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its them

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part 2 of runaway bride stevie! modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington pt 1

Eddie Munson is not having a good day.

His phone died last night so his alarm didn’t go off, his bassist is sick so their gig tonight has to be canceled, and his last three Uber rides have stiffed him on a tip.

He accepts a request from some dude named Scott with a terrible comb-over in his profile picture and gives himself two seconds to bang his forehead into his steering wheel in frustration with a closed-mouth scream. Then he dials it back so he doesn’t seem absolutely fucking insane. He can see the suit he’s about to escort to some fucking meeting even though he’d rather be doing any-fucking-thing else, and he pastes a fake smile on to greet him. He’s gearing up to fall into the usual routine of this godforsaken job, but then it all goes a little sideways.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then a blur of a body is slamming into poor Scott from behind, shoulder checking him and almost sending him careening onto the sidewalk. The dude pinwheels his arms like a cartoon character, suit jacket puffing up around his shoulders awkwardly, expression so baffled it makes Eddie snort despite himself.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, and he’s reaching for his seatbelt to see if the guy needs any help - he looks like he might break a hip if he hits the ground - but then a whirlwind of white fabric swoops into his backseat and a loud, desperate voice yells "DRIVE!" in his ear, and he sort of just thinks 'sure, why the fuck not,' and slams his foot on the gas.

The car fishtails a bit and the tires squeal as he swerves into traffic, horns honking after him, and he picks a direction at random, going way too fast for this area of town.

His heart is pounding in his chest, worst case scenarios running through his head. He’s going to get car jacked. He’s going to go to jail for being an unwitting getaway driver. But there isn’t any more yelling from the back seat, just heavy, panicked breathing, and he settles into traffic and slows down to a more normal speed before he cuts his eyes up to the rearview mirror.

Time stops.

It’s Stevie.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her the second he saw her, but in his defense, it's not like he was expecting to see his ex-girlfriend in a goddamn wedding dress running like she stole something today.

Pure panic wraps tight around his throat as he takes her in - is she hurt? In danger? Nothing good could have had her sprinting away from her own wedding, but it seems like she’s just shaken up.

His heart calms a bit once her tears dry and they get properly on the road.

And shit, it’s so unfair, because she's just as breathtaking as she was the day they split. She looks just as sad, too, which is certainly not how a woman like Stevie Harrington should look on her wedding day. But seeing her in a gown like that - Jesus Christ. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. It’s like something out of a fantasy, seeing her in the exact kind of dress she used to whisper to him about wanting, the kind of dress he’d once promised to marry her in. Of course, they fell apart before he could even get a ring on her finger, but it still sends his stomach swooping to see the future they’d spoken about come to life.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice high and a little squeaky. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just in my ex-boyfriend's car after I left my fiance at the altar, it’s all fine, it’s chill.”

“Okay,” he says haltingly, delicately, because Stevie Harrington is not the kind of person who says it’s chill, “it’s just that, you know, all of that sounds decidedly not chill.”

“This is so chill. It’s the chillest I’ve ever been, actually - hold on–” she says, and next thing he knows a swirl of silk is blocking his view and he sputters a bit as the train of her dress smacks him in the face, but she’s clambering gracelessly from the back seat and over the console to plop down on the passenger side with a loud huff and a cloud of perfume.

It’s different from what she used to wear. She used to smell spicy and warm, with notes of amber and cinnamon. He’d kiss the little spots in her wrists where she’d spritz it on, trace the veins beneath the tan skin with his nose to keep the scent of her with him.

Now she smells like vanilla and something floral, airy and light. Like he stepped into a bakery. It’s not bad, of course it’s not bad, but it’s…different. Not her.

Or not his version of her, anyway.

This is someone else’s Stevie now, and she smells like fucking cookies instead of home.

Instead of commenting on it, he just tells her to put on her seat belt, and she looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“And wrinkle this dress?” she says, her nose curling a little, and God she’s such a bitch and he’s missed it so much.

“I hate to break it to you,” he tells her, “but some wrinkles are not the worst damage that thing has seen today.” There are small grey splotches on the bodice where her makeup dripped as she cried earlier, and the hemline has some muddy staining from her mad dash on the sidewalk. It’s not ruined, but it’ll have to be cleaned, and a couple of wrinkles will be the easiest thing to get out of the formerly pristine fabric.

He glances over at her in time to see her run her hands over the skirt of the dress, smoothing it out over her thighs. It shifts, the leg slit parting to show her skin, teasing at the hint of a crease where her thigh and stomach meet, and Eddie rips his gaze away to stare at the road instead.

“Probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and he feels her eyes latch onto his profile.

“And why’s that?” she asks, and he smirks.

“Well, pure white? C’mon, Stevie, we both know that’s a lie.” He flashes her a wicked grin and she makes an outraged sound, but a small smile is teasing at her mouth even as her cheeks flush.

She kicks off her heels - red bottoms, because of fucking course they are - and slouches in the seat. She pushes herself up, adjusting in the pile of silk and corsetry she’s been strapped into, and he sees the absolute mountain of a rock on her hand, and manages to bite his tongue about it being the gaudiest thing he’s ever seen.

"So who was the lucky guy?" Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and the glare Stevie gives him could cut glass. “Or lucky woman. Person? Far be it from me to deny you your bisexual rights.”

He probably sounds like a jealous asshole, but he can't help it. He's the getaway driver for his one that got away on her fucking wedding day, and he feels like he deserves to ask a few questions.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the silence lingers, but eventually, Stevie just groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest dramatically.

"Don't laugh," she demands, and Eddie shakes his head.

"Scout's honor," he promises, and he swears a wry little grin teases at her lips.

“You were never a scout. You would have been kicked out for inciting a riot.”

“Hey, I just ensured we all earned our arson badges, okay? I did every one of those kids a favor.” Stevie scoffs, and it almost sounds fond.

Then she says, “Tommy,” and he almost swerves into oncoming traffic.

"HAGAN?" he says, louder than he means to, and her hand flies up to grab the oh-shit bar.

“Eddie, Jesus!” she says, glaring at him, and he shakes his head, focusing back on the road.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but fucking - really? “Really?” He can’t help himself. “Tommy Hagan?”

“Yes, really, Tommy Hagan,” she says hotly, like she’s defensive, like she didn’t just leave the schmuck at the fucking altar.

“Well that explains the ring, at least.” She reaches over, smacking at his arm, which, thanks to the aforementioned ring, is probably going to bruise. “Hey, ow!” He glares at her, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his bicep. “Watch it, that thing’s a weapon.”

“Then stop sassing me about it,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms and her face falls into that adorable bitchy little pout he’s always fucking loved, and he looks away again.

He can’t help but glance back over at her left hand. The ring is…certainly something. Giant, square, one big diamond surrounded by other, smaller diamonds, with even more diamonds on the band. It looks heavy and cumbersome and like she’s going to smack it into every wall and door and get it caught in her hair and seriously, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a knot forming on his arm where the thing hit him.

It looks like Tommy walked into the priciest jewelry store he could find and asked for the most expensive ring they had.

It looks like a status symbol.

It doesn’t look like her.

“Apologies, highness,” he says, shaking himself free of his thoughts. It’s not fair to hold her to those standards. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He can’t know what kind of person she is now.

But there’s still a bone-deep knowing that overtakes him at the feeling of the woman next to him. A sense of deja vu so strong it threatens to knock him over.

A different car, a different time, a different circumstance, but the same person. The same love.

He’d picked a direction at random, but as the streets become more familiar, he realizes he’s heading towards his place. It’s as good as any, he figures, and he shifts lanes, reaching to tap on his phone and shutting down his Uber account.

“You know, I almost expected you’d still be driving that beat up old van,” Stevie says suddenly, and he crows a laugh.

“Ah, Van Halen, you served me well until you almost blew up on the highway,” he says fondly. “Lost her about a year ago. It was tragic. I held a funeral.” She laughs again, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, turning that pretty smile his way, and his heart does a somersault.

“That was a very impressive move back there, by the way,” he tells her, “that shoulder check of that old defenseless businessman?” He whistles. “Haven’t seen anybody move that quick to steal an old man’s ride before, really, it should have been documented.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she says, but there’s a laugh in her voice, and she brings up her hands to press to her pink cheeks. He can’t help but keep digging.

“No, seriously! And sprinting like that in heels? And in that dress? What’s that thing weigh, like twenty pounds?”

“It’s a dress, not a suit of armor,” she tells him, but her smile is growing, making her eyes crinkle.

“Just saying, it was pretty metal,” he shrugs, and she snorts.

“Well, you would know,” she says, and he ignores the way his face flushes in response. She gives a little sigh, wiping below her eye and frowning at the smear of black on her fingers.

“Here,” he says, reaching across her. His arm brushes her leg as he opens the glove box and he’s so fucking normal about it. He pulls out a few fast food napkins, holding them out to her. “No makeup wipes in here, but that’ll help with the worst of it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she flips the visor down, tapping a napkin to her tongue to wet it before wiping at the mascara tracks running down her face. “God,” she groans, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear, “I look like a raccoon.”

“A very cute raccoon,” he says before he can stop himself. Jesus, Munson, dial it back. “Like the raccoon that’s about to get the best trash in the bin, she doesn’t even have to ask for it.” Stop talking. “The other raccoons are just gonna give it to her, on account of how cute she is.” He’s gonna throw himself into traffic.

“Did you just call me a raccoon on my wedding day,” she asks. Fine, commit to the bit.

“You called yourself a raccoon on your wedding day. I was just agreeing with you,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed to the road.

Her eyes are on him - he can feel her stare burning into the side of his face, and his cheeks are going pink and blotchy and God, he’s an idiot–

And then she laughs. Not her polite little contained laugh, either, no, this is that loud, wide mouthed laugh that she hates, that makes her shoulders shake and her head fall back. It’s squeaky and hearty and a little obnoxious and he’s always been so obsessed with getting her to let it out, and he can’t help the smug beaming little smile he gives at the sound.

“You’re such an ass,” she says through her laugh, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her even if it’s at his own expense, because at least she doesn’t look so goddamn sad anymore.

When they finally reach his apartment complex she’s a little more subdued, but the look on her face isn’t totally heartbreaking, and he’ll take what he can get. He comes around to the passenger side to open her door for her and helps her gather the dramatic skirt of her dress to keep it off the pavement as they head towards the stairs, and he knows he looks like an insane person as he carts a bride down the hall, but he just smiles at his nosy neighbors and lets this cement his reputation as the weird as fuck off-putting metalhead he knows they all think of him as.

He feels a little self conscious as he opens the apartment door for her, sweeping an arm dramatically to allow her to enter first. For the first time since she swept into his car, he wonders if this is a good idea. But it’s too late now – Stevie’s giving him a little smile and stepping into his home, and part of him knows this was inevitable. She may not have called him, but he was always going to come if she needed him.

He follows her inside and tries to calm the pounding of his heart, watching her take in his space, struck all over again by her beauty and the impossibility of her standing here, and silently prays he isn’t going to fuck it up all over again.

this was almost even longer, but I figure 2.5k is enough for a part 2! no tag lists, sorry, but part 3 will be here at some point. thank you to everyone who's had a kind word to say about this au these two are very near and dear to me 💕

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mombin pt 7 <33

(1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)

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In all the mermaid aus I can find for steddie people make steve the mermaid and thats just not what I was expecting. Because does the image of long curly brown hair floating like seaweed in the water halo-ing a jet black gnarly tail not deeply intrigue you?

Pale webbed hands that are just a little too soft to be human covered in the found jewelry of fallen ships, holding a jagged shell to the neck of land baron's son turned sailor Steve?? I did not think I was the only one who saw this vision.

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I was debating pre- and post- smartphone existentialism with an older gentleman today and he stopped part way through and said “Why are you a security guard? Why aren’t you teaching this at some college somewhere?” And I didn’t know what to say so I went with “Well I used to make art but nobody pays an artist”

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one time i had a dream that tiktok users deemed “kid” as a slur and that you HAD to refer to them as minors otherwise you would get harassed and threatened with doxxing. you couldn’t say “when i was a kid” anymore for example you HAD to say “when i was a minor” instead

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reblog if your name isn't Amanda.

2,121,566 people are not Amanda and counting!

We’ll find you Amanda.

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I'm guessing it's been done before but I had fun screencapping Eddie's trailer myself and zooming in for all the little details so I thought I might as well dump it into a post.

Kitchen area/corridor overview with lots to zoom in on (including Eddie)

The corridor to Eddie's room. That's a cool calendar.

Table clutter & of course mugs

Eddie's bedroom. I refuse to talk about the fucking ceiling mold again, there's been a separate post for that.

Sweetheart & loads of other shit. I feel sad for the yoyo not getting any love in fanfics. With the way it's placed I'd say Eddie fidgets with it all the time.

Handcuffs my beloved & another guitar

It's funny that Eddie owns a basketball. Haven't noticed that before

And yes, the living room aka the hats & mugs museum

Everyone's favorite Garfield mug <3 But also check out that cool light switch in bottom right corner.

Steve technically counts as Eddie's trailer detail.

MUGS MUGS MUGS MUGS

I'm kinda fascinated by that bulbasaur looking thing 2 shelves above Garfield but I can't figure out what it is.

That is all.

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I’m having so much with the fic I’m currently working on, because I’m exploring a headcanon of Steve that’s been living in my mind rent free since forever. And that is, that Steve is so painfully practical that he, to put it simply, does things to get somewhere.

And that’s it. That’s his motivation.

I mean, he hasn’t finished high school yet and it’s already thinking of skipping college because working for his dad (that it’s canon he thinks is an asshole) is the fastest way to get a family. He doesn’t date to meet people, or to have fun; he dates to get married. Come on.

And then you have Eddie. He’s the one to buy a ticket to a concert out of the state and ends up remembering the flight, the people he met, the hours of queue and how fucking good was that burger he ate in the middle of nowhere (and he knows he’s not going to taste ever again), rather than the setlist of the actual concert. 

Eddie is not interested in the finish line of things, he’s interested in the journey.

So you take this Steve, and this Eddie and make them friends. And you have this Steve bitching about not finding the one, and this Eddie rolling his eyes to the back of his skull because why the hell are you looking for the one, Steve, you’re only twenty four. And Steve is like exactly, I am already twenty four, how are you not worried about not ending up alone. And this bickering results in Steve accusing Eddie of being terrified of commitment, and Eddie replying that Steve’s unable to actually find the one because his mind is fifteen years ahead of the present.

So both refuse to share the negativity on each other’s criticism, so Eddie dares Steve to date someone just because he likes them, someone who deliberately doesn’t fill in his long list of mandatory requirements for the one. And Steve agrees, on the condition that Eddie has to actually get in a relationship that lasts more than a month, but not just fucking the same person, no: he’s daring him to emotionally commit to someone.

And after they shake their hands, willing to prove the other one wrong, Robin, who has been hearing this shit for far too long, tells them that the only way they could actually know if the other commits to their agreement (since the nuances of their dares are quite personal and intimate) is that they actually date each other.

So, it’s 3 AM and they’re both still looking at their ceiling when they realize that god fucking damnit, Robin is right.

So you see, this story is writing itself.

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Poll: if your mom remarries when you’re 26 years old is that guy still your stepdad or is he just your mom’s husband.

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DemoSteve :)

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Submit your favorite fics!

Trying something new. It may or may not work, but experiments are cool so we're experimenting.

I want to create a collective list of favorite Steddie fics all in one place.

This list would be updated in perpetuity. People can use this list to browse and find older recommended fics, discover hidden gems, or just snag something good to read. (It might also be helpful if anyone ever wanted to start something similar to @/stuckylibrary but for Steddie.)

Submissions are anonymous and unlimited. You can submit as many things as you like. Submit well-known fics, submit fics you think aren't loved enough. Submit fics that deserve literary awards. Submit weird little crackfics that brought you joy. Crawl your bookmarks and rec lists and DMs with friends.

If you love a fic, someone else might too.

The only rule is that fics should have enough Steddie focus (pre-Steddie pining is totally cool!) to be, you know, Steddie. Also don't worry if you submit something already on the list. That just tells people it's double/triple/quadruple recommended. (If it gets out of hand, I'll manually edit in a rec count or something.)

Submit your faves here.

View the collaborative list here. (Please remember that this might be mostly empty until people have had a chance to submit some stuff.)

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So I’m on a trip with my robotics team and there’s only two “girls” (me, an enby, and a cis girl), so we get our own beds in our own room, but the guys are rooming four to a room, but there’s only two beds in each room. Which means that two guys are sleeping on the floor every night.

I’m not joking. They were literally arguing over who’s sleeping on the floor tonight (apparently they plan on rotating).

And I asked them “why don’t you just share a bed?” And they all gave me the same answer:

“No, that’s weird! That’d be gay!”

And I just looked at them and I decided to break the bad news to them

“If lying next to another guy makes you wanna suck dick, you already wanted to suck dick.”

I’ve never seen so many Straight Guys™️ enraged by a single sentence before

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i want 60 thousand votes by next thursday

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this girl at uni was dressed sooo gay and then i found out she's just straight with a lesbian mom. dykebaiting is not a victimless crime 😔