#sometimes I'm fun

[helpimstuckposting]

A Meeting of Two Kings

Prompt: Lake, Bike | Rating: G | Wordcount: 3,731 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Eddie was supposed to be in school. He knew that, the teachers knew that, the principal knew that, hell the fucking superintendent knew that. But he knew he still had some absences to spare, okay? He checked this time. He was actively taking charge of his destiny — or whatever the fucking counselor kept going on about — but when Jason Fucking Carver was on his prom king bullshit, Eddie had to take a break.

And steal Rick’s boat. Perks of house sitting included boat privileges, right? The dude was in jail, it wasn’t like he was using the thing.

Besides, lover’s lake was small — only the occasional fishing boat drifting by with one or two old men aboard — and Eddie needed some quiet time. People would always assume that he liked the noise, he thrived in chaos, and while that might be true of himself, that didn’t mean he needed to endure the high school hierarchy bullshit, male posturing, fight-prone jocks spewing slurs every chance they got. Being loud to drown out the noise was different than sitting there while others were loud around him, and being loud was exhausting sometimes.

He was good at it, sure, but he couldn’t be on all the time.

So he stole the boat, and laid on the floor of it as he drifted around the lake, legs propped up on one of the wooden benches. He just wanted to hear the wind in the trees and feel the drifting waves rock the wood under his back like a lullaby. It was nice, the weather finally looking up after a miserable winter, and it was almost warm enough to swim. Almost. It was certainly warm enough to feel the sun seeping into his cotton shirt, the black soaking it up and heating him through like a rotisserie.

That was until he heard a crash just on the edge of the shore, some loud cacophony of crunching leaves and rattling wheels. He sprang up from where he was laying, whipping his head around to check the lakeshore for whatever had made the noise. Just a few feet from the rocks, a bike had nearly wrapped itself around a tree, laying in a sad battered lump.

Eddie couldn’t see any sign of its rider. Whoever it was, was laying on the ground out of sight — out cold, as far as he could tell — until a foot straightened out and kicked the mangled bike. 

“Dude, are you alright?” he shouted, trying to see if the body moved again. He heard a muffled groan and the foot kicked out a second time, rustling the bushes.

Eddie frantically tried to find the oar. The oar that was laying right next to him. He fumbled it up into his hands, fighting the water like he could slap it into submission. He barely moved.

“Fuck!” he shouted, trying even harder to part the seas through sheer force alone. At least the guy on the ground seemed to be moving more — bushes and brush rustling with every movement. Eddie still couldn’t make out who it was, but he did manage to remember the fucking boat had a motor. He nearly tripped over the bench trying to throw himself toward the propeller, yanking the string several times until it mercifully took pity on him and started — lurching him forward toward shore.

The ‘thunk’ the boat made against solid ground was probably going to cost him, but he didn’t think about that as he threw himself out of the boat and toward the still-prone figure covered in leaves and grass.

The closer he got, the more he recognized the brunette locks that had consumed a ridiculously large part of Hawkins High’s rumor mill. The pretty face scrunched up in pain sent a pang through his chest — though whether that was concern or vindication could be up for interpretation. Even crumpled against the ground, the sun caught his hair and Eddie could practically see the golden shine of a crown perched rightly on his head.

“Hey,” he called out, Steve’s face scrunching up again in response. “Hey, Harrington, you alright?”

He crouched down next to him, close enough to touch but not really sure if he should. This was the former king after all, and Eddie wasn’t in the mood to be persecuted without due process for touching royalty — even if he was king of the freaks himself. A clash of two kingdoms was bound to cause an uprising, no matter the intentions behind the act.

The man groaned, sliding his hand up to his head and rubbing his eyes. “How long was I out?” he grumbled, sitting up slowly like he was scared the world would suddenly slip from underneath him if he went too fast.

“I don’t know, like a few seconds?”

As far as Eddie could tell, he didn’t seem to be severely injured. He should definitely be embarrassed though, who the fuck rode a bike in the middle of the woods?

“Oh, good,” he sighed, dropping his hand and gathering himself onto his feet. Eddie scrambled to follow.

“Whoa, whoa, good? Harrington, are you alright in the head?”

“Well if it was a few minutes, I’d have to go to the hospital.” He started picking up his bike — like that was that, like he was fine.

“Kind of think you should do that anyway, dude.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he shook his head, stumbling as he reached for the bike. Eddie darted out to catch his arm, persecution be damned, and tried to get him on steady ground again. Steve blinked a few times, letting Eddie sit him back down on the ground. The bike could wait, Eddie was pretty sure he could see blood in Steve’s hair, ruby twinkle tainting any cushion a proper crown should sit on.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, pulling out his hanky and holding it to the source. Steve hissed in response, moving to flick away Eddie’s help.

“It’s not a big deal, head wounds bleed a lot but I think I just landed on a stick.”

“Think you landed on many sticks, actually.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He rolled his eyes, and Eddie kind of wanted to shake him if he weren’t so concerned about a concussion. Harrington didn’t exactly seem like a purveyor of self preservation — and that was coming from Eddie. If anyone knew a thing or two about ignoring safety concerns, it was him.

“Think you hit anything else on your way down?” Eddie kept pressing the hanky against his head, despite Steve’s protests. He was tempted to fuck with him out of spite; tell him a spider had decided to call his head home, or that he’d torn out a chunk of his precious hair and he was partially bald — that if he got an earring he could play Mr. Clean. 

Just… something.

“Just my dignity,” Steve mumbled, giving up on his attempts to swat Eddie’s help away.

He snorted, glancing down at the man but Steve didn’t look embarrassed — just put out, like injuries were an inconvenience and not a detriment to his health.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Steve asked after a pause.

“Huh?”

“You’re a senior, right? It’s Tuesday.”

“Oh?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. The hanky had stopped whatever bleeding he could see. It looked like Steve was right, and he’d only received a small cut for his biking troubles. He probably didn’t need Eddie to stay — could probably stand on his own now without toppling over — but for some reason he felt compelled to keep talking. Instead of fucking off back to the boat, he sat down. The day was already hijacked, what were a few more seconds in the Twilight Zone, where Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson talked?

“Doth mine ears deceive me, or does Steve Harrington know of little ol’ me?” He batted his eyelashes at the man, flicking the black hanky like he was fanning himself — a pure maiden in the presence of a suitor.

“You’re a two time super senior, everyone at Hawkins High knows you.” His tone was flat, just a statement of fact, but Steve winced the second it was out of his mouth.

“Ouch—”

“No, sorry, sorry, I’m trying to be better, I swear!” He dragged a hand down his face, “Dustin would kill me if he heard that.”

“Dustin? Henderson? Little Dusty Henderson?”

“Are you allowed to say that?”

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head with conviction. If Dustin heard him say that, he’d never hear the end of it. The kid wasn’t intimidating, but he was insufferable when he wanted to be, and Eddie wasn’t keen on listening to the boy complain for weeks until he got bored.

“You should try Dusty Buns next time, he hates that one,” Steve snorted. He patted down his hair, poking around for the cut until he winced. Eddie kind of wanted to bat his hand away like a cat, to hiss and scold to keep Steve from making it worse, but he didn’t. He was still tempted to say the bald thing, though. If anyone ever claimed Eddie Munson wasn’t petty, they’d be lying. Also, self preservation wasn’t Eddie’s strong suit either.

“So how do you know Dustin?” he asked, plopping down on the ground right next to Steve. The boy had moved on from trying to get up, to accepting his fate and tearing out grass from the ground instead. He threw a few broken strands as he sighed, watching them float serenely back to the ground.

“Used to babysit him and his friends when they were in middle school.”

“You mean last year?” Eddie scoffed. Freshmen always acted like grown ups, as if they weren’t a few months out from 8th grade. His scoff turned slightly bitter at the edges when he realized he was twenty and still fucking around in the same school as literal children. Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have been skipping this close to graduation. He knew he was army crawling through a bunch of Cs, but he was doing way better than any of his previous years. He was going to graduate this year if he died trying. This was his year.

His comment made Steve laugh though, and Eddie thought that was a win. Maybe he could turn in his own crown and become King Steve’s jester. That was a thought. Maybe an interesting campaign idea, even — one kingdom’s ruler trading in his crown for a jingling headdress in a neighboring kingdom, just for the chance to see its king smile, and the consequences of those actions.

“Do you do that a lot?” Steve asked, breaking Eddie out of his fantasy spiral.

“Do what?”

Steve pointed to his head, twirling his finger around as he gestured to it. “You disappear into your head a lot,” he said, eyes analysing Eddie like they had any right to puzzle him out, like Eddie was a math problem he was trying to solve.

“Just got a lot of things running up there,” he shook it off, opening his mouth to start improvising and distract from Steve’s knowing eyes.

“Not that I would know, right?” the man said before Eddie could even come up with anything. He scrunched his eyebrows together, not really sure what Steve meant.

“Huh?” he honked out eloquently, his impeccable grasp of the English language on display for the king to see and judge.

“That’s what people usually say next. ‘ Thinking a lot, not that you could relate’, you know?”

Eddie shook his head, “Dude, you said it yourself, I’m a three-time high school senior, if anyone’s the idiot around here, it’s me.”

“Well according to Dustin, you’re a genius. And apparently Einstein didn’t speak until he was four, so like… you know,” he waved his hand around, tossing more shredded blades of grass, “You’re just smart at your own pace, or whatever.”

“Are you comparing me to Einstein as a toddler?”

“Four year olds aren’t toddlers.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, pulling up a handful of grass and throwing it at Steve. “You’re really good at picking out the things that aren’t important, you know that?”

“What can I say,” Steve smirks, leaning back on his elbows, “I’m just an airhead.”

He shook his head, copying Steve’s relaxed stance. “Nah, I think you’re doing it on purpose.” It was Eddie’s turn to analyse Steve. He flicked his eyes away as Eddie looked, like he’d hit the nail on the head. 

Steve was doing it on purpose. Whether to distract him or make him comfortable or to take his mind off the bump on Steve’s head that he should still probably get checked out by a professional; he was splitting Eddie in multiple directions so he couldn’t think much past their current conversation. It was calculated, it was smart, and maybe neither of them were good at following a curriculum, but they were certainly both good at studying people.

“You’re doing it again,” Steve mumbled as he tossed another handful of grass.

“This time I haven’t disappeared.”

He watched as a blush traveled up from the collar of Steve’s shirt, all the way up into his cheeks. Briefly, deliriously, he wondered how low the blush started — if it began at his sternum and bloomed right from his chest, or if it started lower. That was a dangerous game his mind was playing.

“Anyway,” Steve coughed, “What are you doing out here?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? What’s with the bike?”

Steve cursed and shot up, wobbling on his feet as the blood rushed to his head. Eddie stood at a slower pace, watching as Steve untangled the bike from the loose brush on the ground.

“Shit, I forgot about the fucking cat, fuck,” he mumbled.

Eddie reached out and grabbed the man’s arm before he did something stupid like get back on the bike and crash again.

“What cat?”

“Dustin’s cat.”

“What about Dustin’s cat?”

Steve rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath like Eddie’s questions were irritating and unnecessary and not very important to determine if The King had brain damage or something.

“Dustin’s cat’s been missing for a couple days, and I don’t have work today so I figured I could go out and look for it while Dustin’s at school, you know? If I can find the cat and bring him home, then Dustin won’t have to worry about it anymore. Plus, his mom looked so sad this morning when I picked him up, dude, I swear it was torture.”

“And what’s the bike gotta do with that?”

Steve rolled his eyes again. Jesus Christ, was he doing that on purpose? Or did the bitch come out every time he was vaguely irritated?

“I can’t exactly drive into the woods, can I?” he asked, arms crossed like Eddie had just asked the dumbest question and the answer was obvious. He could picture him on a throne, head held high and crown sparkling as he looked down his nose at Eddie. He shook the thought away until he was back in the woods, crossing his own arms as they stood — two disgraced kings on equal footing.

“So you decided crashing into the woods was more productive?” he snarked back.

“I didn’t crash on purpose!”

“And what if the cat hears you snapping over all the twigs and leaves, and it’s running away before you even see it?”

Steve’s bitchy smug face froze like Eddie had hit the pause button, and then collapsed while the words registered in his head. He groaned, neck going slack as it rolled around his shoulders, like an eyeroll just wasn’t enough to express his full frustrations. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Eddie waited it out while Steve went through the five stages of grief in front of him.

“I’m an idiot—”

“No, it’s totally not that bad—”

“I’m an idiot—”

“Really, I think anyone could have made the same mistake—”

“I’m so stupid—”

“Hey, now, take a breath and just—”

“God, and I crashed and everything. Oh, this is so rich. I’m never gonna live this down, Dustin’s gonna laugh for days—”

“Harrington, I swear to god I won’t tell a soul,” he tried to shout over Steve’s spiral. The other man paused and flicked his eyes over to Eddie. The king clearly didn’t believe him, and stood for a moment just to take Eddie in. He squinted his eyes, parsing through whether Eddie was telling the truth or not.

“Why wouldn’t you?” The words were slow, calculated, like Eddie was lying, like there’d be no reason in the world that he wouldn’t use this against Steve the first chance he got. Not that it was that important, really. It was dumb, sure, but it wasn’t life altering or something that would ruin Steve’s reputation (or whatever was left of it.)

“Why would I?” he asked carefully.

Steve scoffed, rolling his whole head again instead of just his eyes. He moved his hands to his hips, and Eddie couldn’t help but picture Steve surrounded by a gaggle of children, in light wash jeans and white Nike’s like some kind of suburban dad at a cookout, or ready to mow the lawn. He could picture a white picket fence and maybe a dog, PTA flyers sticking out of the freshly painted mailbox. From a king, to a dad, to a king again, Steve looked back down at him with a raised eyebrow. Eddie was getting whiplash in his own mind from all the characters he kept placing on Steve’s shoulders.

“Well according to the rest of Hawkins, any bit of info about the failed king is valuable.”

Eddie rolled his eyes right back, “Since when have I ever been, one: invested in the private lives of Hawkins elite,” he held up one finger, and then a second, “and two: concerned about the arbitrary value of a little anecdote about the fallen king being a literal falling hazard.”

He watched as Steve processed his words, running them around through his head before shaking it (dare Eddie say) a bit fondly.

“You talk weird.”

“Yeah, well, I am weird, get over it.”

The king shook his head again, and this time there was no mistaking the fond quirk of his lips as he looked directly into Eddie’s eyes and nearly made the earth itself drop from under their feet. Eddie could wax poetic for days about the soft spark in Steve’s eye like a warm campfire on a cool summer night, or the taste of a hot cookie fresh out of the oven, or maybe the prickle of sunlight on bare skin just before it burns you. He couldn’t help it. He was, after all, just a dumb boy in the presence of a high school crush.

“Eh, I like weird.”

The longer he stared, the harder it was for Eddie to keep a smile off his face. Steve just seemed to have that effect, the charming bastard, and it wasn’t hard to see why he’d been on the top of the food chain for so long. Let it be known that Eddie Munson was not immune to the charm and wiles of a fit young man. Even one who had quite literally crashed into the conversation. But before Eddie could open his mouth to say anything more, Steve leaned down to pick up the bike like he was making a break for it.

“Wait, uh—” Eddie cut through the suddenly awkward silence, though it was probably only awkward on his part. Steve seemed confused as he turned to face him again, a question in his eyes that he didn’t have to voice. “You know, Mrs. Wilson around the corner from here usually feeds the strays in the afternoon. You could check there, see if Mews is uh,” don’t say having a pussy party, don’t say it, do not, “hanging out with other cat friends.”

The responding smile on Steve’s face was nearly blinding, taking Eddie out like a sword straight to the heart. He contemplated grasping his chest dramatically and dropping to the floor just to see the smile widen, to know it was he who caused it and to keep it plastered on that beautiful face for as long as possible.

“Thanks, man,” he clapped Eddie’s shoulder, “Do you have a lot to get back to?” his eyes darted over to the boat still awkwardly shoved half-on-half-off the bank where he’d left it in his panic to check on the unconscious pedestrian.

“Nope, nuh-uh, nothing here, just your typical delinquent activities like… floating… and uh… enjoying the sun,” he cringed.

“Right, well, if you have any other ideas…” Steve shrugged, stepping back the way he came, “Let me know.”

“Right, yeah, definitely.”

They nodded at each other, like a period onto the end of the conversation, and Eddie had the sudden thought that this was it, they’d part ways and head off to their own kingdoms, never to speak again. Steve turned and kept walking, thankfully not getting back onto the bike like he’d tried to before. He walked through the brush and leaves and with every crunch under his foot, Eddie imagined another nail hammered into the wall slowly building between them. He could see King Steve in a cloak and armour, walking his trusty steed out of the Kingdom of the Freaks, leaving its own ruler behind to watch the neighboring kingdom’s golden knight slip quietly off into the sunset. Nevermind that it was barely noon, the sunset was metaphorical and Eddie could feel the distance in his bones with every inch that grew between them.

“You know, I uh—” he stopped as Steve did, taking a moment to himself before he turned to meet Eddie’s eyes again. “I could help. You know, Dustin’s head would probably explode if he found out you and I were the ones to rescue the damsel Mews.”

The smile on Steve’s face was again a stab to the heart, dazzling and impossible to ignore. It felt like a magnet, pulling Eddie closer until they were standing toe to toe and the distance between kingdoms had shrunk back to nothing.

The king gestured forward, letting Eddie lead the way onto the next quest.

He left the boat. He could come back after the cat was saved, and perhaps after a planned reunion with his fellow majesty. Rick wouldn’t even have to know.

—

Bingo Prompts

[egophiliac]

missed the mark by (looks at calendar) uhhh. hm. but I really wanted to do something for the 5th anniversary! happy five years to these idiots 🎉

[aphel1on]

AuDHD is so funny sometimes like what do you mean my hyperfixations/special interests will last for years on end or possibly forever but they will cycle out every month or two with absolutely no transitional period or warning. like i will think about the same topic every day obsessively for 46 days in a row and on the 47th day with no visible cause adhd brain goes "ok! bored of that now" and autism brain goes "dw i got something queued up for ya" and i blast into full blown obsession on some other topic whose mental file folders haven't opened in 9 months. brain's out here treating hyperfixations like a crop rotation. once the dopamine runs out it cycles in another one but once something's in the rotation it never ever leaves. last summer we brought in one from when i was 11. it's so funny to me but frustrating too bc like. i cannot stress enough my inability to predict or control this. or how completely abrupt and random it can be

EDIT: seems this is more common among ND people than i thought, and probably not limited to AuDHD specifically :] i was just describing my own experiences and i'm not an authority, but i'm glad i'm not alone in this<3

[potofsoup]

I was pecking away at a fic (as one does when one is in-between binge-reading of fics) when I was taken by the cracktastic idea of Tim Drake having a Roomba as a best friend growing up and then somehow my hand slipped

Edit to add: [more pix of Roombie and Batfam] [fic that spawned this]

[ministarfruit]

we are so backquill

[boringkate]

Person 1: Not to complain about capitalism again and obv wear sunscreen, but most skin care products really just seem like snake oil.

Person 2 (there is somehow ALWAYS a person 2): So true! People go so overboard! You really only need about 20 products! Here's a 50 part thread explaining my daily process!

[valeriapryanikova]

welcoming you home with only the best of our customer service smiles :)

[dilukha]

robot legs

[amygdalae]

Ok another thing about romance novels is that "romance" and "erotica" have kind of fused into one thing. Like at my work we shelve em all under romance. So there's really no way of knowing how explicit a particular book will get. With some books the branding makes it obvious but plenty of others will have the same pastel quirky genre of cover design with widely varying levels of descriptive-ness when it comes to sex

So one book will have extremely flirty undertones and lots of tension but then the sex scenes are mostly vibes and vague sensual descriptions (which is still nice dgmw) while another might be full on fucking and sucking right out the gate, but you don't really have the easiest way to tell which will be which until youve read it.

I don't really have a thesis here I'm just remarking on a thing I've noticed. I do kind of wish it was easier to tell though. Even relatively tame ones will have reviews calling them "steamy" so it's kind of a dice roll every time. Spinning my big roulette wheel of fuck

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[welcometogrouchland]

(ID in alt) you guys even fuck w/ the flash on here???

[lurking-loaf]

It's essential to teach them color theory when they're young so they understand how to mix colors. How else will you get art that's good enough for the fridge?

Day 6 of DCA Promptober - hues plus bonus animation of Sun imitating the Mac's wait cursor aka the Spinning Beach Ball of Doom

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Greetings Traveler! The Yiling Laozu welcomes you!

[chiisanajimi]

hey do these hedgehogs seem a little gay to you guys idk

[koukouture]

WAIT CHAT HOLD ON-

SENTINEL HAS WINGS!!!!!

"Yeah obviously he turns into a jet-" NO!!!!!

Initially I thought they were like angel wings (which yeah, they are) and it's great symbolism because of his whole false Prime thing. He has this façade about being a noble leader and all that and he probably thinks that he's Primus' gift to the universe. The Devil disguised as an angel. Or something something the Devil was once the most beautiful angel of all. Idk lotsa places you can go with the angel symbolism.

HOWEVER

They're GOLDEN. You know who else had golden wings? Icarus. Who flew too close to the sun. Who's entire myth is about hubris and how pride can be your undoing. Does that sound familiar to you guys???

Sentinel flew too close to the sun believing that he could kill the Primes and seize all that wealth and power with no consequence. He thought that he was sooo great and nothing bad would ever happen to him because he won!!! And then he got too comfortable and sloppy and everything he built fell apart in just one day.

Whoever was on the design team for Transformers One you cooked hard with this one

[secretly-a-trekkie]

mid crisis but here's firefighter AU despite 75% of the firefighters i know being absolute douchebags