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John Oliver gets it, as usual. AI Slop is one of the best episodes of Last Week Tonight I've seen so far. Gen AI is theft. Those who use it are not authors or artists, they're grifters profiting from real creatives.

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Fic: new eyes and extra colours 1/2

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Steddie

Tags: Post canon, Eddie lives, Future established Steddie, time travel, fairground psychics with questionable ethics, Post-canon Eddie Munson, Scoops-era Steve Harrington

For @steddiebingo splash into summer prompt: Time travel, and for prompt 'Prize' on my main card.

This is me breaking more or less my only fic writing rule and posting something that I've not finished writing yet ... but I messed up on the deadlines for the summer mini bingo card and I don't have until the end of the month like I thought (Did I read the rules when they sent them to me? Yes. Did I retain any of that information? Clearly, no). Chapter 2 will likely go up in the next week(ish) if you want to wait for the whole thing but part 1 fills my last mini bingo prompt, so putting this up to sneak inside the deadline.

***

The evening is beginning to cool from the heat of the day, but it's still warm enough Eddie didn't need to wear a jacket. He's glad he did though, if only for the extra space given how quickly his pockets are getting crammed with tokens and change, keyrings and tiny crappy toys and someone's half a candy bar that's in his back pocket. He's pulled the short straw here and he has no idea what he did to deserve it; can see Max and Lucas headed his way and turns left before they spot him in case they have some more junk to get him to carry.

If one of these dumbasses wins a goldfish it is one hundred percent not going to be his responsibility.

Steve finds him again just as he's wondering where he's meant to put the small blue bear Robin's just pressed into his arms on her way to the cotton candy stand; Eddie tries to take the coke Steve's brought him and tucks the bear inside his jacket to free his hands. Steve looks at the bear critically.

"Interesting look for you."

"Maybe I'm branching out." He takes the drink Steve passes to him, looking down at the top of its fluffy bright blue head. "Looks kinda like that one of yours, doesn't it?"

"Hey, don't mix Raspberry up with some new imposter bear."

"I know he'll always be first in your affections, baby."

Steve grins and falls into step next to him and Eddie wants to duck his head, press his face into Steve's neck and breathe; restrains himself just about and lets their shoulders knock together as they walk instead. Steve passes him his drink, lets their hands press tight for a moment as he does and Eddie grins as the lights of the fairground glint on polished metal, his ring on Steve's finger.

He wants to get used to it; wants the years to make it an expected thing — and he never wants to lose the wonder of it.

They walk together until Steve's eye catches on a stall where people are throwing little soft half-basketballs at nets fixed up in an ascending diagonal. Eddie can see Steve's eyes assessing, looking at the prizes on display on the back wall — and Eddie absolutely can see a fucking goldfish back there and hopes madly that it's either fake or dead; there's no way that thing's surviving the drive back to Chicago with them at the end of the week.

He turns to Steve with a grin. "You gonna win me something?"

"Oh, baby, no, I'm gonna win me something."

Steve's grin is bright and sharp and Eddie lets their hips bump as they walk together to the stand. "Remind me again why married you?"

Steve hmms, pretends to think, leans in and says quiet, "Because I give great head?" just as they arrive at the stall so that Eddie doesn't have chance to reply.

Eddie drinks his soda leaning against the corner of the stand and watches Steve fondly as he pays his money and takes his chances. He gets two and misses the third and it's as he's grumbling about the whole thing being rigged that the skinny teenager who's running the thing holds out a small piece of white card, pushing it towards Eddie's chest.

"Mystery prize," he mumbles, "good for one free entry." He looks away like he's embarrassed about it and then waves the card at him when he doesn't accept it straight away. Eddie takes it cautiously from the kid's grubby fingers and reads, his eyebrows raising.

He snorts a laugh, can't help it. "A psychic, really?"

The kid shrugs, uncomfortable, and points off to Eddie's left. "She's over there. Tells me to give them to certain people sometimes, I don't ask about it." He looks up and meets Eddie's eyes in a glance that seems to want to say something, but then the kid's moving away, heading to his next customers.

Eddie passes the card to Steve, who reads it, turns it over to see its blank other side and then looks Eddie over somehow contemplatively as he hands it back, eyes catching on the bear tucked into Eddie's jacket. "You gonna give it a go?" There's an odd little tightness to Steve's voice that Eddie's not sure the meaning of.

"What's the matter?" He takes the card, makes sure to rest their fingers together for a beat as he does. "Think the county fair psychic is gonna tell us something devastating that we never knew about ourselves?" He lets a bit of mockery out into his tone, makes light. It's not like Steve puts stock in this kind of stuff.

Steve just shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "The guy gave it to you. It's your, uh, free psychic reading."

Eddie glances over to where the kid had pointed, a small purple tent, shadowed inside, with a sign proclaiming the Mistress Joanna.

Steve shrugs, takes Eddie's drink from him. "I'll wait here for you."

"You sure?" Eddie isn't sure himself that he wants to go and get his fortune read by a psychic with a carnival tent, but, "I guess it could be fun."

Steve smiles at him blandly, says, "Sure it will," and so Eddie figures, why not, there are worse things, and walks over, ducks inside the tent.

The Mistress Joanna is about five feet even and wears jeans and a loose, knitted sweater with a pattern of yellow daisies that drops to her mid-thigh. Eddie's not sure what sort of vibe she's trying to get over, but she's definitely hitting more hippy Earth-mom than the knower of all his deepest secrets. He reconsiders the mom part though, looking at her again — then reconsiders it back again. He couldn't guess how old she is between twenty and forty.

She smiles when he comes in and gestures welcomingly to the chair opposite where she is already seated, on the other side of a small black table — lawn furniture, Eddie's pretty sure. The whole thing is so almost-but-not-quite that he wants to laugh.

He sits and she narrows her eyes at him, face blank except for a smile playing around the corner of her eyes. She surveys him for a moment, long enough that it becomes awkward and Eddie wants to fill the silence with words, but then she leans forward and gestures for him to take her hands. Feeling foolish, Eddie does.

"What is it that you're needed for, do you think?" she asks softly, and Eddie opens his mouth to say something but he doesn't feel right, suddenly; his fingers are going numb although she's not holding on to him tightly. "Hm. No matter. I knew the second I recognised you that now's the time." She withdraws her hands from his and stands, gestures to the opening of her tent, "You should go, you have things to do."

Eddie looks behind him to where the fair is continuing without him, to where he can see Steve standing, arms folded while he waits for Eddie to come back out. Eddie wants to make a comment, ask is that it or you didn't even tell my future but he's started to feel dizzy and like he might puke; when he stands to leave the floor shifts under his feet like sand and the walls spin and blur.

He turns for Steve, reaches for him but his stomach roils and his legs give out. His knees hit the dirt.

—

When Eddie wakes up it's with the worst hangover he's ever had in his life, and as he groans and squeezes his eyes shut to block out the evil, evil sunlight he gropes around to find covers to pull over his head and freezes when he realises that his hands are landing on — it feels like grass, slightly damp with the morning.

Eddie freezes; takes stock. Outside of his pounding headache there is definitely a feeling that something's not right: it starts with the damp grass under his hands, grows with what is, undeniably, a breeze across his back where his shirt has ridden up, and starts rattling alarm bells at what is certainly the sound of nearby traffic. Eddie is outside. He is sleeping, he realises as he cracks open his unwilling eyes, on the side of the road.

Sitting up, his whole body protests; everything aches as badly as his head and it takes him a solid minute to make it to his feet with a healthy pause halfway up to breathe in through his nose and slowly out through his mouth so that he doesn't throw up on his shoes. He knows where he is — just outside of Hawkins, maybe a hundred yards from the turn off to the fair, which — Eddie frowns — seems to be packing up to leave; he can't see many of the rides over the treeline any more and the big wheel looks halfway deconstructed already. Which is strange — he'd thought it was here for the weekend — but he supposes they must have another town they're meant to be in tonight.

But — Eddie can't actually remember leaving the fair. He can't even come up with a theoretical order of events that would have him getting so wasted that Steve just left him here to sleep it off — even if Eddie had spun entirely out of character and gotten himself absolutely insensate Steve would have made sure Eddie made it home safe so that he could give him all the necessary grief about it in the morning.

It's not that far into Hawkins proper from here, to the little hotel they're staying at for the weekend just after the sign for the town limits, and it doesn't look like he's got many options so Eddie starts to walk. It's going to be hot, later, but the sun hasn't yet burned away the chill of the night so he shivers, clothes damp from lying in wet grass — he assumes — all night.

Eddie walks down the edge of the blacktop, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, trying not to worry.

Thinking up his worst possible scenario — that he somehow got drunk or wasted or something enough that he passed out on the side of the road, some state worse than he's ever been in, but yet not worthy of a hospital, and Steve couldn't get him back in the car. Steve still wouldn't have left. He would have — have fucking parked up next to him or something, so that he knew Eddie was safe until the morning, then nursed him through his hangover so he could read him the riot act stone cold sober. Or maybe instead Steve totally lost track of him and somehow didn't care about finding him again — but that wouldn't happen; none of it.

They don't leave each other.

Eddie is already running tense, already churning on worry of what's happened to Steve, and what that means about what's happened to Robin and Dustin and everyone else when he sees the sign.

Too much has happened in the last decade for Eddie to believe in coincidence or even madness as a first answer; to not believe what his senses tell him, even when what they tell him is totally fucking impossible.

Only, this time he is — apparently — in it by himself and so he takes a minute to kick at the grass and scream fuck as loudly as he can at a passing car before he sits down in the grass, just for a minute, to read it again. Then he lets himself dwell on the implications of Next exit: The Starcourt Mall: Now Open for Business! in garish brand-new bright pink.

Eddie remembers when this first went up, with a blacked out 'Now' and a tacked on 'spring '85' at the end. He remembers when the 'Now open' was revealed, how he had refused at first to set foot in that capitalist hellhole, even if that principle had crumbled fast. And then, he remembers after the fire, when the sign was ripped down.

Now he tears up handfuls of grass and looks at it brand new again and traces back, to the last thing he remembers clearly before waking up in the grass — the psychic at the fair.

He'd felt sick from the moment she touched his hands; she had told him he had things to do.

It's with an awful sinking feeling that he wonders if those things to do were things in the — the past. The time before the mall fire, when Eddie was nineteen and blissfully unaware of the fuckery the world was about to play on him.

Eddie sits as the morning grows warm and ponders that he is considering seriously that a woman in a tent wearing daisy-motif knitwear has sent him back in time — and it still might not be the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him.

It's close, though.

There's one way to be sure, so Eddie drags himself to his feet and starts walking again, eating the other half of Dustin's candy bar and jamming Robin's blue bear in his back pocket in its place. Eventually he meets a reminder sign, a hideous cheery little Starcourt Mall, next left! just to make this day worse.

As the sun starts to warm the air, threatening to turn scorching by mid-morning, Eddie takes the next exit.

—

Eddie has no plan. Except, he supposes, for the need to confirm what he thinks is happening before he does anything else because even in the frankly ridiculous breadth of his weird shit experience, time travel is taking it a bit far.

By the time he's trudging into the Starcourt parking lot he's too hot, his legs are tired and his feet hurt; he's long since tied his hair up and out of the way to try to keep himself cool and he's sure he's going to end up sunburned to all hell. He's noticed a distinct lack of fundamental structural damage to every street he walked past on the way here: time might have helped this town heal some over the last decade but nothing came back together without a scar, and the roads here have never seen a faultline.

Eddie wishes that he believed he's just gone straight-up crazy, but he's not that lucky.

It's still early enough in the morning that the car park is mostly empty and when Eddie walks through the front doors into the mall's blissfully air conditioned entrance there are only a scattering of people milling around the walkways. Eddie moves out of the way of the door and touches, carefully, the wall to his left. It feels solid enough.

"This is actually happening, isn't it," he mumbles to a pot plant, and lets his feet carry him by muscle memory toward the food court. Steve had worked here six days a week from the week after graduation until the place was ashes so chances are good that if he's not here yet he will be soon.

Still, he's only looking for Steve as a gateway into the Hawkins Weird Shit society; he's got no idea what he thinks they're actually going to be able to do about this, if he can even convince Steve he's not a nut case.

His spirits sink when he sees it's a girl at the register, then realises with a start that it's Robin — he'd hardly recognised her with her hair still so long like that, let alone the stupid fucking sailor hat, and he's halfway to walking over to speak to her when he realises it'll be useless. She won't be in the Weird Shit society until after the 4th of July; she'd probably recognise Eddie Munson from the school band but twenty-nine year old Eddie of the future would have too many hurdles to get past until after the Mindflayer, and the Russians.

There's a pang at that, of pain to come for people he loves, and soon.

But Eddie has more immediate problems. He watches as Robin turns to shout over her shoulder and a few seconds later a familiar figure comes out of the staff room at the back, swaps places with her at the counter with an exchange of mutual baleful glances. Eddie cracks an involuntary smile; he would recognise that man anywhere.

Standing at the edge of the food court, Eddie looks at Steve Harrington: 1985 edition. His heart is awash with nostalgia, and it makes him feel absurdly fond and hideously old and painfully jealous all at the same time, even though he knows that the Steve that's over there, flirting with a legwarmer wearing highschooler with a high pony tail — god but Eddie doesn't miss the eighties — that Steve isn't even dating Eddie yet. That Steve might not even properly understand that he's bisexual yet, Eddie's a little vague on the timing of that revelation.

It's a couple of minutes until Eddie accepts he's essentially hiding behind a plastic fern like a massive creep and he needs to go and talk to the eighteen year old version of his husband, still a little baby-faced and with that ridiculous hair swoop that Eddie Munson, version '85, had found utterly fucking irresistible. Steve is making change for the only person left in line and Robin is still in the break room so now's his best chance of being able to start this conversation uninterrupted.

"Shit," Eddie mutters to himself, and starts walking toward the Scoops Ahoy display counter before he can talk himself out of it.

He gets there just as the person in front is leaving, and then there's just Steve, looking at him with the forced smile of the unwilling customer service worker.

"Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, what can I get you today?"

"Hi," Eddie breathes out, and stops.

There's a pause that becomes long and awful, and Steve frowns at him. "Did you want a sample or something?"

"Uh. No." It's too late now to realise that he should at least have planned a conversation opener before he came over here, and Steve is starting to look at him like he's a weirdo. Eddie feels horribly like every time he'd tried to talk to Steve while he was working here the first time around; Eddie had consumed more ice cream in a month than was in any way sensible while he was trying to build up the nerve to say something to Steve that wasn't dessert related. "I need to talk to you."

"About … ice cream?"

"No, uh," Eddie looks behind him to make sure they haven't gathered an audience. "About —"

"Hey, you look familiar, do I know you?"

"In … a way — which is what I need to talk to you about, it's —"

"Yeah, you look like this guy from my school, uh," Steve frowns at him, head tilted; Eddie feels his face heat under the scrutiny like he actually is nineteen again. "Munson, yeah. Eddie Munson, you guys related?"

Some small, permanently teenage part of Eddie weeps and cheers at the knowledge that Steve Harrington knows his name and Eddie shakes his head and squashes it because for fuck's sake Steve Harrington married him in their back yard last year.

"Yes and no — look, Steve, I've really gotta talk to you, ok, some weird shit is happening and sure, it's not your usual kind of weird shit, but fucking weird anyway and I am not built to do this solo, you know what I'm saying?"

Steve blinks at him. "No, I absolutely don't know what you're saying."

"Look, can you take a break, can we talk?"

Steve glances left and right, like he's looking for help. "C'mon, man, can you just buy your ice cream already?"

Eddie rests his palms on the counter, drops his head and counts to five, then stands and looks his stupid, stupid future straight in his lovely brown eyes. "Steve. Your friendship group includes a girl with psychic powers and you yourself have been known to beat on interdimensional hellbeasts with sporting equipment. Your middle name is Anthony, you feed a stray cat out back here that you call Pepsi and you've got a birthmark real high up on your inner thigh that's shaped like Australia. You wanna come find out how I know all that or do you want to debate the relative merits of peppermint stick versus cherry jubilee?"

"How did you know about Pepsi?"

"Jesus H. Christ, Steve."

"Ok, ok, I'm coming."

***

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Fic: Sunstroke

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Steddie

Tags: PWP, masturbation, accidental voyeurism, comeshot, timeline what timeline

For @steddiebingo splash into summer prompt: Breeze

Eddie shrinks in this weather; diminishes. He gets irritable and annoyed at the smallest thing; his brain is boiling in a summer fog and he can't think, wants nothing but to be cool again. His very skin revolts from it, reddens and burns at the slightest opportunity; he's lived these last weeks indoors, under sleeves, in shaded corners like he's living on the edge of the world.

He waits for the heat to break with days spent lying on the sun lounger that is in the perpetual shadow of the corner of Steve's house, hair tied up off the back of his neck and sunglasses firmly in place, trying to pretend that he isn't just red and uncomfortable — and that he isn't looking at Steve, flourishing in the heat.

(Read on Ao3)

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Fic: Runner's high

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Steddie

Tags: Post season 4, Eddie lives, praise kink, PWP, dry humping, light domsub, sub eddie, physical therapy

For @steddiebingo splash into summer prompt: Praise kink

Eddie deeply regrets agreeing to this about seventeen seconds after they start, Steve leading him in a slow jog around the perimeter of the park. Steve's good about it, though, encouraging just like always even though Eddie's pretty sure he's about to die and looks it. Eddie doesn't even get the consolation of being able to watch Steve's ass in those ridiculous little shorts he wears as he runs; he stays resolutely by Eddie's side the whole way round, keeping his pace even when that's barely more than a walk.

By the time they're back where they started Eddie collapses onto the grass, red and sweating and done, just completely fucking done with this entire concept. He'll just be unhealthy and unfit and weak for his whole life and that's fine if it means he never has to do this again.

The lethargic autumn sun is behind Steve as he looks down at him and says, "You did real good today. Honestly, great start, man. Same time tomorrow?"

Eddie's murmured his agreement and is halfway back to his van before he remembers he was about to tell Steve thanks but no thanks.

(Read on Ao3)

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Fic: jump head(heart) first

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Steddie

Tags: Post season 4, Kas Eddie, Ambiguous ending, nightmares, Steve POV

For @steddiebingo splash into summer prompt: Lake

When Steve dreams, he dreams of the lake. The water had been cold, far too much for swimming — it wouldn't be warm enough for that until the summer — and he'd known it would steal his breath just from the bite of the air as he'd stood on the boat.

His dreams are always in two parts.

First: he remembers Eddie's face.

(Read on Ao3)

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OK FINE I'll take my migraine meds but really what the hell is happening here, this one isn't even crippling yet, I can still see out of BOTH EYES.

WHERE ARE THE STANDARDS

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I would only add to this that as a writer I ADORE receiving long rambling comments and as a reader I am still getting over comment anxiety and also feel like I am being annoying when I leave comments (I am a delightful contradiction).

This extends to replying to comments I have received on my own fics — as in, when someone comments on my fic (I LOVE YOU ALL EVERY SINGLE ONE) I think oh wait you probably don’t want to hear back from me though, I don’t want to get in your way. I always try to reply to comments and firmly believe that one day I will clear that inbox — but that is all about me, not about the (lovely, wonderful, always appreciated) comments that I receive.

Which is my long winded way of saying, if I don’t reply — or don’t reply for a while — it’s not about you, it’s me.

I really really really don't know who to ask and I'm new to AO3😢😥😥 Is commenting too much awkward??? I'm socially inadept and interacting with people online gives me an overload of anxiety and recently I've found this fic and fell super deep in love with it and commented massive messages on each chapter. The author replied to me at the beginning but recently they just stopped (hi I understand it's not the author's job to reply and they're likely busy with their life too) but I can't help but be kind of worried that I somehow had put them off (because my comments sometimes involves analyzations and if I get into something too much I can be too excessive) I plead for advice is this normal???

while I can only speak for myself, I as a writer absolutely LOVE it when people give me long comments (the longer, the better lol) and, for me personally, there’s no such thing as too many comments.

love love love love these long comments, they help motivate me, especially when my readers give me deep analysis on the characters and/or their actions.

anyway, fellow writers, reblog if you love long positive comments

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steve loves robin dearly, but she's a coward through and through when it comes to girls. that's why they have a system going on. when they go out together and robin sees someone really cute, three things happen:

1. steve tries to hype robin up to go talk to the girl first. it's never once worked, but he is nothing if not an optimist.

2. steve gives up and goes up to the girl himself. he flirts with her to find out whether she's gay or not. or sometimes he just straight up asks. he likes to wing it.

3. based on the answer of the girl, he'll either point towards robin and ask her if she finds her cute. or just acts like he thought she was someone else and straight up leaves, which is usually met with hilarious reactions of confusion. it's his favorite part, to be honest.

the night they meet chrissy and eddie is similar

robin sees chrissy and falls in love immediately

steve sees eddie and falls in love immediately but he needs to get robin a girlfriend first and foremost

so he goes up to them

steve, while doing everything in his power to avoid looking at eddie: hi, can i buy you a drink?

chrissy: i'm gay, honey

steve, giggling excitedly: really?

chrissy and eddie stand there all confused before steve composes himself and leans closer to chrissy

steve: *points back towards robin* what do you think about my little lesbian friend over there? do you think she's cute?

chrissy, who was trying to come up with a way to approach robin: the cutest. is she single?

steve, exercising utmost control over his facial expressions: so single. you should fix that.

chrissy, smirking, gesturing to eddie: my friend here is gay and single too. you wanna fix that?

she leaves before steve or eddie can say anything

eddie, immediately scooting closer: hi, baby. can i buy you a drink?

steve, ready to jump him: yes, please

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I hate having to post political posts like this nut he we are again. Anybody from the UK wanna sign this. Folks from outside the UK maybe share it?

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REBLOG IF IT IS OKAY TO COME INTO YOUR INBOX AND SAY THE RANDOMEST SHIT I CAN THINK OF BECAUSE I REALLY WANT TO INTERACT WITH YOU.

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🍐WIP Weekend🍐

June was truly a rollercoaster of some of my highest highs and my lowest lows so far this year and that means I really had no time to write but I am BACK BABY and ready to get cracking 💪 I was tagged by @hbyrde36 and @tinytalkingtina 🥰

Because of the above we’re gonna take things slow this week and just focus on two of my WIPs:

🦇 - fruitbat Eddie! We’re almost done with this one, so I’m not sure how much I’ll be sharing of the words that I write 👀 I might give yall snippets of my BB instead 🥰

⚔️ - my big bang! Bastard prince Eddie and royal guard Steve, so much yearning and homoerotic wound care await for the both of them 😌

Snippet of ⚔️ below the cut!

He looks like a prince. Even if he is not.

Tonight, however, this is not a fact that bothers him.

He spots the reasons why as soon as he pushes his way into the great hall. Seated together in their gold and green, he’s met, for the first time in far too long, with friendship.

Gareth reaches him first, pulling him into a violent embrace that nearly has both of them toppling towards the floor, until Jeff reaches them, tipping them the other way, and then Grant wraps his large arms around them, and Eddie has missed them all like limbs.

His friends cheer around him, squeezing tight, their hands in his hair and along his back and there are never times more than now in which he is okay with being a black sheep. In which he is okay with who he is.

Grant pulls away first, and then Jeff and Gareth, just enough for them to sit, for Eddie to join them, banished from the head table as every such night before.

But the dinner is exquisite, after his father’s opening words, and soon Eddie is feasting with three of his favorite people as they catch him up on the last four years.

My tags💗: @penny00dreadful @sidekick-hero @hotluncheddie @queenofshenanigans @wheneverfeasible @holdinsteddie @medusapelagia @machtaholic @beingmissbatty @yesdangerpls @pentapoctopus @helpimstuckposting @mission2mordor @vthx @turinspeachjam

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WIP Word Game

I was tagged by @queenofshenanigans with the word RASCAL

Rules: You will be given a word. For each letter in that word, share a snippet from a WIP, then tag some friends with a new word

(From Accomplice of All Things) Regretfully he moves his hand away an inch and looks back out at the still water, the reflection of the moon, sips his beer and lets the moment lapse.

(From Day Shift) After that first time, so desire-driven and unplanned for all they took months building up to it, there had been a whole catalogue of possibilities Eddie had set before him over coffee at their kitchen counter.

(From Your Mileage May Vary) Steve's not glad, exactly, although with all the effort he's put into learning this stuff over the summer it's nice to know that he's not going to get thrown over for another DM after one session.

(From untitled high school AU) Class is a good few minutes in before it even occurs to Steve he should get out a pen, because he's too busy being consumed by the thought of the sheer staggering quantity of jerking off he's done starring Eddie Munson in his fantasies and he's short circuiting on the fear that Eddie might, somehow, be able to tell.

(From untitled beauty and the beast AU) Although the snow is not falling so heavily as to obscure his vision and he assuredly has not walked far enough to lose sight of the gate - he can barely see it. It is a suggestion of lines in the backdrop of the woods.

(From untitled Steve in the Upside Down) Lucky that he only had to deal with one, lucky that it misjudged it's jump, lucky that the rest of the pack weren't in between him and Forest Hills, lucky that he didn't encounter anything else on his way back here.

I give you the word FLIGHT and no pressure tag @pearynice, @hbyrde36, @tinytalkingtina, @yesdangerpls, @goldenprophetwrites and @vthx

[cloudsurfing42]

Fic: the tide to turn

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Steddie

Tags: Blow Jobs, Secret Relationship, Car Sex, Coming Untouched, Internalized Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Angst, Mildly dubious consent by way of drunkenness (see notes), hopeful ending

For Steddie bingo prompt: car sex

Please see Ao3 for all tags & notes.

--

Night seems to give Steve confidence, seems to let him hide in the unwanted parts of himself. Because Eddie has no doubt that he is unwanted in this: behind the football field, under the bleachers, against the back of Eddie's van. There's something in this Steve needs, but Eddie knows that doesn't mean he wants it.

Eddie wants to make him want it.

Read on Ao3

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🙃🙃🙃

💜💜💜

He walks his way to the end of his driveway, careful to not make sounds, not let his feet drag on the stones. He tries to slow his breath, to make his body quiet to his own ears so he can listen to the sounds of this place, this not-Hawkins.

There are no bird sounds, no insects. No sound of chatter or engines, no tyres on asphalt. There is only a faint nothing-noise, like TV static, that he barely notices unless he concentrates, and sounds of — Steve stops, breathes slow, tells himself he's going to be fine — sounds of life.

[cloudsurfing42]

this is definitely an emoji for a work you submitted in your WIP weekend post >.>

(no pressure, i just want you to know i still love this idea and am excite for it <3 )

Did you know that that is, in fact, not an emoji 👀

"Only one good one," Eddie grumbles, but he rolled it fair and Steve's not going to let him go again just like he didn't let Dustin when he got an 8 for intelligence.

"We're good to go then," he starts, but, "oh, hey, you don't have —"

Dustin's head snaps up. "Shit, sorry, I forgot to explain."

Eddie looks between them, eyebrows raised and asks flatly, "Forgot to explain what?"

Steve nods down at Eddie's character sheet. "You're missing a skill. You need to roll for cool points."

Eddie just sort of — blinks at him, says drily, "That's not a thing."

[cloudsurfing42]

🙃🙃🙃

And some more reasonably unhappy upside down Steve

Downstairs with his heart jumping in his chest — and he can feel that, he can feel the pounding of his pulse so that means, surely, that he is still alive — he swaps his filthy, wet trainers for the boots that live in the coat closet that he usually only brings out if it snows. He pulls on a coat; black wool that zips up to his neck; he's not even sure why since it's not exactly cold here. Not exactly warm, either, not exactly anything, but he feels like he should cover himself up, not let the air of this place on his skin.