in the junkyard carrying a walkie, and Eddie's attention diverts. The three of them are dressed similarly to Eddie – suit jackets, slicked-back hair – bad prom suits and all.

Most of the other kids, Steve notes, are wearing more business casual attire, with Mike and Gareth both opting to replace the dress shirt with their Hellfire shirts.

Honestly, he feels a little silly at how overdressed he is for this, compared to the mishmash of silly suits and Wayne's post-work getup. It's like he and Robin were the only ones to take this as seriously as Eddie had demanded.

“Let's go already, Munson! Some of us have better things to do than mosey around the goddamn junkyard all day,” Max calls through cupped hands, and Eddie flips her the bird, but does as she asks.

“Like you're not ogling Steve in his suit right now,” Steve hears Lucas mumble, but pretends he doesn’t hear, out of principle.

“I was ogling you, idiot.”

“Oh.”

Steve joins Robin in the fray, standing in the opening between her and Wayne on his left as Eddie takes his place on the low, ramshackle platform they'd clearly strung together for this moment. Watches quietly as Eddie pulls a folded scrap of paper out of the back pocket of his slacks, clearing his throat to get everyone's attention on him.

Standing there, Steve can see the way Eddie's entire demeanor flips as he reads over his notes, gets into character, because everything's a character with him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for gathering here today,” Eddie begins, settling everyone with a fluttering wave of his free hand. “I understand that in these trying times, finding space to grieve those who have been lost to us is a precious thing, and it will not go unnoticed.”

He kisses the guitar pick tucked into the collar of his shirt, momentarily closing his eyes as he pauses for dramatic effect. Steve doesn’t roll his eyes, but he wants to – desperately so.

Instead, he settles for making eyes at Robin at the theatrics of it all, who blinks back the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before pointedly looking back to Eddie.

“We are fortunate enough to have not only the time, but the space to celebrate the life of a love most cherished by all in attendance today. Lost, too soon, in her prime.”

Eddie bows his head slightly, placing a hand over his heart like it really is a loss. And hell, maybe it is for him. Definitely not to Steve, but he can imagine what it would feel like, were their situations reversed, and– yeah. He could see himself being pretty bummed. Not enough to throw a whole funeral over it, but–

“Dude. It’s just a car,” Max huffs, gesturing to the lifeless van before them.

There’s a commotion following Max’s outburst, a series of cries and shushes that feel just as over-the-top as everything else they’ve experienced so far this morning, bitterly pointed in her direction. Steve’s just glad someone pointed out how insane all this was.

“C’mon, Max, I thought you were going to be cool about this–”

“How am I supposed to be cool about him throwing a funeral for a fucking car?” Max hisses back at Lucas, who looks genuinely downtrodden by her lack of enthusiasm.

“Well, first off,” Dustin butts in, glancing at Eddie’s wounded expression, “she’s a van, not a car; which is an important distinction, if you’d believe it–”

“No, I don’t. I don’t actually care about any of this,” Max snipes before her gaze slides over to Eddie.

“And, what the hell, dude. What about all the people who, I don’t know, actually died? Don’t you think there are some bigger fish to fry, if we’re just having funerals left and right?”

Ah. Okay. Well. Max had kind of hit the nail on the head. The reason why Steve had been struggling with the concept of this whole ordeal in the first place.

Dredging up memories of funerals past, worrying that – at his ripe old age of fucking twenty – having a funeral for Eddie’s van would somehow trivialize all the other funerals he’d had to attend in the last five years. Worried they would be lessened, somehow.

Thought of Barb, not for the first time today. Bob. Almost Eddie.

Eddie, who is very much alive, flinches reflexively at Max’s rasped words. He opens his mouth, but no words immediately spill forth, ill-prepared. That’s when El, of all fucking people, takes Max’s hand and begins whispering something to her desperately.

Steve catches Eddie’s eye as he flounders, waiting for the general rabble of the outburst to die down. He wishes he knew the right thing to say to him right now, but Steve’s just as tongue-tied as Robin at his side. He takes her hand, squeezing to know he’s still solid.

El must be done whispering, because Max is now blinking, glancing between Eddie and the van before them with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Right, okay. Sorry, I’m– sorry,” Max says, evidently mollified by whatever El had said.

Moved, somehow, Wayne squeezes Max’s shoulder, the solid line of his mouth curling in what Steve assumes is his best approximation of a smile, or whatever Wayne’s version of that is. Okay, now he really wants to know what El told her.

Eddie straightens, catching Steve’s gaze once more, maybe for solidarity, before he can respond to Max. “No need to be sorry, Red. I– uh, I understand the hesitation to do something like this.”

He coughs, awkwardly, and for once, the kids have gone quiet, solemn, as they wait for Eddie to continue. El looks to Max, who nods, squeezing her hand.

“Please go on, Eddie,” El says, smiling as she inclines her head.

He smiles back, and Steve didn’t understand the why, just felt grateful that some sort of rationale for making a whole production out of this was seemingly on the horizon. Enough to quell even Max’s nerves.

“Alrighty, then. Why don’t we get this show on the road before Wayne actually keels over!” Eddie grins, eyes scanning across the crowd, momentarily blunder ostensibly forgotten.

“Now, before we proceed with the burial itself, I wanted to take a little time for us to share a few memories of our dearly beloved. Cherished things, something to remind us of what we’ve lost.”

“Anyone want to go first?” Eddie asks, eyes raking across the crowd. “My list’s probably a little, uh– long, so I’d rather give you all the opportunity to get a word in before you stage hook me.”

Gareth is the first to raise his hand, passing off the walkie to Jeff so he can dab at his eyes with an honest-to-god handkerchief. “I’ll go first?” Eddie nods, inclining his head to let Gareth speak.

“I don’t have much to say, because I’m not that kind of public speaker, and I’m not that kind of guy to get overly sentimental–” a scoff in harmony from Frank, Jeff, and Eddie. Gareth glares at them before he continues.

“I’m not. Anyway. I just wanted to say I’ll miss June. That, for all intents and purposes, she was an extension of Eddie – just as much a part of him as he was of her. I could tell you about the countless rides to school, road trips, aimless drives that never took us further than a stone’s throw away from our own back door, because she couldn’t handle long trips well.”

“Found that out the hard way when we tried to go to Detroit,” Gareth says, shaking his head fondly.

“But, the point is, we spent an ungodly amount of time tucked away in there. Always together, always laughing. Playing music. Growing up.” He’s looking between Eddie and the rest of their bandmates now, never at the van (apparently named June?), still smiling. “And I’ll miss her forever. Miss that time in our lives. Excited to see what misadventures we get up to in the next car.”

Gareth steps forward, near the great metal maw that the van was being cradled in, and gives her a loud, wet kiss. Beside him, Robin makes a disgusted noise, probably thinking of all the bird shit and general detritus that the van would have been exposed to, but she doesn’t comment.

Steve glances back at Eddie, still smiling, as he nods toward Frank. He shuffles forward, looking nervous and uncomfortable as he speaks in front of the group.

“Charlotte was a good van,” he began, keeping his eyes lowered toward her.

“–I thought her name was June?” Steve whispers, low, under his breath.

“No clue, dude,” Robin whispers back, until Eddie frowns at her like she’s the one who spoke up first. Robin sticks her tongue out at Eddie, and he returns the favor.

“More often than not, Charlotte got us all from point A to point B. Mostly. Sometimes there was a point C and D, and an unexpected, emergency trip to the mechanic for point E, and–”

“Alright, we get it! She had some occasional issues,” Eddie interrupts, making a shooing motion with his hand, the internationally recognized sign for move it along.

“Right. Anyway, Charlotte’s many and frequent issues aside, I have some statistics that might comfort you all to know,” Frank says, loudly clearing his throat.

“That has to be the first time anyone has ever uttered those words before,” Steve whispers to Robin, who snorts, nudging her elbow, hard, into his ribs.

“The first time I got in Eddie’s van, she had one hundred thousand, four hundred and thirty-two miles on her odometer. By the end of our first trip out of town, she had an additional eighty-six miles on her,” Frank continues, gaze floating somewhere in the middle distance as he recites the numbers off-hand.

Steve would be weirded out by the whole comfort in statistics thing if he weren’t so impressed by the recitation. He manages a quick glance at Robin for confirmation, and catches the impressed wow her lips silently form.

“Every trip to the Hideout added exactly seven miles, round trip, to her counter. Any time Eddie gave me a ride to or from school, we added four miles. Bradley’s – two miles. School to the trailer park – four point seven-five, though for the sake of this conversation, we’ll round up to five,” Frank says, smiling a little as his eyes flick knowingly over to Eddie.

“I could give you the exact numbers for nearly every trip we went on together, me and Charlotte,” Frank says, ignoring Mike’s loud, impatient groan at the thought of such a prospect.

“But, instead, I’ll leave you all with this: on her final voyage, that fateful day we tried to head to the pawn shop in Muncie, I checked the odometer as Eddie was making his valiant resuscitation efforts. She died with one hundred thousand, ninety-eight miles on her.”

There’s a beat of silence, where no one’s sure if Frank will continue, or if that’s the end of his strange speech, but then Dustin stands, slow-clapping until the rest of them awkwardly join in.

“Do you–?”

“No, no idea what any of that was supposed to mean,” Robin confirms through a forced, slightly panicked smile as the clapping continues.

“That’s sixty-six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six miles. C’mon, keep up, guys,” Steve hears Dustin mumble, off-hand, to the others standing around him.

“The most auspicious odometer in Roane County,” Eddie grins. “Or maybe Frank’s the auspicious one. Either way, thank you, Frank.”

“Jeff? Wayne? Either of you wanna–?”

“I don’t have nothin’ good to say about that ole hunk of junk,” Wayne huffs, spitting off to the side to punctuate his thoughts.

But there’s that curl of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he’d spent his entire life fighting it off. Or, at least, his life since Eddie. Steve knew from experience how hard it could be to be serious around him, when everything about Eddie was so… infectious.  

“Nothing? Really?” Eddie asks, sounding unimpressed.

“Nothin’,” Wayne confirms, leveling Eddie with a look of his own, before finally relenting. “’cept that I’ll miss Willemina. And that I’m sorry she’s gone.”

“Willemina?!” Robin hisses, ducking her head into Steve’s shoulder to hide her gasping laughter. “Come on, they have to be fucking with us.”

“I’ll go,” Jeff says, passing the walkie back to Gareth.

He clasps his wrist in front of him with one hand, bowing his head as he makes a silent plea to everyone else to do the same. Robin is the first to detangle herself from Steve, still shaking as she fights off the laughter waiting to spill forth. Steve kicks her ankle, and she kicks back.

“I don’t have much to say about her. She was a van. She was an escape when any of us needed one. She was point A to point B,” Jeff says solemnly, something wry tinged at the edges of his words, like he’s remembering fond memories along with the banal, everyday ones.

“June, Charlotte, Willemina, Natalie – whoever she was to us, individually, doesn’t matter. She was the Van. The only car any of the four of us have ever known, outside our folks. The one that made adventure – fun – possible for four podunk boys.”

“I remember the first time Eddie gave me a ride in her, probably at the tail end of my sophomore year. We were just going down the block for lunch, going to grab something from the gas station,” Jeff says, eyes roaming over the broken piece of machinery before him, smiling at the old memory.

“I was nervous as all hell, hanging out with a kid old enough to drive, who liked music and D&D, all that shit. Didn’t want to fuck up, say something stupid in front of him.”

“But just as I was about to get into the van, Eddie stopped me, put his hand to my chest, and held me at bay. Asked me what my mom’s name was, of all fucking things,” Jeff snorts, laughing.

“And I said, ‘Natalie. Why–?’”

“I remember it all so clearly, the exact speech he gave me about ‘respecting the sanctity of the van’ and that I should only refer to her by my mom’s name so I would treat her with the ‘same deference you’d treat your mother’. My mom’s dead, which made the conversation kind of teeter into something a little uncomfortable for a first hang, but–”

Jeff shrugs, kicks at the dirt. “Eddie and I rolled with it. Dead mom club, so I think we’re allowed to joke.”

“Anyway, mom’s aside… the van became Natalie to me, and I always treated her well. Cleaned up after myself, didn’t fuck up the interior.”

“Probably treated her a hell of a lot nicer than Eddie did, that’s for sure,” Jeff says with a small, wry smile aimed in Eddie’s direction.

“I don’t think your mom would have appreciated how often you hotboxed the van,” Gareth laughs, elbowing Jeff. He raises an eyebrow at Gareth in a pot, kettle sort of look that leaves them both laughing.

“Anyway, she was a good van. Great van, even. And she deserves a send-off,” Jeff says, sounding more self-conscious than he has the entire time he’d been speaking.

He takes a few steps forward, toward the van, and shakily places one hand on her rear window. Gives her a pat, swiping his thumb lovingly over the glass before stepping back, nodding to Eddie.

“Thanks, Jeff. That was really kind of you to say, dude,” Eddie says quietly, a bemused sort of look shared between the two of them.

Eddie blinks a couple of times, then jerks his head back to the crowd, as if forgetting his audience entirely, awash in fond, old memories.

“Guess that just leaves me, huh?” he asks rhetorically, shaking his head.

“I promise not to dilly-dally too long, it’s been… well,” Eddie pauses, considering. “It’s been a long week – long year, really – and I’ve got someplace to be after this.”

“Dude, you’re the one hosting this thing,” Mike huffs, offended at Eddie’s nonchalance after making such a fuss before it began. “Get going already!”

“Fine, yes,” Eddie sniffs, rolling his eyes at Mike, glancing back to where Wayne, Steve, and Robin are converged on the other side of the van. “I’ll get going so Statler and Waldorf over there don’t blow a gasket.”

He clears his throat, straightening as he slips back into his public speaker persona, making sure to meet the gaze of each person standing in the crowd, pausing for just the right amount to regain their attention.

“As you’ve all heard today, the van was a lot of things to a lot of different people.”

“Before me, she was Ralph Iverson’s divorcee mode of transport, and possibly also his home on the weekends he imbibed a hair too much at the Hideout, but that’s neither here nor there,” Eddie says with a churlish, knowing smile.

“I bought her, cash in full, with ninety-five thousand miles on her ticker, give or take, in eighty-three.” There’s a look shared between Frank and Eddie, like Frank’s spent the better part of the last three years being annoyed Eddie couldn’t remember the exact number – a familiar argument between them that Steve’s never been privy to.

“Brought her home that grey winter morning, and she was mine – my first everything.”

“Had so many firsts with her, I don’t even know where to begin. My first car, first speeding ticket. Still have a crick in my neck from my first accident,” Eddie laughs, popping his neck audibly as if to prove his point. It’s kind of gross.

“My first time listening to any album worth mentioning happened inside that van. I’ve probably spent an ungodly amount of time listening to music inside her. Crying, screaming – thrashing along.”

“Every road trip, errand, and adventure I’ve been on since I could legally ride the road was in her. She was the daily accompaniment to each dull, dreary day spent at Hawkins High since I got her. Hell, I’d bet she’s been on every back road in Roane County, twice over.”

“My first time smoking up was in her expertly refurbished back seat. Some drunk asshole gave me my first tattoo, lying back there–” Eddie pulls up the pant leg of his right leg, indicating to some tattoo Steve can just barely make out, high on his calf.

“A stick and poke barely counts as a tattoo, dude,” Lucas huffs, but he looks fond, anyway. Eddie waves him off, barely even acknowledging the outburst this time. He’s on a roll; lost in the speech he’d been geared up to make all morning.

“She was host to all my firsts – all the ones that mean anything, anyway. First kiss, first blow job, first–”

“Ew, Eddie, what the hell?” Mike says, grimacing.

“Oh, grow up, Wheeler. You’re, like– sixteen,” Eddie shoots back, ignoring his further protests.

“Ed,” Wayne warns.

“What, he is!” Eddie protests loudly. “Like we all weren’t sixteen, rollin’ around in the backseat once upon a time.”

Robin, who is almost eighteen and has just had her first opportunity to go rollin’ around in a backseat, simply sniffs, frowning down at her suddenly very interesting cuticles before Steve can wiggle his eyebrows meaningfully at her.

“Anyway, point being– she was there for it all. Every heartbreak, every unrequited crush – and there were a lot of them. Her four walls have heard me mumble through each and every campaign, argument, or awkward conversation I’ve had to get through, working it out ahead of time because she was the best listener.”

Here, Eddie pauses, as if unsure how to proceed, lost somewhere between a memory and his own thoughts. Steve watches the way his eyes roam over the dim, lifeless van, soaking it all in because– yeah, it’s his last chance to, huh?

There would be no more adventures with her. No more laughter, no music, no Eddie mumbling to himself. So much time and love and anguish had come and gone inside that van, Steve felt the phantom pang of loss that must be positively swelling in Eddie’s chest right now.

It was all over. He’d never get to have another chance to do anything with her, ever. No new memories. There would only be the ones he’d have to fight to remember, years from now.

Didn’t matter that Eddie had already purchased a new car, that he was going to pick it up right after this. This was about celebrating an easier time, a simpler time that he could never go back to.

Steve thinks he’s finally beginning to understand why everyone had been fine playing along with the faux funeral.

Why this matters so much. To Eddie, and everyone here. A chance to say goodbye.

“She won’t get to drive fresh tires on the new road they put up past the highway. Won’t get to take me on any new adventures, see all the sights I’m still itchin’ to see,” Eddie murmurs, voice low like he’s only barely aware anyone else is there.

“Won’t get to do anything new, ever again.”

There’s a split second where Eddie seeks Steve out amongst the crowd, their eyes locking in silent recognition. An understanding, forgiveness, and permission, all wrapped up in one look.

It’s crazy, Steve thinks, just how much they can read each other now, after so little time. Hell, they’d probably give Robin a run for her money in the weird telepathy department, should they ever put it to the test. He tries to make a mental note of it, a reminder to rib Eddie about the crack in the façade. Gently. And… later.

Right now, Eddie’s–

“Goddamn allergies,” Eddie sniffs, turning his head away slightly to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. “They’re really awful this year, huh?”

No one else says anything, no one gives him shit for crying over a dead van, probably because a few other people are sniffling in the crowd alongside him, and because they’re not really crying over a van.

Even Steve feels a bit misty-eyed over it all, and the last time he cried was when he and Nancy had been resuscitating Eddie. Or maybe it was when Max woke up, or when they got word that it was all over. Or– huh, okay, maybe he’s had a lot of good reasons to cry this year. He thinks he should probably make a conscious effort to cry a little more, because it feels nice. Good to let things out. Cathartic.

“Anyway, jesus. Enough of me, already. I think we gave her just about the best sendoff any van has ever had.”

Eddie turns to Gareth, Jeff, and Frank, nodding at them almost imperceptibly. Gareth wipes a string of snot from his nose, voice thick as he speaks into the walkie in his hand.

“It’s go-time, Greg,” Steve hears him sniff. “Go, go, go–”

Everyone takes a collective step back from where they’d been standing, possibly too close, to the metal jaws holding the van in place. The two flat slabs of rusted metal begin to tremble, a steady rumble as the operator, Greg, who had apparently been sitting up there this whole time, gives the crowd below a thumbs-up.

Eddie takes a few stumbling steps back into the crowd, eyes wide and wet, so Steve steps up beside him. Claps a hand on his shoulder, because that’s what they do now, and Eddie leans into the touch. They stand beside one another, don’t say anything like words while saying everything in the way their bodies angle toward one another.

Gareth, Jeff, and Frank are saluting the man, Greg, from somewhere off to their left, while the kids cheer and whoop off to their right. It’s kind of amazing, the way the machine roars to life, metal plates moving slow as molasses as it grinds down on the van. When glass begins popping out of the frames, crunching like gravel in the jaws of some horrible metal monstrosity, everyone takes a few more steps back.

Over the rumble of the machinery and popping sounds, Steve can hear Robin yelling, ‘PPE! Where the hell is your PPE!?’ and urging the kids to step back further. He laughs, glancing at Eddie, but his eyes are still watching the van, always on the van. He can’t seem to look away.

Steve catches a glimpse of Wayne from the other side of the van, and he’s watching Eddie watch the van get flattened into a glorified pancake. There’s something unreadable in his expression (though, really, when is there not?), a mix of indistinguishable emotions that probably all average out to that common denominator, love, which means Steve has no business prying.

He looks away, looks at Eddie again, and suspects his expression likely looks a little something like Wayne’s does, at the moment. Smaller, quieter, more tentative. But the same. His eyes stay locked on Eddie’s until the rumble of the machine passes, stops, and then maybe even a while after that. Eddie’s eyes are still damp, watery where he hasn’t wiped away tears. Pink-faced and full of unspoken things.

Steve decides, fuck it, and takes Eddie’s wrist in his hand. Squeezes, and doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Eddie’s hand is quick to scrabble against his grip, slipping until their fingers interlock for real. Squeezes back harder. Just for a moment, and then it’s over.

The kids have ceased their whooping, all laughing and patting each other on the back, devolving into normal conversation, leaving the adults in their midst to stand around and stare at the flattened corpse of the van, quiet in private consideration.

“Come on,” Steve murmurs after another minute, shaking their interlocked hands. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Eddie blinks a couple of times, remembering himself, before looking back at Steve. He smiles, something sorta sad and transparently grateful.

“Yeah,” he croaks. Coughs to clear his throat. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Wayne hauls as many of the kids as he can reasonably (if not quite legally) fit into his truck, and Steve takes the remainder of them. Robin gets dropped off first, giving Eddie a sad little wave and leaving Steve with an ‘oh, we’re absolutely going to talk about this later’ look as she goes. Then it’s Jeff, then Dustin, and then they’re alone in the car together, at last.

It's barely eleven o’clock in the morning, but Steve feels tired already, drained by the rollercoaster of emotions from that morning. He kind of wants to go home and take a lazy afternoon nap, and turns to ask Eddie if he’d want to come over to snooze near-and-around each other, but Eddie’s still watching Dustin walk toward his front door with distant eyes.

Steve takes the opportunity to place his hand on Eddie’s knee, warm and neutral. Eddie doesn’t look away from Dustin’s retreating form, but he does put his hand on top of Steve’s, lets him thread their fingers together.

“Let’s go get your new car,” Steve prompts, though not impatiently. He’s clearly waiting for Eddie to give him the go-ahead to drive off, waiting for the sign that it’s okay to go.

Eddie turns then, scoffing as he comes back to himself. “Nineteen seventy-five is hardly new to anyone, Harrington.”

“Well, ‘let’s go get your new-to-you, nineteen seventy-five Datsun 710’ is kind of a mouthful, so excuse me for giving you the abridged version,” Steve snorts, smiling at Eddie.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Eddie groans. “Can’t believe I’m going to be driving a fucking wagon. Those things aren’t made for Indiana winters!”

“And it’s orange! Orange! No respectable person can drive around in an orange car! What was I thinking?? Why did I let you talk me into the only orange car in Hawkins?”

“Hey, I never claimed to be omniscient, Munson,” Steve chuckles as Eddie flicks his hand away. Takes it as the go-ahead to put the car in drive and start moving. “Don’t know what the hell you’re thinking, like– ever.”

Eddie makes a rude noise, starts mumbling under his breath about shit Steve’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear. But then he’s mumbling louder, perceptively now.

“I can barely fit two amps in the trunk–”

“–the seats fold down–”

“–how am I meant to get everything to and from practice without it looking like a clown car? It’s embarrassing!” Eddie groans, slumping into the doorframe at an angle that makes Steve’s neck hurt in sympathy.

“Jeff will get his license in three weeks. You can offload some of the responsibility onto him,” Steve tries to compromise, but Eddie continues to scowl through the passenger window.

“It’s just not the same as the van. The van was, like– a house on wheels. A bad house that sucked to live in, but a house all the same,” Eddie sighs, dropping his head into his hand. “A way to get out of here, if I ever needed to.”

Steve considers him, glancing over as they pause at a red light. Thinks about what Eddie’s really trying to say, without saying it.

“Munson. Don’t you think if there was ever a time to high-tail it out of Hawkins, it’s already come to pass?” Steve asks, handwaving away the whole almost end of the world-slash-interdimensional evil monster of it all.

“I guess,” Eddie mumbles sullenly, muffled through his fingers.

“And don’t you think that if you ever had to get the hell out of dodge, that you’d maybe want to take a couple of people with you now? Wayne, maybe? Some of the kids?”

At that, Eddie turns to stare disbelievingly at Steve. “You’re joking. You think I’d let any of those pipsqueaks catch a ride with me? No way, nuh-uh. That’s what you signed up for, not me,” he says, jabbing a finger into Steve’s shoulder until he can swat Eddie away.

“I think, by reason of association, you’re also on the hook for their care and well-being,” Steve laughs, feeling his eyebrows scrunch together at Eddie’s unimpressed frown. “Sorry, man. That’s just the way it goes. Transitive property.”

“I hate you all.”

“I have it on good authority that you’re pretty fond of us.”

“Lies and slander,” Eddie huffs, but he takes Steve’s hand again once he’s driving again anyway. Sap.

Steve’s feeling quietly smug about the whole thing, basking in the residual relief of resolution and letting go. He’s silently ruminating on it all, thinking about the way everyone spoke so fondly about the van.

“You know, I didn’t get to say anything about my cherished memories of the van,” Steve says, glancing at Eddie through his peripheral.

Eddie rolls his eyes, raising an eyebrow at him. “Yeah? You feel left out?”

“No, I guess not,” Steve hums thoughtfully, pretending to consider. “Didn’t have much time to get acquainted with her before she bit the dust, I suppose.”

“I think you got acquainted with her plenty,” Eddie snorts, “more than most, anyway.”

“Mm, could have done with more acquainting, I think.”

Steve knocks his elbow into Eddie’s where they’re both resting on the center console. “Did you really get your first blowjob in there?”

“Gave, but same difference,” Eddie laughs, ducking his head.

“Yeah? How was it?”

“It fucking sucked, I was awful at it.”

They both laugh, that stupid, snorting not-quite laughter that has them knocking elbows again until Steve’s grip on the steering wheel slips and he tells Eddie to knock it off.

“Well, you’re certainly not awful at it now,” Steve says after the laughter and jostling has died down, not quite able to meet Eddie’s gaze, even through his peripheral. “But I’d be willing to help you christen the new car, if you want.”

“Oh, you’d be willing, would you?” Eddie asks skeptically. “Quite the sacrifice, Harrington.”

“Yeah, I think I could swing it,” Steve deadpans, unwilling to give in and acknowledge outright the implications they’re both handily leveling at one another.

“I’ll check my calendar, see what I’ve got coming up.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” Eddie snorts, but his eyes are trained on the car lot Steve’s turning left toward.

“And I’m holding you on that– helping me christen the new car.”

“New-to-you car,” Steve corrects, unable to stop the grin he feels worming its way across his face.

“I hate you,” Eddie mumbles again, but Steve knows he doesn’t. Not in the slightest.

“Whatever you say, you sap,” Steve snorts, pulling into a parking spot.

“Let’s go get her and get on that whole christening thing.”

“Well, then,” Eddie huffs as their hands detangle from one another, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Only if you insist.”

just somethin' a little fun, a little sweet. tysm for reading <3

[anthropoetics]

genuinely got so happy to read about your experience! good to know there can be a way out of being Lonely Forever! what was the catalyst for you? i’m 27 and haven’t had a real friend since perhaps age 9! god! i hope there’s a light at the end of the tunnel for us all ✨

moving to a new city definitely helped me! i started going to college, so naturally, i was more "inserted" into society. i did make some friends in the beginning who weren't really friends, and i knew that (honestly, it was a bit miserable). it's funny, because i vibed a lot with my friend the first time i saw him, but never actually came forward to talk to him (i'm still a huge introvert at the end of the day). i don't even remember how we ended up becoming friends,and it took us almost two years to get close. most of the time, it isn’t even about us individually, but about the environment we’re in.

we do have to recognize that it’s definitely harder to meet people organically nowadays. and being 27 and not having a real friend since childhood :( that’s a long time to carry that weight. i understand you deeply. sometimes, a job shift can help. i work as a barista, and baristas are usually very like-minded people, so for me, it feels easier to interact. however, i still haven’t made an actual friend at this job, even after almost three years. so it takes time!

there are many moments i regret not being more straightforward, but everything's a lesson. you also need to be kind to yourself, and start seeing the possibilities of who you can become. do you usually say no to places or experiences you assume you won't enjoy? maybe try saying yes this time. you might be right, you might hate it!!! but you also might discover something new about yourself in the process.

showing up in the same places consistently helped me a lot when the loneliness hit too hard. yes!!! that grocery store worker who always mentions the weather might just save you.

so, yeah. i completely understand where your pain comes from. and now, being on the other side of it, i can also understand how meaningful those lonely moments are for our understanding of ourselves and the world.

sometimes, you just have to shift where your bed frame faces. sometimes, it’s not the room that needs to change, but the way we choose to exist inside it. there's no definite answer or recipe to follow.

i hope you find a very very dear friend soon 💌

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Experiencing what I like to call an incredible BOOM SHAKALAKAAAAAAAAA moment

[hers-underwraps]

Just wanted to make a post to say that I don't plan on being active in this fandom anymore.

I started posting in this fandom because I saw a problem, and I wanted to fix that. There was a severe underappreciation and negligence towards certain characters and aspects of the show which seemed unjust to leave untouched. I wanted people to full appreciate everything this show had offered and what it meant to me. I really wanted change.

However, as time went on, the more I stayed, the more I realised that was just wishful thinking. These days, I swear I'm just screaming at a brick wall. I'm trying petition for certain characters/AnB, and people simply do not care. Although I guess that was foolish on my part because I'm trying to change a group of people who are effectively incapable of it. Change is a good thing, and if that's something people in this fandom are unable to do, then I don't want to be part of it.

Hatred was a problem in this fandom when I came into the fandom, and it still is now. People taking things that other people put genuine time and passion into and using it in inappropriate ways that OBVIOUSLY don't sit right with the creators was a problem then and still is now. People destroying the love of this show for others was a problem then and is still a problem now. This fandom only caters to certain type of fans, and judging by the cycle, I really do not think it has the capacity to change.

I'll still answer Octonauts-related asks, and I might post a whim-of-the-moment thing when I feel like it, but I don't want to dedicate any more time and energy to this fandom because it's genuinely become joyless.

I'd prefer to just protect my peace.

-> AJ

[gemmasdeadwife]

I feel kind of bad about doing something so petty, but each time I block a shipbrained weirdo, I feel a little lighter. And I think this will make my experience a lot better overall. I wasn’t caught up on the show until Chikhai Bardo, which is when I finally got online about it. And I’ve loved speculating about what might happen and discussing interpretations of various details and things like that, but honestly the shippers are also ruining it a little bit for me, to the point that I’m starting to feel hints of bitterness toward characters I love and relationships I’m invested in. Solely because of the dismissive, reductive, and bizarrely competitive attitudes I see shippers take toward the characters outside of their ship, and also tbh the objectification of the characters within their ship, and the horniness for the most toxic, psychologically damaging possible versions of the ship & characters. So this is the policy now. If your weird aggressive post makes me feel a streak of resentment toward a beautifully written character, well then so long, friend

[daily-hanamura]

[winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts]

Forgot my ao3 password…

[dravid-writes]

Imagine you have horns, but you're in a really shitty situation and the people with power over you don't want you to have your horns. Having horns makes you a threat, makes them scared you'll fight back, so they file your horns down or just cut them off. Whenever your horns grow back, they're filed back down, never getting a chance to be more than bumps on your head.

Eventually you finally get out. You make it on your own for a while, figuring things out, and your horns gradually grow in. You can take care of yourself now, you can defend yourself. And you're alone.

One day, you meet someone. They're nice, friendly, and the time you spend with them is good. You meet them again. And again, and again, feeling more and more comfortable around them each time. Eventually, the topic of housing comes up, and when you bring up how much cheaper it is to share a place, they say that sounds like a great idea.

And as you sit on the couch together, you feel happier than you've ever felt. Being with them makes everything feel perfect. You lean into them-

And stab them with your horns.

Later that day, they open the bathroom door to find you taking a nail file to your horns. They snatch it from you. "No, stop, what are you doing?!"

"I'm fixing them. I'm making myself safe."

"Don't do that. Don't... destroy yourself like this."

"It's okay. If it's for you, then it's okay."

"I don't want you to do this. I don't want you to cut off parts of yourself for me, I want you to be happy."

"Being with you is the happiest I've ever felt. I'll give anything to stay with you."

"You don't need to do this."

"But I'm dangerous. What if I hurt you again?"

"Then I'll get another bandage and we'll talk about how to avoid it next time. It'll be okay. We'll figure it all out. For now..."

They hand you a pair of these:

[unbearable-lightness-of-ink]

as somebody who spent their early childhood as a staff kid on a college campus, this is the most believable moment in this book. I too spent afternoons uninvited in some adult's office 'helping' them.

[askshivanulegacy]

Nah. "Established editor with 20k+ [what?]" and "trusted admin who is trusted just because he is trusted" aren't qualifications that carry weight. Thank goodness for the overwhelming votes to keep the article, which come from people who had sense. At minimum, the idea to delete the article instead of properly expanding it (if, indeed, the issue was that it was sparse), given the extremely suspect timing, looks bad.

Bad timing is bad timing. You don't NOT question their motivations just because of the arbitrary identity of 20k+ [something] and winner of the popularity contest.

People should DEFINITELY participate in discussions just because they see things on Tumblr. Obvs you need to inform yourself so you can add pertinent arguments and follow Wikipedia processes so they count. But to keep things off Tumblr or argue against community input is sweeping things under the rug.

lmao now they're just straight up trying to wipe the names of executives off of the internet. the light switch has been thrown and the roaches that have infested this house for far too long are scattering like never before.

[snekdood]

can we talk about what seems to be a concerted effort by a lot of leftists in my life, conscious or not, to prevent me from having love, literally the only thing I want and need and have wanted and needed ever since I was a child, literally the only thing that would "fix" me in a way to actually be helpful to society and how im apparently not supposed to think ppl doing this are just fucking evil